Night watch and early morning

"Fall" migration begins in July (some say there is even movement of some shore birds already in June) and by the beginning of August we start to see birds around here that had previously been scarce. The Northern Waterthrush which arrived here yesterday doesn't breed on Long Island so we know that this is an early migrant. The Blue-gray Gnatcatcher does breed here but almost always next to fresh water ponds so its appearance here this morning by our salt pond qualifies it as an early migrant as well.

The Yellow-crowned Night Heron was again at its post on a piece of wood at low tide at the mouth of the pond early this morning but it is impossible to tell whether this is a locally nesting bird or an early migrant. Ditto with the Saltmarsh Sparrow (formerly Sharptail, formerly Saltmarsh Sharptail), common on Shinnecock Bay marshes, but which made its first appearance here since the spring. Admittedly this is an easy bird to miss in the high marsh grass but this one was perched on a phragmites reed and, as the British twitchers say, showing itself nicely (Eileen Schwinn, who accompanied me on the morning walk, spotted it).

The night watch has been notable as well. The katydids started to sing a day or two ago and they were in full voice (if that's the right word for insect song produced by stridulation or wing-rubbing) last night. Then about 4 a.m., I was awakened by a call that I did not recognize: a kind of longish 'brahhhnk' sound (no trill or tremolo), repeated two or three times. At first I thought it might have been a mammal but this sound was then followed by a series of semi-rhythmic hoots and then the whole sequence was repeated. There were no trills and no whinnies (as one would expect from a Screech Owl) and the hoots were not deep like those you usually hear from a Great Horned Owl. I briefly toyed with the idea of getting up, grabbing a flashlight and looking for the bird but it stopped calling and somehow I fell back asleep. At about 2:30 this afternoon (as I was writing this), I heard a racket from the Blue Jays and, feeling sure that they had found the mysterious owl, I ran outside. Alas, it was 'only' a small accipiter -- either a female Sharp-shin or a male Cooper's lurking in the pines and eventually flying away into the sun.

Eric Salzman