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

An Embassy of Empids and a Pelican

Although the weather has turned fall-ish, there has not been a big migratory movement in the wake of Irene with the exception of one group of birds: the empids. In recent days, I have seen more empids than I usually find in a whole season and some of them were even identifiable. Empids are small flycatchers of the genus Empidonax, notorious for the difficulties in separately them. They all have wing bars and most have eye rings, often quite conspicuous. They all sit upright and they mostly frequent brushy habitat. There were at least three or four Least Flycatchers, recognizable by their gray, big-headed looks and bold eye-rings. A large-ish empid with a distinct greenish tinge to its plumage was easily identified as an Acadian Flycatcher and a couple of brownish types with very narrow eye-rings were probably Alders. One missing Eastern empid was the Yellow-bellied Flycatcher which was pretty reliably reported from the Quogue Wildlife Refuge a couple of days ago.

Wednesday morning there were several empids briefly seen and not well identified. But one largish. brownish bird, well seen at eye-level, had a faintly yellowish belly, buff wing bars, white edges on the flight feathers, a short to moderate primary projection, a notably peaked cap on the rear crown and -- most significantly -- no eye-ring at all. I am all but certain that this was a Willow. This is the local breeding empid but, although it nests as near as Quogue, I have never heard its characteristic song around here. The Willow is the (relatively) common local breeding empid but, although it occurs as a breeder as near as Quogue, I have never heard its characteristic song around here and when it doesn't call, it can be very difficult to distinguish from the Alder. Not many Willows breed north of us and most of the migrant 'Traill's Flycatchers' (the old name for the Alder and Willow together before they were separated) that occur on our place are almost certainly Alders. But, unless I am very mistaken, Alders always show at least a very narrow or inconspicuous eye-ring. Even the Eastern Wood-pewee (actually the main confusion species with the Willow) has a trace of an eye-ring. But this bird, well seen close up, had absolutely none. So it goes on the property list -- right after (chronologically speaking) the Bridled Tern!

A few warblers: Black-and-white, American Redstart and our two regulars, Common Yellowthroat and Northern Waterthrush -- at least three individuals of the latter species seen at the same time this morning.

Eileen Schwinn found a Brown Pelican at Tiana Beach on Wednesday and it was still there when I dashed down for a look (see Eileen's photo attached). Dune Road suffered remarkably little damage from Irene but there was plenty of evidence of wash-over and there was still a lot of water in the road. But the most remarkable sight was the presence of literally thousands of Tree Swallows -- I would guess something like 10-15,000, perhaps more -- perched in the reeds and dune shrubs, lined up on the Dune Road wires, or swarming in the air in cyclonic form like a hurricane of swallows, most notable when flushed by a passing Kestrel or Merlin. Most of them were concentrated in the Ponquogue area but new swallows kept arriving and there were pods and flights all the way west past Tiana with many of the birds skimming low over the Spartina marshes and even seeming to enter into the now tall marsh reeds.

After I returned home, I got the idea of trying to spot the pelican with my (relatively) new spotting scope. We are exactly opposite Tiana Beach and, from the edge of our pond, I can see across Shinnecock Bay to the wooden and floating dock area where the bird has been hanging out. I was going to add Brown Pelican to the property list!!! But alas, even at the highest magnification, I couldn't locate it. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow.

Eric Salzman