frost is on the pumpkin

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

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

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

Eric Salzman

After the nor'easter

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

Eric Salzman

winter flocks

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

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

Eric Salzman

king tides

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

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

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

Eric Salzman

accipiters gone, birds busy

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

Eric Salzman

where did they go?

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

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

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

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

Eric Salzman

'Rumps' not 'Throats'

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

Eric Salzman

A blizzard of Yellow-throats

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

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

Eric Salzman

on the rails

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

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

Eric Salzman

The Big Year

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

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

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

Eric Salzman

arrival of the White-throats

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

Eric Salzman

A Day's Birding in Hungary

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

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

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

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

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

Mute Swan (Cygnus olor)

(Greater) White-fronted Goose (Anser albifrons)

Greylag Goose (Anser anser)

Mallard (Anas platyrhynchos)

Northern Shoveler (Anas clypeata)

(Eurasian) Teal (Anas crecca)

(Common) Pochard (Aythya ferina)

Ferruginous Duck (Aythya nyroca)

Common Goldeneye (Bucephala clangula)

(Common) Pheasant (Phasianus colchicus)

Little Grebe (Tachybaptus ruficollis)

Great Crested Grebe (Podiceps cristatus)

(Great) Cormorant (Phalacrocorax carbo)

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

(Black-crowned) Night Heron (Nycticorax nycticorax)

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

Grey Heron (Ardea cinerea)

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

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

(Western) Marsh Harrier (Circus aeroginosus)

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

Common Buzzard (Buteo buteo)

(Eurasian) Sparrowhawk (Accipiter nisus)

Common Kestrel (Falco tinnunculus)

Peregrine Falcon (Falco peregrinus)

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

Water Rail (Rallus aquaticus) – heard only

(Common) Moorhen (Gallinula chloropus)

(Eurasian) Coot (Fulica atra)

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

(Pied) Avocet (Recurvirostra avocetta)

Grey (Black-bellied) Plover (Pluvialis squatarola)

Northern Lapwing (Vanellus vanellus)

Dunlin (Calidris alpina)

Little Stint (Calidris minuta)

Spotted Redshank (Tringa erythropus)

(Common) Greenshank (Tringa nebularia)

Black-tailed Godwit (Limosa limosa)

(Eurasian) Curlew (Numenius arquata)

Common Snipe (Gallinago gallinago)

Ruff (Philomachus pugnax)

Black-headed Gull (Chroicocephalus ridibundus)

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

Rock Dove (Columba livia)

Stock Dove (Columba oenas)

Collared Dove (Streptopelia orientalis)

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

Common Kingfisher (Alcedo atthis)

Great Spotted Woodpecker (Dendrocopos major)

Lesser Spotted Woodpecker (Dendrocopos minor)

Crested Lark (Galerida cristata)

Meadow Pipit (Anthus pratensis)

White Wagtail (Motacilla alba)

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

Stonechat (Saxicola torquata)

(Common) Blackbird (Turdus merula)

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

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

Great Tit (Parus major)

(European) Blue Tit (Cyanistes caeruleus)

Long-tailed Tit (Aegithalos caudatus)

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

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

Great Grey Shrike (Lanius excubitor)

Jackdaw (Corvus monedula)

Rook (Corvus frugilegus)

Hooded Crow (Corvus cornix)

Common Starling (Sturnus vulgaris)

House Sparrow (Passer domesticus)

Tree Sparrow (Passer montanus)

Chaffinch (Passer coelebs)

(European) Goldfinch (Carduelis carduelis)

(European) Greenfinch (Chloris chloris)

Reed Bunting (Emberiza schoeniclus)


Eric Salzman

a brief morning walk and a long evening trip

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

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

Eric Salzman

accipiter and sapsuckers

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

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

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

Eric Salzman

Rails a-calling

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

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

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

Eric Salzman

a lighter flight but a good one

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

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

Eric Salzman

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

cackles and warbles

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

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

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

Eric Salzman

a burst of activity

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

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

Eric Salzman

a flock or two

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

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

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

Eric Salzman

Return of the Jedi

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

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

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

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

Eric Salzman

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

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

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

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

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

Eric Salzman

size place

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

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

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

Eric Salzman