post-breeding dispersal

There are at least two Spotted Sandpipers hanging around the pond -- an adult (with the spots) and a young one (spotless). The adult is probably a male as the females of this species leave the males to sit on the eggs and take care of the young while they (the females that is) move on to find another mate to fertilize their eggs and raise the young. However, the females will take care of the young that are produced by the last in a series of matings and it is (as far as I know) impossible to separate the sexes visually. Spotted Sandpipers nest in our area but I have never found the nest. They show up on Weesuck Creek and adjacent shores in mid to late July usually with young in tow but I doubt that they nest in this immediate area. So this seems to be an example of post-breeding dispersal.

Down at Tiana Beach in the late morning, I was struck by the number of Ring-billed Gulls in shining plumage that were working the gathering beach crowds. Nobody pays much attention to Ring-billed Gulls (often scorned as the 'fast-food' or 'parking-lot' gull). But at this time of the year they are at their finest with a rounded, dove-like head, snow-white plumage, inky-black wing tips usually with a small white spot at the tip, brilliant yellow legs and a yellow bill with a black ring; up close you can see a red gape and a red ring around the yellow eye. Ring-bills do not breed around here and they are actually uncommon during the spring and early summer. So the Ring-billed Gulls of mid and late summer are birds that have come here from their breeding grounds somewhere well to the northwest of here (the Great Lakes perhaps). But why are they so gorgeous looking? Are these breeding-age birds that have not gone through the breeding cycle (which would otherwise surely have left them looking less pristine)? Or are these second summer birds that have somehow just molted into top plumage before leaving the breeding grounds. In any case, we can expect to see a lot of them from now on (and they're really worth a second look). And it's yet another example of post-breeding dispersal.

Eric Salzman

omissions

It's a bit on the late side, but it has been pointed out to me that I neglected to mention one very significant sighting in last weekend's ELIAS walk at Cupsogue. This was a Western Willet, a bird that sports the stupendous scientific moniker of Catoptrophorus semipalmatus inornata. This subspecies is very easy to identify, especially when you see it in the company of Eastern Willets, Catoptrophorus semipalmatus semipalmatus. The bird we saw was obviously larger and lighter than the local willets (they normally have very different ranges and habitats since the Western Willet breeds inland over a wide range in the west while the Eastern Willet is coastal at all times of the year). Even though this is a not technically a separate species, it is a notable separate and easily identifiable form and may easily become an armchair lifer one of these days.

Another omission was from my list of southern birds moving north was brought to my attention by Mike Bottini. He reminds me that the Northern Cardinal should have been on the list (I did intend to put it there but apparently forgot). This is such a common bird everywhere that it seems impossible that it was a great rarity in the middle of the last century. I remember hearing stories about birders rushing out to see a Cardinal and add it to their list as if it were Ivory-billed Woodpecker or a Roseate Spoonbill! Apparently in the 19th century and into the early years of the 20th, Cardinals were occasional nesters on Staten Island and in the Hudson Valley but they were always rare on Long Island. Then, by mid-century the birds had disappeared from the New York area altogether. Perhaps there was a warming trend sometime before 1900 and a cooling trend in the early 20th century. Walt Whitman wrote a very touching poem about a lone mockingbird on Long Island singing for its lost mate (he thought it was the female pining for her husband but never mind). There are other examples of southern birds at the edge of their range appearing, disappearing and then appearing again with the changes in the climate (Carolina Wren, Eastern Bluebird, etc.). All these birds are, more of less, residents -- that is, they winter as well as breed here. Cold winters can be a problem for these birds but the milder winters of recent years have been in their favor. And make no mistake, the winters are now much milder than they used to be. Shinnecock Bay used to freeze so solid that ice-sailing was a popular local sport and a big teen daredevil stunt was to drive a car out on the ice into the bay! It's been a long time since anything like that ways possible!

Speaking of singing females, Mike also reminds me that the female Cardinal is one of the few songbirds species in which the female sings as well as the male!

Eric Salzman

calm sea & land

Everything was extraordinarily calm on an overcast morning. The tide was coming in quickly but there was only a bit of wind. Oddly enough the wind on the ground was coming from the northest but the clouds were moving in exactly the opposite direction (southeast to northwest), a phenomenon that I have observed before. There were no swallows or martins at all (a scattered few showed up after a while) and the only sound was a complaining Osprey. An inspection of the opposite shore revealed four Osprey -- two on the nest (probably the young), one on the dead tree stump at the tip of Pine Neck and the other on a tree limb further up the creek. Both Spotted Sandpiper and Green Heron were in the marsh but the families of anxious Song Sparrows and Red-winged Blackbirds that were all over the marsh edge in past weeks were now gone or dispersed. A few terns came up the creek to try their luck: Least and Common Terns and at least one Forster's Tern. There was the usual morning flight of Rock Pigeons (Rock Doves, Feral Pigeons, call 'em what you want) and a few House Sparrows as well. I see these birds almost every morning but I usually choose to ignore them. If pigeons and city sparrows are ignorable birds, a Yellow-crowned Night Heron is not. As I made my way back to the pond at the end of my walk, I flushed one from the neck of the pond, only the second I've seen this year.

Eric Salzman

the small and the ginormous

A beautiful dry morning (some dew but low humidity) with interesting birds. The shrub edge and tree line beyond -- at this time of year this is the first place that passerines hit on their arrival -- had a few warblers: at least two or three Yellows and a lively little bird that I couldn't at first identify. A young warbler, no doubt, but the young of what species? It was quite white on the breast with pale yellow at the sides and under the tail; grayish on top with a not-so-tiny bill and a large white somewhat plumage patch almost all the way around the eye -- not exactly an eye ring but an irregular ring around the eye. Of course it wasn't a warbler at all but rather a Warbling Vireo with what Sibley calls a "blank-faced" look. Some Warbling Vireos seem to have a clear white eye-stripe that is wider behind the eye than in front and a white area below the eye with a noticeable thin darkish line 'through the eye'. But this one had almost no dark line -- perhaps a faint line behind the eye but nothing but white in front (i.e. white lores) creating the effect of a large white patch in the middle of the face. Who says the Warbling Vireo has no field marks?

A Spotted Sandpiper is hanging around the pond -- the first I've seen here this season. Even more surprising was a 'flock' of five Great Blue Herons soaring low over the marsh and into the trees. These birds eventually landed in the crown of an emergent oak quite far from the water. In spite of the incredible and slightly grotesque sight of five ginormous (my granddaughter's favorite word) prehistoric-looking birds teetering precariously on the topmost branches of a swaying tree, I might never have even noticed them if one of them hadn't snorted a Great Blue Snort as I walked by underneath. Startled to hear this sound relatively far from the water, I looked up and caught the astounding sight. Alas, almost as soon as I stopped to gawk, they took off, one by one, without a another squawk -- in silence and with great blue dignity.

Eric Salzman

armchair lifers

I got two new life birds this morning without getting up from my seat. These 'armchair lifers' (as they are known) arrive courtesy of the American Ornithological Union which has decided, in its infinite wisdom, that the American Common Moorhen, formerly the Common Gallinule, is no longer the Common Moorhen but is indeed the Common Gallinule, otherwise now to be known at the Gallinula galeata. Got it? The two birds (Old World Moorhen and New World Gallinule) were lumped together but now have been split apart and, having seen both of them in the appropriate land masses, I can count them as two separate species on my life list rather than as one single tick. The same holds for the birds variously known as the Snowy Plover and the Kentish Plover, the former a Western and Southern American species, the latter a widespread Eurasian bird. They already had different common names and were considered subspecies; now they are species splits as well. Oddly enough, one of the differences between these two is that the Snowy male is supposed to lack the reddish cap that distinguishes the Kentish male but I have seen presumably Snowy males with a reddish cap on salt pans in the Antelope Valley in California; I assume that this is an inland race which might be different yet from the coastal birds. Yes, Virginia, life can be complicated.

There are other changes but nothing for American birders to worry about. The Old World chats (Stonechat, Whinchat, Nightingales, Wheatears, Common Redstart, etc.), formerly considered to be thrushes, are now officially allied to the Old World Flycatchers (not related to our flycatchers!). And our wood warblers have been drastically rearranged but, thankfully, this affects mostly the scientific or Latin names and the order or grouping of the birds into genera but not the English names or current species allotments. For example, the name and classification known as Dendroica has completely disappeared but luckily the birds themselves -- Yellow Warbler, Blackburnian Warbler, Bay-breasted Warbler, et al -- are still with us; they're just not Dendroicas any more. A rose by any other name...

One of the Goldenrods and a sort of Geranium have started to bloom; not sure of the exact species name in either case (the goldenrod might be tough but the geranium shouldn't be difficult to figure out). Other bloomers at this season are the inevitable Queen Anne's Lace or Wild Carrot and Bouncing Bet, both common introduced aliens that love our ragged edges. Wineberries are ripe (I picked a bunch) and more Chanterelles have popped up in the wake of last night's storms.

There were three Barn Swallows working the marsh this morning thereby disproving my previous assertion that they were all gone (of course, these might have been mere passers-by). The Purple Martins continue to be active and noisy; wonder how long it will be before they move out. The season advances apace.

Eric Salzman

young birds moving on out

The Purple Martin young seem to have all hatched out but the birds continue to be active in and around the colony as well as over the creek and marsh. In contrast, the local Barn Swallows essentially disappeared a couple of days ago. Although, I didn't mention it in my Cupsogue reports, there were large numbers of Barn Swallows in the reeds at Pike's and Cupsogue and they have been generally active in large numbers along Dune Road. Barn Swallows tend to move in family groups into the reeds along the bay after breeding and this can be considered the beginning of their migrations. Mixed in are a few Tree Swallows, the vanguard of the even bigger Tree Swallow movements along the shore in August and early September.

Yesterday morning, I put up a Great Blue Heron from the marsh. This appeared to be a first-year juvenile, probably the same one that has been hanging around all spring and summer (these birds, not being in breeding condition, do not leave their winter territory for the breeding grounds). The expected return of the breeding Great Blues has not started yet around here. In the meanwhile, kingfishers have become regular visitors on the creek and there have been a male and a female around, raising hopes that they will resume nesting in the area. When Belted Kingfishers take over a waterway around here, they seem to remain in permanent possession all year round.

This was a very successful year for Song Sparrows and Red-winged Blackbirds, both breeding all around the marsh. The anxious adults and timid young were formerly features of my morning walks in recent weeks but the birds have now scattered and are much less apparent as I move along the edge path.

Little flocks of young birds turn up in the woods. The chickadees and titmice move in family groups but another apparent assemblage consisted of a young Downy Woodpecker, a young Carolina Wren and a young N. Cardinal. Perhaps just an accidental coming-together of these very different species.

Speaking of Northern Cardinal, Mike Bottini points out that it was omitted from my account of southern birds that have appeared or increased in our area. He is quite right and I had intended to include but it got left out accidently. It seems hard to imagine but there was a time (perhaps the 1940s) when the Cardinal was so rare in this area that its appearance sent the birding community running to add it to their local lists! According to Eaton in his 1914 "Birds of New York State", it nested only in Richmond (Staten Island) and Rockland Counties but it apparently disappeared even from those sites and didn't return until much later. It wasn't known to nest on Eastern LI before the 1950s but by the time I was birding in the '60s and 70s, it had become established and was multiplying rapidly. The Cardinal is a year-round resident so it tends to be stationary on its home territory. When it does become established, it gets an early start on spring. It starts singing early and it breeds early and often. Young birds around at this time of the year are likely to be from a second or even a third brood!

Eric Salzman

from the south

The presence of a white-winged gull at Cupsogue -- Glaucous or Iceland, whichever it might turn out to be -- is a rare case of a northern bird south of its range (all the white-winged gulls are arctic in range and are rare even in winter which is when they usually show up). But a lot of the birds seen on Saturday's ELIAS walk were southern species, some of them caught in the act of moving into our area. In fact, a case can be made that most of the changes in birdlife in recent years have been due to southern birds expanding their range to the north. Here's a list of some examples with my notations:

Brown Pelican: occasionally seen in recent years in the Moriches and Shinnecock Inlet areas; now breeding as far north as the Virginia/Maryland border and perhaps still advancing.
Great & Snowy Egrets, Tricolored & Little Blue Herons, Yellow-crowned Night-Heron: all except the Tricolored now breed in our area (the egrets are common; the Tricolored breeds on western LI)
Glossy Ibis: like the egrets and herons, this fabled species has moved northward along the coast as a breeding bird
Oystercatcher and Willet: big increases of breeding populations in recent decades (both these species have now reached Canada)
Stilts and Avocets: still rare on Long Island but both are increasing north of their southern breeding ranges
Laughing Gull: this southern gull is still relatively uncommon on the East End but increasing both as a nesting bird and as a post-breeding wanderer
Royal Tern: big increases in post-breeding dispersal every summer; now breeding as far north as Virginia (perhaps further north by now)
Sandwich Tern: still rare but increasing as a vagrant in our area
Forster's Tern: fresh juveniles at Cupsogue and Pike's Beach suggest birds that were born here; these birds are now fairly common throughout the spring and summer
Gull-billed Tern: rare but increasing on Long Island; has bred on Western Long Island
Black Tern: a midwestern (not southern) marsh species; increasing in number on the coast for unknown reasons
Black Skimmer: a southern species that has increased as a breeder over recent decades
Boat-tailed Grackle: first appeared in our area at Shinnecock a few decades ago; now extemely common at Cupsogue marshes

Among land birds, the most notable recent increases of southern birds have included Yellow-throated Warbler and Blue Grosbeak. The warbler, not to be confused with the Common Yellowthroat, was extremely rare even as a vagrant but has increased noticeably in recent years. Blue Grosbeak is a southern species now breeding in the Calverton/Manorville area

Going back half a century or more to the mid-twentieth century, we see an amazing list of southern species, formerly rare or even non-existant on Eastern Long Island which have become common residents. These include:

Chuck-will's-widow: the southern equivalent of the Whip-poor-will; turned up on our place in the 1970s when it was almost unknown hereabouts; has bred in East Quogue on and off ever since
Red-bellied Woodpecker: hard to think of it, but this bird was unknown around here before the 1970s or so.
Willow and Acadian Flycatchers: the Willow is more of a midwestern than a southern species; the Acadian increased and then has decreased in our area
White-eyed Vireo and Yellow-throated Vireo have increased somewhat in our area
Fish Crow: big increases although still not keeping up with Common Crow (the appearance of Northern Raven as a breeding bird in Hampton Bays is a dramatic exception to the south-to-north trend)
Tufted Titmice, Carolina Wren, Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, and Northern Mockingbird: all formerly rare or uncommon; all have had big increases in recent decades
other southern warblers on the increase include Prothonotory and Hooded
Blue-winged, Pine and Prairie were all formerly uncommon here but are now among our most common breeding warblers

Climate Change? Global Warming? Something is going on; birds, with all their mobility, are quick to react to environmental change.

Eric Salzman

a white-winged gull

There was a white-winged gull at Cupsogue this morning (see photos below by Byron Young and Eileen Schwinn). This is presumably the same bird that was seen the other day and was identified as a Glaucous Gull. But is it a Glaucous Gull? As can be seen from these photos (both made this morning), the bird is noticeably smaller than the Great Black-backs it is hanging out with. More to the point, it has the rounded head, large eye and long primaries of an Iceland Gull, not the beady-eyed, large-headed, sloped-forehead, bull-necked, broad-chested, powerful look of a Glaucous. Glaucous Gulls can look as large as a Black-back and match them in that king-of-the-sand-flat look and behavior. Our bird was meek and timid; it slunk away and pecked at a spider crab at the side of the island with its head down. It had the look of a mild-mannered Ring-billed Gull next to a Herring, not a Herring Gull next to a Black-backed.

You can't ID these birds by color and even size can be tricky. Take a look at Howell/Dunn "Gulls of the Americas" and you'll see why the issue is not always so clear-cut! All these gulls can actually overlap quite a bit in size (Iceland: 19-24.5", Glaucous: 21.5-29", Great Black-backed: 25-31" according to Howell/Dunn). One feature in favor of Glaucous might be the length of its bill and the bill's clean ,two-toned coloration. But a so-called second cycle Kumlien's Gull (a subspecies of Iceland Gull and a potential split) can have a two-toned bill and it's not even clear that other forms of the Iceland Gull might not have the same. The coloration of the plumage and the soft parts on all these birds is very variable. The crucial issue has to be structure and I think this bird lacks the massive structure of a Glaucous Gull. Pictures below.

A couple of additional notes. Some thought the bird was lame but that didn't seem so obvious to me. Iceland Gulls are rare in the summer but not unknown (Glaucous Gull is even rarer but also not unknown at this time of the year). Finally, it should be mentioned that the unlikely Kumlien's Gull (if that's what it is) would be a good bird for Long Island at any time of the year!

This morning's expedition was an ELIAS walk led by Eileen Schwinn. It was a hot, heat-stroke-inducing morning and, as always, Cupsogue and Pike's Beach were popular with weekenders -- even in the middle of a massive, end-of-the-world heat dome. But there was a good turnout of birders and lots of birds to be seen, notably terns: Black Terns including two or three still in breeding plumage; a flying Roseate Tern; Forster's Terns including fresh juveniles (locally born?) on the island opposite the Pike's viewing platform; three Royal Terns (two adults and a youngster also on the island opposite the Pike's platform); small numbers of Least Terns (this species is at a low ebb) and many Common Terns. Also Black Skimmer. Among the shore birds: a dozen Red Knots, hundreds of Short-billed Dowitchers, some possible Long-billed Dowitchers, hundreds of Least Sandpipers, small numbers of other common shore birds -- Semipalmated and Black-bellied Plovers, Semipalmated Sandpipers, White-rumped Sandpipers (by sound), a few Ruddy Turnstones and Sanderlings, and the usual locals (Am Oystercatcher, Piping Plover, Willet). Boat-tailed Grackles in all sizes and shapes were everywhere.

Eric Salzman

sounds from the outside

I have set up my 'office' on the screen porch and, with all the windows open, it is possible to monitor many of the local goings-on by sound. For example, there was a Royal Tern calling this morning from the creek, a distinctive sound that provided the first local evidence that these birds are here on Shinnecock Bay (they have been seen on Moriches Bay all spring and summer but the third week in July is about right for their arrival here.

Yesterday afternoon there were volleys of Osprey whistles and screams coming from the trees near the water, making me jump up, dash out and rush down to the pond. There were Ospreys all over the place and, when they saw me coming, they all took off for the other side of the creek. There were no less than four birds -- at least one adult and at least two young birds and all wheeling, whistling and screaming. One of them at least was an adult with a fish; he (or she) landed on a stub on the other side of the creek while the other birds flew up and down the edge of the creek, calling -- perhaps I can say 'complaining -- vociferously.

What was all the brouhaha about? I am almost positive that these are the birds from the Pine Neck nest with two or three young in full flight but still dependent on mom and dad. One of the adults has caught a decent-size fish but he or she is no longer willing to tear it apart and feed it to the youngsters. Go ahead and scream, seems to be the message. You can fly well enough; now learn how to dive and catch your own food. If the youngster is hungry enough, intelligent and agile enough, he or she will learn how to fish quickly enough. Consider the alternative.

Eric Salzman

Cupsogue

The East Quogue Birder Contingent -- Eileen Schwinn, Mike Higgiston and the undersigned -- were joined at Cupsogue this morning by Byron Young. Cupsogue, the county park on the east side of Moriches Inlet forms, along with Pike's Beach a little further east, what is just about the best shore and water bird destination on the East End of Long Island -- even on a foggy morning like this one. The sea fog eliminated the possibility of any kind of sea watch but it was still possible to see the birds on the bay shore, Conditions were actually quite good: an early morning low tide exposed the sand flats where the birds like to hang out and the fog, which lifted a little as the morning progressed, kept the hot sun out of our faces.

The initial impetus for the visit came from a report of a Red-necked Stint said to be hanging out with the Short-billed Dowitchers. Well, there were plenty of dowitchers but we didn't find the Stint. We did manage to make out two WILSON'S PHALAROPES showing their unique silhouettes as they fed in the shallow pools just off our shoreline perch, alternately swimming and walking, spinning slowly, jabbing and picking at the water in classic phalarope fashion. Other shorebirds seen included a Pectoral Sandpiper (looked like a big Least), one or two Red Knots, a couple of Spotted Sandpipers, a single Sanderling (oddly enough in breeding plumage), numbers of Least Sandpipers, a few Semipalmated Sandpipers, one possible White-rumped Sandpiper (picked out because of its scratchy call) and a few Semipalmated and Black-bellied Plovers. Numbers of Black Skimmers and many Common Terns were seen along with two or three Least Terns but alas, no other terns emerged from the mist. Boat-tailed Grackles were active and noisy and the dunes were surprisingly birdy with Willow Flycatcher, Eastern Kingbird, Brown Thrasher, Common Yellowthroat and Yellow Warbler all in evidence.

On another subject: Yesterday evening, I was working on the manuscript of Lorna Salzman's forthcoming book, "Politics as if Evolution Mattered", when the question arose about how to identify Gregor Mendel. Mendel, an Augustinian friar in the Moravian town of Brunn, did the classic studies on inheritance using the common garden or sweet pea and his discoveries proved to be the basis of the modern science of genetics (information which eluded Darwin but proved to be complementary to and supportive of his 'evolution by natural selection'). Mendel was a German-speaking subject of the old Austro-Hungarian Empire but the city of Brunn is now Brno in the Czech Republic. So I went to the computer to google 'Mendel' and discovered that the letters of the word 'Google' were spelled out on the screen in pea-pods! Curious as to why, I clicked on the pea-pods and discovered that it was Mendel's birthday! I also discovered -- this will mean something only to any opera-loers out there -- that the organist for the church service at Mendel's funeral was Leos Janacek! And, of course, Janacek wrote an opera in which the cast includes foxes, a badger, an owl, a woodpecker, various other birds as well as a cricket, frog, grasshopper, mosquito, spider, moths, etc.

Eric Salzman

Martins Chase Cooper's Hawk! Advance of the Forster's Terns!

Notes from a damp foggy morning.

Cooper's Hawk flying east over the marsh and creek being chased, not by Red-winged Blackbirds (as you would expect) but by noisy Purple Martins. Pretty cheeky for a swallow! Undoubtedly the presence of young birds makes them especially aggressive. Most of the young Martins appear to have hatched out and are presumably learning how to catch insects from their parents; these neophytes could be easy prey for a bird-eating accipter like the Cooper's. There are at least one or two martin pairs still feeding young in the nest; I see them going in and out of the gourds which now form their principal residences. The suitability of gourds as martin houses was first discovered by native Americans; the recent revival of the preference for these gourds is due, I believe, to the discovery that intruding House Sparrows, traditionally a problem in the old fancy martin houses, do not like the swinging gourds and leave them to the martins!

All the terns on the creek during a relatively brief period of watching were Forster's Terns. They were immediately recognizable by the black eye patch on a white face but also by the two-toned wings -- gray on the lower half contrasting with dramatically snow-white primaries. The northern advance of this southern and inland species -- usually described as a 'marsh tern' -- into our coastal area has been a notable feature of recent years. It has been regular in late summer and, as is the case with Royal Terns, a northward post-breeding dispersal has been the usual explanation. But I believe that the species is breeding at Cupsogue (Moriches Inlet area) and it now appears on Weesuck Creek in the spring and all summer long, suggesting that it also might be breeding somewhere on Shinnecock. Can the Royal Terns be far behind?

Eric Salzman

birds by the glassful

Somewhere I recall reading about a birding contest for the most unusual collection of birds seen in a single binocular field at one time. Well, it wouldn't win any global competitions, but this morning I had a Yellow Warbler, an American Goldfinch, a Song Sparrow, a Black-capped Chickadee and a Downy Woodpecker in one glassful, all on a scraggy little dead Red Cedar covered with lichen at the edge of the marsh. They didn't hang out together very long but long enough for me to get them all in a single glance. Additionally, the woodpecker was a juvenile with a reddish forecrown -- a plumage seen only on young birds. The Yellow Warbler was a bright female.

Another somewhat unusual sight this morning was the presence of two Belted Kingfishers on the dock. This is a species that one usually sees one at a time or in noisy aerial combat, the local stakeholder chasing away an intruder. These birds seemed amicable enough (and, for kingfishers, not very noisy). I wasn't able to get a good look at them to determine if they were a male-female pair or, just possibly, a couple of young birds of the year. What do young kingfishers look like anyway? I suspect that by time they come out of their nesting holes and learn how to fly, they look like the adults. After not being much in evidence this spring and early summer, kingfishers have reappeared and have now become regular on the creek. They often sit on the local docks or on the dead cedar 'look-out' over the pond. The baitfish are running in some numbers (good-sized schools of silversides and possibly killifish as well), providing excellent prey for kingfisher fishing.

Eric Salzman

Clamming

I went clamming in the bay this weekend with my son-in-law who was out for the weekend and granddaughter Juliette who won't eat raw clams but loves baked clams and, like her father, loves the clam hunt -- even (or especially) when the bay bottom is muddy. These are hard shelled or Quahog clams which we dig with our feet in what used to be called (before political correctness made it sound like an insult) 'Indian clamming' or, worse, 'squaw clamming'. The hard clam became the main shellfish quarry in the South Shore bays when the ocean inlets were opened up and stabilized turning the brackish bays into tidal (i.e. salty) estuaries. Originally Long Island bay bottoms from New York Harbor to Oyster Pond in Montauk were covered with Oysters but all that changed due to pollution and major changes in the environment. The problem with closed brackish ponds and bays is that they are very easily polluted and nobody wants to eat polluted oysters. The hurricane-created inlets and their stabilization with rock jetties produced a cleaner bay but changed the ecology, making them no longer suitable for oyster reproduction. Nowadays, our only fresh-to-brackish bay that is mostly closed to the ocean is Mecox (there are also some coastal ponds -- Wainscott Pond, Oyster Pond -- which fit the bill). Oysters thrive in Mecox but you don't want to eat them until they are then transplanted to the clean waters of Peconic Bay. Clams and oysters are filter feeders and, in unpolluted water, they quickly clean themselves out, become edible and acquire a salty taste that people like. In the salty tidal bays like Shinnecock, Quahogs have replaced Oysters as the top-of-the-bottom shellfish and, although they have been overfished, they can still be found, sometimes in considerable numbers.

Not that Quahogs are a recent arrival. Native Americans ate them and used the shells to make the famous wampum belts which were also used as a medium of exchange (this was apparently the major economic base for the Long Island tribes). Indian clamming is nothing more clamming with your feet instead of the traditional clam rake or tongs that the baymen use and it's possible to become quite proficient at it with practice. I learned how to do it from my father and now I'm happy to pass it on to the next two generations!

There's actually a lot of lore surrounding the hard clam. The various appellations which you will recognize -- Little Necks, Top Necks, Cherrystones and Chowders -- are all just baymen's names for the different sizes of the same clam. Mercenaria mercenaria used to be known by the rather racy name (which you will still find in older books) of Venus mercenaria. I'll leave you to figure out the meaning and decide the why and wherefore of this naughty taxonomists' joke hidden in Latin scientific terminology (taxonomists are quite fond of these off-color names; how about Pitch Pine or Pinus rigida)!

Here's a bit of personal lore (not off-color). A number of years ago, I attended a seafood banquet being held in the lobby of a theater in Quimper, Brittany, France, following a performance of a work of mine. The seafood in Brittany is the best and most varied in the world and this was a veritable feast of crustacea, shellfish and other assorted items. However I couldn't help noticing that there were some clams sitting on the festival tables unopened. What about those, I asked, and was told that they were a new clam and that no one knew how to open them. A moment's inspection revealed that this unknown clam was Mercenaria mercenaria, newly introduced from the other side of the Atlantic. Get me a knife, I shouted, I know how to open these clams. And open them I did. Nothing like showing the folks from Brittany, the seafood capital of the world, how to open a clam!!!

This past weekend was clear, warm and dry, perfect for saltwater ecosystem immersion as well as clam digging. Although you can't bring along your binoculars, birding while up to your neck in bay water (I always go at high tide) is a particular pleasure. Since only your head is showing, birds hunting insects above the water (swallows, martins) or fishing in the water (terns, osprey, kingfisher) will come in quite close. A special moment was provided by a good-sized accipiter -- a Cooper's Hawk no doubt -- clutching some sort of prey (not a clam, I'm sure) and being pursued by Red-wings as it crossed over the water and disappeared into the wooded upland beyond.

Eric Salzman

Young Green Heron? Yes!

I saw a young Green Heron this morning. It flew up from the edge of the pond and perched on the 'look-out' post -- the dead cedar on the opposite bank. This bird had a bit of a crest, wispy head feathers sticking out out rather randomly from the back of the crest, and a striped neck, all sure indications of a young bird -- undoubtedly born locally and fairly recently fledged. For the past two years, I have suspected that the Green Herons that frequent our marsh are nesting but have been unable to locate the nest which is (or was) probably somewhere in our woods (Green Herons are solitary tree nesters, usually near water). Eventually the young fledglings show up. Last year there were no less than three. This bird was the first one seen this year but the young herons do not necessarily all fledge at once so there may be others (two to three young is the norm locally although there can be more).

The daily (i.e. annual) cicadas are coming on strong these days and so are the night trillers. The day-time insect singers have the wonderful name of Dog Day Cicadas -- one (or more) of the species in the genus Tibicen. The nighttimers are presumably Tree Crickets of the genus Oecanthus. Does anyone know the exact species of our local summer serenaders?

Eric Salzman

herons and dragonflies

There was a full moon a few days ago; the reflection on the calm waters of Shinnecock Bay and the ghostly look of the woods in the moonlight have been memorable. A walk down to the water flushed a night-feeding Great Blue Heron, still not a common sight around these parts. This morning, in bright sunlight, two Green Herons were perched on tree-tops on opposite sides of the marsh. The one on the far side was high up on a maple and gulping away with that strange Green Heron call so different from the more familiar loud alarm sounds we usually hear from this species; I would guess that it's the male that does the gulping. The other one, perhaps the female, was on a low and isolated Red Cedar near the near edge of the woods; it was watching my every move, letting me get quite close before it took off -- silently! -- flying up the marsh. These birds, although far apart, were almost certainly in contact with one another and are probably a mated pair. A mated pair trying, one hopes, to distract me from their nearby nest. Great Blue Herons do not nest around here but Little Green Herons (that used to be their name) definitely do.

This has been an outstanding year for the Seaside Dragonlets (love that name) with literally dozens of them everywhere in and around the marsh/ I even saw a pair flying in tandem over the creek this morning; this is not the actual mating act but the male dragonfly's way of guarding his mate from other males. What are Dragonlets? They, of course, a kind of dragonfly that lives in salt marshes and they are, I suspect, a major prey for our Purple Martins. The Martins, after a period of seeming quiet, are now extremely active around the colony, hunting low over the marsh and even above the surface of the water, seemingly responding to a major dragonfly hatch. Although these large swallows have the reputation of being mosquito eaters, they go mostly for larger prey like dragonflies and butterflies.

Seaside Dragonlets are small, mostly black with delicate transparent wings. A much more flamboyant odonate appeared yesterday. The Halloween Skimmer has a yellow and black body and its wings are often orange and black: the transparent wings have a buff or orangey tint interrupted by black stripes. The one that was fluttering around yesterday in the reeds and bushes next to the pond had wings that were tinted more yellow-and-black than orange-and-black but it was a Halloween Pennant nevertheless -- perhaps a female or young one.

Eric Salzman

change of weather

I was hoping that the drastic change of weather -- a front bringing a north/northwest wind and a big drop in humidity behind it -- would shuffle the deck. But it was pretty much the same species in the 'migrant trap' this morning with young Song Sparrows seemingly everywhere, a nice flock of Black-capped Chickadees in the lead and several Downy Woodpeckers -- a male, a female and one or two youngsters -- jumping from the phragmites up to the tree trunks beyond. Further up at the head of the marsh, a pair of Great Crested Flycatchers, a young Baltimore Oriole (yellow with wingbars) and two or three Common Yellowthroats were active along with Gray Catbirds and other familiar local residents.

Right in back of the migrant trap is a semi-open area just at the point where the pine and oak trees come in. This spot is covered with the shells of Ribbed Mussels, Blue and Spider Crabs and even (alas) part of a Box Turtle carapace. Unlike the neighbor's dock, this does not seem a likely hang-out for gulls so it is probably the Raccoons that are bringing up their culinary treasures to this spot to be devoured. I have never seen these beasts in this area but our Raccoons are highly nocturnal and I rarely see them out of the trees in the daytime.

The latest wildflower to blossom is Germander or Wood Sage. This member of the mint family, with its pretty little flowers -- they look a bit like miniature orchid flowers -- has two major stands on the property. The one near the head of the marsh is slightly back in the woods and is already coming into full bloom while the even larger stand just back of the pond has not yet begun to bloom. This latter is evidently a more exposed position with a slightly cooler mini-climate that delays the floral display.

Eric Salzman

A young Towhee

There was still a bit of cool in an early morning that was sunny, dry and birdy. The surprise appearance was a young Eastern Towhee, heavily striped and with wing bars. The bird jumped up onto a branch at the edge of the woods in the spot that I call the 'migrant trap', just beyond the point where the marsh empties into the pond. That it was hardly more than a fledgling was indicated, not only by the dark brown sparrowy plumage, but also by the prominent 'smile mark' at the base of the bill. Towhees have trouble nesting on our place because of marauding cats; my guess is that this bird hatched out on Pine Neck directly on the other side of the creek and was able to fly well enough to make it across.

I call this spot the 'migrant trap' because it is often full of birds in fall migration being evidently the first vegetated landfall that migrating birds hit as they cross Weesuck Creek in the early morning. It's still a bit early for real migration so all the birds seen were probably locals: Downy Woodpecker, House Wrens, many Song Sparrows (this was a good year for both House Wrens and Song Sparrows), Catbirds, Black-capped Chickadees, American Goldfinch and at least one Ruby-throated Hummingbird.

In the woods on the other side of the house, a cuckoo was calling. This was, of course, not the cuckoo-clock sound (which American cuckoos don't make) but a rather evenly-spaced series of cuckoo quality calls. Alas, I never saw the bird but, although it was not a typical vocalization, I think it was a Yellow-billed in action. For a long time, I thought that all the evenly-spaced cuckoo songs belonged to the Black-billed species but the Yellow-billed also sometimes manages something similar. Alas it never called again and I couldn't spot the bird which was well hidden somewhere in the tree tops.

Eric Salzman

an unexpected saprophyte

As I was making my way around edge-of-the-marsh trail, at the spot where I often flush up a Flicker, a female-plumaged Downy Woodpecker came popping up instead. Either the bird was not very familiar with the shrub-and-bush terrain or it was a young bird and not yet much of a flyer. In any case, it had a lot of trouble taking off, banging into the reeds and bushes before it could get clear of the shrubbery and head back into the woodland edge. Eventually, I realized that there were two birds -- probably an adult and a fledgling. Usually the Downy Woodpecker nest is easy to find (the nestlings make a lot of noise inside the brood hole before they fledge) but I didn't find it this year; nevertheless, they are certainly still nesting someplace around here.

On the other side of the property, from a neighbor's dock jutting out just past the outflow from the pond and marsh, I noticed several large birds perched on trees by the pond edge: a Snowy and a Great Egret and, on the bare limbs of a dead pine, an Osprey attending to its toilette. Since Ospreys get wet and have to manage some fair-size fish, their attention to feather maintenance is probably an important part of their daily ritual. My usual path from the dock is along the side of the pond but, after watching the Osprey taking care of its grooming with such meticulous care, I was unwilling to flush him (or her) and decided to take an alternate route back, cutting through the woods. In the process, I came upon a veritable thicket of Indian Pipe that had sprouted from the leaf litter on the forest floor (Indian Pipe is, of course, the ghostly, mushroom-like flowering plant without chlorophyll that gets its nutrients from buried wood). Except it wasn't Indian Pipe but a similar plant with many flower heads to a stem (Indian Pipe was one per stem) and a cream- or even tan-colored coloration (Indian Pipe is dead white). This was the equally strange and wonderful Pinesap, a related chlorphyll-less saprophyte! I have never seen it here before (see photo below).

Eric Salzman






Eric Salzman
P.O. Box 775 (14 Randall Lane)
East Quogue NY 11942
631 653-5236
es@ericsalzman.com
www.ericsalzman.com

South Fork Natural History Society Museum walk

This morning's SOFO walk -- billed as "Breeding Birds of the Meadows and Woods" -- was focused on the open fields in back of the SOFO Museum in Bridgehampton. This area, formerly a vineyard (and hence known as Vineyard Field), is surrounded by oak woods and is part of the Long Pond Greenbelt that runs from Sagg Pond and Sagg Swamp in Sagaponack all the way north to Sag Harbor. The area contains a chain of ponds and wetlands -- mostly kettleholes from the last glaciation fed by groundwater -- surrounded by upland woods. Vineyard Field has been the object of a major effort to restore it as a grasslands habitat, including the rooting out of many (but not all) invasive plants. As it stands, however, it is not really a grasslands but what is traditionally known in these parts as Oldfield -- open farmland with invading trees. A better term might be 'savanna'-- the correct term for a meadow or grassland with emergent bushes and trees. Although there's a tendency to associate savanna with Africa, it's a real and well-defined habit in many parts of the world, Eastern North America and even Long Island definitely included. Some of my favorite birds are partial to savanna habitat and, curiously enough, even as woodland and grassland species decline, many savanna species -- once common, then later routed by the conversion of savanna to farmland -- are now making a striking comeback. These were some of the best birds of the morning: Indigo Bunting (at least three males seen, with two of them singing on widely separate edges of the field), Orchard Oriole (the name itself suggests its habitat preference) and Warbling Vireo (a major comeback species and also recognized by song). Another feature of this habitat is its popularity with swallows, nesting on the museum buildings (Barn Swallows), bird boxes generously scattered about (Tree Swallows) and a group of gourds (which have, after years of trying, finally attracted a small colony of Purple Martins); Bank Swallow was also seen. Prominent flycatchers in this habitat are Eastern Phoebe and Eastern Kingbird (Eastern Wood-pewee was in the woodland at the far end of the open meadow). Kingbird, a famously pugnacious flycatcher, was seen first thing in the morning escorting a high-flying but potentially dangerous Cooper's Hawk off the premises. Other raptors were Osprey (two or three seen flying across) and Red-tailed Hawk, nesting in the vicinity and heard a number of times but not actually seen. And, of course, the more familiar birds of meadow habitat -- Northern Mockingbird, American Robin, Red-winged Blackbirds and Common Grackle, all seen in numbers. Cedar Waxwings were seen several times, not in their usual small flocks, but singly and in pairs; they are, no doubt, starting to nest even as other birds are finishing their nesting duties and watching their fledglings take off. Not many actual forest birds were seen or heard. There was singing Red-eyed Vireo, Baltimore Orioles with noisy young, and, oddly enough, Blue Jays in the woods where they are almost certainly nesting. Missing were the more-or-less expected 'T-birds': Towhee, Thrasher and Thrushes.

In addition to the birds, there were two or three Box Turtles and a number of butterflies including Monarch (there's a lot of Common Milkweed and Butterfly Weed in the field), Common Wood-Nymph, Pearl Crescent, sulphurs and a Halloweeen Pennant, a striking dragonfly with striped wings.

There was a nice turnout which included Frank Quevedo, the new director of SOFO.

Eric Salzman

South Fork Natural History Society Museum walk

This morning's SOFO walk -- billed as "Breeding Birds of the Meadows and Woods" -- was focused on the open fields in back of the SOFO Museum in Bridgehampton. This area, formerly a vineyard (and hence known as Vineyard Field), is surrounded by oak woods and is part of the Long Pond Greenbelt that runs from Sagg Pond and Sagg Swamp in Sagaponack all the way north to Sag Harbor. The area contains a chain of ponds and wetlands -- mostly kettleholes from the last glaciation fed by groundwater -- surrounded by upland woods. Vineyard Field has been the object of a major effort to restore it as a grasslands habitat, including the rooting out of many (but not all) invasive plants. As it stands, however, it is not really a grasslands but what is traditionally known in these parts as Oldfield -- open farmland with invading trees. A better term might be 'savanna'-- the correct term for a meadow or grassland with emergent bushes and trees. Although there's a tendency to associate savanna with Africa, it's a real and well-defined habit in many parts of the world, Eastern North America and even Long Island definitely included. Some of my favorite birds are partial to savanna habitat and, curiously enough, even as woodland and grassland species decline, many savanna species -- once common, then later routed by the conversion of savanna to farmland -- are now making a striking comeback. These were some of the best birds of the morning: Indigo Bunting (at least three males seen, with two of them singing on widely separate edges of the field), Orchard Oriole (the name itself suggests its habitat preference) and Warbling Vireo (a major comeback species and also recognized by song). Another feature of this habitat is its popularity with swallows, nesting on the museum buildings (Barn Swallows), bird boxes generously scattered about (Tree Swallows) and a group of gourds (which have, after years of trying, finally attracted a small colony of Purple Martins); Bank Swallow was also seen. Prominent flycatchers in this habitat are Eastern Phoebe and Eastern Kingbird (Eastern Wood-pewee was in the woodland at the far end of the open meadow). Kingbird, a famously pugnacious flycatcher, was seen first thing in the morning escorting a high-flying but potentially dangerous Cooper's Hawk off the premises. Other raptors were Osprey (two or three seen flying across) and Red-tailed Hawk, nesting in the vicinity and heard a number of times but not actually seen. And, of course, the more familiar birds of meadow habitat -- Northern Mockingbird, American Robin, Red-winged Blackbirds and Common Grackle, all seen in numbers. Cedar Waxwings were seen several times, not in their usual small flocks, but singly and in pairs; they are, no doubt, starting to nest even as other birds are finishing their nesting duties and watching their fledglings take off. Not many actual forest birds were seen or heard. There was singing Red-eyed Vireo, Baltimore Orioles with noisy young, and, oddly enough, Blue Jays in the woods where they are almost certainly nesting. Missing were the more-or-less expected 'T-birds': Towhee, Thrasher and Thrushes.

In addition to the birds, there were two or three Box Turtles and a number of butterflies including Monarch (there's a lot of Common Milkweed and Butterfly Weed in the field), Common Wood-Nymph, Pearl Crescent, sulphurs and a Halloweeen Pennant, a striking dragonfly with striped wings.

There was a nice turnout which included Frank Quevedo, the new director of SOFO.

Eric Salzman

summer's here

One of my favorite wildflowers is in bloom all through the woods right now. This is Spotted Wintergreen, Chimaphila maculata, an exotic little plant with two-tone leaves (dark green with a large white strip down the middle). The flower emerges from a red stem that sprouts from the spray of leaves on the forest floor. It first takes the form of a white button and then opens out into a waxy, nodding circle of five rounded petals with a ring of anthers that stick out from a green base. It has a pleasant odor but you have to get down on your hands and knees to sniff it. It's a kind of obeisance to a plant with an air of aristocratic unreality that distinguishes it from more plebian floral forms.

Many of those plebian flowers, mostly aliens, are also in bloom. A small blue button flower long caused me ID problems as it was not shown in the old Petersen flower guide (a book I still use a lot as I know my way around in it). I have subsequently identified it as a plant known as Sheep's Bit, Jasione montana. It is a bit of a wildflower that obviously was associated with Old World sheep meadows and, if you say its name quickly, you will come up with what I fancy was it's original ungentrified name.

All the local Catbirds have decided to resume singing at the same time and the Robins are also singing again. All this adds -- for brief periods of time at least -- a pleasant musical quality to the atmosphere which has been dominated recently by the indomitable singing of the two wrens, House and Carolina. Rabbits are recovering from their recent decline; I saw three of them frisking and gamboling (isn't that what rabbits do?) yesterday while picking mushrooms. And, in the creek, impressive conglomerations of shiners or white bait (small bait fish more properly known as Silversides) can be seen whirling about in schools consisting of dozens or even hundreds of fish in the shallows of the creek at low tide. They call attention to themselves by cutting the surface of the water in synchrony but for what reason is not always apparent.

And, as I am writing this, the first cicada of the year is sounding off. Yes, summer's here!

Eric Salzman

mailbox

One of the best things about writing a blog is getting feedback from readers.

Mike Bottini points out that my statement that Common Ravens were formerly rare in the northeast except in "rugged parts of New England and places like the Adirondacks" may be somewhat in error as most reference books state that the species was formerly widespread before the eastern forests were cut. That may be true but the sources for this common statement are obscure and, in any case, it must refer to a period before the 19th century (and there is no evidence that it ever occurred on Long Island except as a vagrant). The association with deep forest, although traditional, is also doubtful as Ravens are the most common bird in the arctic tundra and they also occur widely and commonly in areas of the west and also of Eurasia which are not heavily forested. Ravens are known as scavangers, carrion eaters and tricksters (they are highly intelligent); they also have a long history of interaction with humans (including native Americans) and they are prominent in the folklore of many peoples. None of this fits very well with the idea that they are a wilderness bird. What they do like are areas with mountains or high cliffs where they can put their nests (the Hampton Bays water tower is therefore a substitute cliff) and they appear to prefer habitat with open areas when they can search for food on the ground. In any case, the current expansion of Raven range southward is a striking exception to the overwhelming advance of southern species north in an age of climate change and warming. Mike tells me that he plans to write about the ravens in his Southampton Press column.

Carl Safina wants to know what the mis-identified chanterelles were in my story about trying to identify the mushrooms picked by a friend as described over the phone. They appeared to be chanterelles from his description but turned out to be much larger than Chanterellus cibarius when actually seen in the flesh; the one feature my friend forgot to mention was size (the edible chanterelles rarely open up to a cap size of even a few inches and are mostly less than an inch across; these mushrooms averaged considerably larger). What were they? At this late date, I am really not sure. They may well have been the infamous Jack O'Lantern, Omphalotus illudens, a bright yellow-orange mushroom that could pass for a large chanterelle (it grows on wood in clusters but can also appear on the ground). It glows in the dark (hence it's common name) and, yes, it is at least mildly poisonous. In my memory, however, they looked something more like a mushroom called Gomphus floccosus which actually IS a kind of chanterelle but not a particularly scrumptious one (it is reputed to cause stomach upset in some people). I consider the Golden or Yellow Chanterelle to be a safe mushroom, even for a beginner but as this example shows. there are some possible confusions if you are looking for chanterelles with just a mental image out of a book. Mushrooms like the chanterelle are a bit like people; if you just follow a verbal description or even see a picture, you can still make a mistake, but once you make your acquaintance in the flesh, you are unlikely to get it wrong!

Eric Salzman

'shrooms

A mushroom being beautiful doesn't mean it's edible. But, as it happens, three of our most attractive 'shrooms are also three of our best comestibles.

Mushroom season started early this year. The rainstorms of the past few weeks produced a bonanza of mosquitos but also early crops of chanterelles and chicken mushroom, both among the best and safest of edible fungi. The chanterelles (Cantharellus cibarius; also known as girolles) have continued to emerge. These are those waxy yellow fungi with the gills running down the outside and no clear distinction between cap and stem (there is also a red or purple version, Cantharellus cinnabarinus, that often grows with the yellow and is equally good). Chanterelles are undoubtedly our most common A+ wild mushroom edible. These are quite easy to identify once you are familiar with them but, as with all mushrooms, you should know what you're doing. I once had someone call me on the phone and ask me if I could verify the identification of the beautiful chanterelles that he had collected. He gave me a perfect description of them but I still hesitated to give a confirmed diagnosis over the phone and asked him to bring a couple of them around to inspect 'in the flesh'. He did and the mushrooms turned out to be the size of brass-band trumpets; real Chanterelles rarely get much bigger than little tin horns and size was the one feature that was never mentioned in our telephone conversation! They have a fruity oder that is somewhere between ripe plums and raspberries and they are slightly peppery to the test when eaten raw (the German word for them is Pfifferling or Little Pepper) but the peppery taste disappears on cooking (recommended!). The classic way of cooking these mushrooms is in a cream sauce but they can be prepared in a lot of ways and they make a great accompaniment to many dishes.

The Chicken Mushroom has multiple names (Sulfur Shelf, Chicken-of-the-Woods, Polyporus sulphureus, Grifola sulphurea, Laetiporus sulphureus) but is one of the easiest of mushrooms to recognize and one of the best-known wild fungi. It generally shelves out from the base of a tree or a stump (it sometimes grows on the ground in the form of a rosette in which case there is almost certainly buried wood underneath). It is usually a brilliant orange-yellow looking more like an improbable cluster of giant candy-corn-colored coral than a mushroom. If it is fresh, the flesh is soft and moist to the touch and almost the whole mushroom can be eaten. If it is somewhat (but not too much) older, you can trim off the soft tips for eating purposes.

Another good edible mushroom that has started to appear is a very beautiful Lactarius with a velvety orange-brown cap, cream-colored gills and lightly orange stem. Like other mushrooms in this genus, it exudes milky, sticky drops -- white in this case -- when bruised or cut (hence the name). For a long time, I thought this mushroom was Lactarius volemus (Tawny or Weeping Milk Cap) but I now think it's more likely to be the similar Lactarius hygrophoroides or Hygrophorus Milky Cap; fortunately both are edible and equally good (in fact, hygrophoroides is said to be even be better than volemus which I have probably never tasted).

Eric Salzman

P.S.: My wife, Lorna Salzman, has a blog that concerns itself with such topics as politics, evolution, ecology and culture! It goes under the name of Snickersnee, its address is , it's published on Mondays and Fridays and there are archives going back to its start in March. Stimulating reading and highly recommended!

The Voice of the Turtle

Have you ever heard the voice of the turtle?

Yes, I know, the phrase "the voice of the turtle is heard in the land..." is from the Song of Solomon and refers to the Turtle Dove, not the reptile. But think about it. Have you ever heard a turtle (the reptile) make a sound? Well, I have. This morning, I surprised a turtle busy munching on something and as I walked up from behind it uttered what I can only describe as a little cry of fright as it pulled its head in.

That was about the most exciting event on a quiet, damp morning. A kingfisher came by on the creek, a relatively unusual event these days. Black-capped Chickdee young are out and, as the family groups move around, the males have started again to sing their two-note song.

I found a small dragonfly -- probably a female or young Seaside Dragonlet -- caught in the mesh of a spider's web. Seaside Dragonlets have been especially common this spring; the males are all black but, like this one, the females and young have a lot of orange/yellow on the abdomen (the long 'tail') and bright yellow-and-black stripes on the thorax (the main body of the insect).

The bush honeysuckle has already developed its red and orange berries even as the Japanese or vine honeysuckle is still in flower. Rambler Rose -- to me the symbol of the old-fashioned seaside countryside -- is in full bloom along with the Spanish Bayonet (or Yucca) even as the Catalpa flowers drop and cover the ground. And the voice of the turtle is heard in the land.

Eric Salzman

The Three Ravens

I went back to see Corvus corax hamptonensis, the Common Ravens of Hampton Bays, this morning. They are hanging around the water tower in Hampton Bays where they nested and I saw three of the four of them -- two young and one of the adults -- sitting on the lawn. The water company plot consists of the tower, various buildings and out-structures, a large lawn with a few trees, a lot of open space and a water pipe or faucet which is dripping water on a non-stop basis (and attracts birds including the ravens to splash and drink). Next door is the Hampton Bays Volunteer Ambulance building surrounded by a parking lot and another wide open lawn; this seems to be on land donated by the Suffolk County Water Authority. Both buildings are surrounded by a small but fairly dense pine-and-oak woodland -- virtually a slice of the Pine Barrens right in the middle of Hampton Bays (probably also owned by the Water Authority). The area is birdy; birds like woodland backlots with interspersed open spaces. The first day I went to find the ravens, there were at least two dozen crows in and around the pine trees on the Water Authority property. They were not Common Crows but Fish Crows with their characteric nasal 'caw'. I don't think I have ever seen more than two or three Fish Crows together in one place but these birds were all over the place and not another corvid in sight. Eventually we did get a distant view of a Raven but I went back the next morning to get some better views. I also heard an unusual bird call or song by the Ambulance building that I didn't recognize. I couldn't spot the bird that was doing the vocalizing and I was anxious to find the Ravens (I found the two young ones on the tower) so I gave up the search. But this morning I spent a lot of time by the Ambulance building explaining to the volunteer ambulance people (yes, they were on duty early in the morning) what I was doing and listening for the mysterious song. No luck with the song but I did see a lot of birds including Ruby-throated Hummingbird, Eastern Phoebe, Indigo Bunting and a young or female Baltimore Oriole. Plus a lot of Fish Crows and three Ravens sitting out on the grass.

Hmmm. Three Ravens. Isn't that an old song?

Eric Salzman

Evermore?

Here's an amazing story.

A pair of Common Ravens made a nest on the Hampton Bays water tower, produced three young (two of whom survived) and no one noticed!

Almost.

People who worked there were aware of the nesting; they just didn't realize that it was anything unusual. One of the young ravens got sick or injured and was taken to the Quogue Wildlife Refuge. The poor thing expired but not before conveying the information that there were ravens in our midst! It happened that someone from SOFO was visiting and reported back to home base: Ravens in Hampton Bays! Jim Ash and Hugh McGuinness saw the birds yesterday afternoon. I heard the news, got there late yesterday afternoon, and saw one of the birds on the ground in the distance. I went there again this morning and saw two birds -- probably the two youngsters -- cavorting on and around the tower.

How come nobody noticed? These are big birds (the biggest of all the so-called 'song birds') with massive beaks and a large, lozenge-shaped tail and they had to have there -- right in sight of downtown Hampton Bays -- for three months or so!

Common Raven has a world-wide distribution and is one of the few birds that lives year-round in the high Arctic. In North America, it is most common in the west and particularly in mountainous country. In the northeast, it was always uncommon being mostly found in the more rugged parts of New England and places like the Adirondacks. In recent years, the population has been rather dramatically on the increase and expanding to the south; Ravens have, for example, started appearing in the Palisades on the Hudson River. In 2010, to everyone's surprise, a pair nested on an old tower in a park in Queens and it was subsequently discovered that they had nested successfully in 2009 as well! Now suddenly we find they're in Hampton Bays and they have been there at least since March or April. They built a nest on the water tower (now vanished), laid eggs, incubated them, hatched three youngsters, fed them and finally fledged them -- all this spring! And nobody noticed until a sick bird was brought to the Quogue Refuge!

The Hampton Bays water tower is just south of the Hampton Bays LIRR station. There is a paved road that goes from Ponquogue Avenue past the Suffolk County Water Authority site. The Authority does not encourage visitors but the birds can be seen from the road through the fence. There is a lawn with a faucet that is permanently turned on not far from the fence and the birds are often there. They can also be seen on and around the water tower itself.

Eric Salzman