a Murder of Crows redux

Whenever I hear a Murder of Crows, I drop whatever I'm doing, grab the binoculars and rush out to see what the crows have discovered. The last time this happened, I never saw the object of their loud anger and decided it was probably a marauding cat. The previous time it turned out to be two adult Bald Eagles so you never know. Yesterday it was a small furry creature slinking through the grass and tumbled shrubs near the pond shore. Oh dear, another cat. But no, it was a small, somewhat ratty Red Fox!

Another note in the mammal department: Rocky Raccoon (or, more likely, his successor) has been taking his daytime siestas in the high crotch of a big old Pitch Pine just like his old man did. The occasionally noisy nighttime forays of this creature (or his confreres) set off the unfortunate middle-of-the-night barking bouts from Rimsky, our Wheaten Terrier.

The Quogue Wildlife Refuge held its annual BBQ last night and I went with my granddaughter Juliette for a kayak ride around the old ice pond. This is one of the most beautiful and unspoiled spots out here -- a veritable fairyland of water, green islands and shores (Fairy Dell is the old name for the portion of this watershed that lies south of the LIRR tracks at the head of Quantuck Bay). Quite a number of wild flowers are in flower here, notably White Azalea also known as Swamp Honeysuckle, a wetlands specialist and, if you can get close enough to it, a very fragrant plant. In drier areas, Common Milkweed and Common St. John's Wort are in bloom. The Refuge is an excellent locale for native vegetation (including orchids, sundews and pitcher plants).

Eric Salzman

one good tern . . .

A propos of terns (see yesterday's post about a 'new' tern that appeared on Weesuck Creek): both Gull-billed and Sandwich Terns were seen on Wednesday at Cupsogue and Sandwich Tern was seen there again yesterday. Moriches is the next big bay to the west and Cupsogue is probably less than 10 miles away as the tern flies. So much for my theory about default terns (i.e. that Gull-billed is the more likely, Sandwich being more of a stray on Long Island). The two pictures show the similarities and the differences; the Sandwich Tern has the longer tail and the thinner beak while the Gull-billed has a shorter tail, a thicker bill and is generally a bit bulkier and top-heavy. I still think the bird I saw on Wednesday was likely a Gull-billed but it was even more distant appearing than these pictures show and mostly flying away from me. With a littler more experience of these birds in flight, I'm sure I could have made a somewhat more confident call. But figuring it out and learning in the process is, for me, most of the fun.

Mike Bottini wrote me about wild roses, pointing out that Carolina and Pasture Rose are the same species and have straight thorns. Our plants have curved thorns so they are either Virginia or Swamp. The difference has to do with the stipules -- the leafy growths attached to the leaf stalk; on the Swamp Rose they are supposed to 'curl around the stalk'. Well the stipules on these don't curl completely around but they do appear to clasp the stalk. That feature and the habitat would seem to make them Swamp Roses.

A lot of other flowers are in bloom right now, notably Yucca, one of the loosestrifes, Montauk Daisies, Common Mullein and the delicate little Deptford Pinks. These are all basically introduced or garden varieties that do quite well on their own. Yucca (Yucca filmentosa?) is one of those 'near native' southeastern plants that got here thanks to human help but is now quite naturalized. There are native species of loosestrife but I think these plants are a garden escape. One truly striking and unquestioned native, just now coming into bloom is the Striped Wintergreen -- a exotic looking plant of the piney forest floor with striped leaves and beautiful nodding waxy flowers.

Speaking of Yucca, there is a native plant of similar habitat that also should be in bloom right now. I'm talking about Prickly Pear Cactus which, contrary to what a lot of people think, was not introduced but occurs here naturally. It used to flourish in the open area in front of the house but it has been shaded out and all the plants have disappeared.

Eric Salzman

a new tern

A new bird came flying up the creek yesterday afternoon. It was on the Pine Neck side and I didn't have my spotting scope set up but I could see that it was bigger than a Common Tern, not as big as a Royal Tern and had a distinctive look: pale above with dark primary tips, the usual tern black cap and a not so-usual black bill; the classic tern forked tail was proportionally shorter than it appears on the more common terns. Also it had a distinctive mode of flight, rather strong and stiff. My first thought was that it was a Sandwich Tern (the black wing tips seemed to support that but I was too far away to get a good look at the shape of the bill and any color details). On reflection, it occurs to me that the default tern of this size in our area is Gull-billed Tern; the heavy-bodied, front-loaded, short-tailed look of this bird and its strong, heavy mode of flight also point in this direction. I don't see either of these birds very often and either one would be a first for this locality but the Gull-billed is easily the stronger candidate. Unlike the Sandwich Tern, (which is more of a stray on Long Island), Gull-billed is at the northern edge of its range out here, breeding in small numbers on the South Shore west of us. Like some other southern birds of this habitat (Forster's Tern, Boat-tailed Grackle), it may be expanding to the northeast. That means Eastern Long Island.

We're so used to seeing Osprey nowadays but sometimes they warrant a second look. An Osprey soaring on the creek this afternoon turned out to be carrying a fish but, instead of taking it to a nest, he was circling and calling. It didn't take long for him to be joined by a second Osprey and the whole affair started to look like incipient courtship. Then a third Osprey appear, seeming to chase the others away and the two 'courting' birds moved further up the creek while the odd Osprey out returned to the Pine Neck nest. Now the Osprey with the fish began a series of aerial maneuvers that certainly looked to me like display. But suddenly, there were two more Ospreys soaring with the original two over the middle of the creek. All four birds seemed to catch an updraft and they were circling higher and higher before they started peeling off and disappearing. One of them came right over my head, heading out to the western part of Shinnecock. Another one, perhaps the one with the fish, disappeared over the Pine Neck tree line and I never saw what happened to other two. There were five different birds involved in the affair and at least one of them came from the Pine Neck nesting couple. I thought, although I am not completely sure, that they were all adult birds but I suppose there is the possibility that they were young birds from a nearby nest learning from their elders how to fly; they all certainly had the soaring principle down pat and the bird with the fish was a first-rate show-off. Frankly the whole sequence has me mystified.

In yesterday's list of active local 'large flycatchers' (Eastern Kingbird, Great Crested Flycatcher, Eastern Wood-Pewee) I omitted a fourth member of the tribe. Eastern Phoebe belongs with the other big guys; it is, in fact, bigger than the Pewee.

Eric Salzman

Kingbirds in a Pitch Pine

The Kingbirds are definitely focused on a branch of a tall old Pitch Pine. The tree is on a low bluff overlooking the creek just past the mouth of the pond and the branch in question is high and extends out over the water. It is the perfect, classic, quintessential E. Kingbird nest site. Because the two birds are moving freely in and out, I can say that they are either building a nest or feeding young in an existing nest. The site is a stout limb covered with needles thick enough to disguise any construction that might be there. But I'm pretty sure that the nest is under construction because (1) I didn't notice any activity here before the last few days and also (2) because of the way the birds work together -- one perched high and on guard, the other flying into the tree to work on the nest. They call to each other and indulge in some fancy fluttery flights that suggest courtship more than the simple job of making short feeding sallies from one place to another. I don't believe it is necessarily too late for a flycatcher nesting and I'm quite sure I have seen Kingbirds feeding young in Julys past; midsummer has to be the maximum time for a large aerial insectivorous bird to feed a family.

The big flycatchers have it these days: Eastern Wood-pewee and Great Crested Flycatcher have both been active in the woods.

Curiously enough, the Flickers are active in the same front row of trees as the Kingbirds but I hear them over a much wider area extending from Weesuck Avenue all the way across the woods and marsh edge almost to Bay Avenue. These are almost certainly birds that have already nested successfully and may constitute a large family with the young birds learning how to fend for themselves. I've been estimating four birds but there are probably more; Northern Flickers can have as many as nine eggs in a clutch. I think they like the areas that were thinned out by Hurricane Irene probably because there are good infestations of ants and bugs that these birds like to eat (Flickers are basically ground woodpeckers when it comes to feeding although these birds are also working some of the decaying downed wood). They appear to be staying in touch with one another with their loud songs and calls.

Eric Salzman

Fickers abounding

More rain in the night but the morning dawned clear and cool with hefty northwest winds.

A loud, cawing Murder of Crows sent me dashing out the door to see what was up (the last time the crows cried bloody murder in my hearing, it turned out to be two Bald Eagles). This time I never discovered what they were so upset about (it may have been an invisible marauding cat) but I was surprised to see and hear them joined by no less (maybe more) than four Northern Flickers. I suspected right away that this was a family with recently fledged young. Now, even as I am sitting on the porch writing this, one of the Flickers has landed on the cottage fence just outside; it flew down to the ground and then up onto a branch, offering me plenty of opportunity to study it in detail. Perhaps the most unusual thing about this bird was its head markings: a black mustache and a red patch on the nape but also quite a bit of red on the forehead and top of the head. This is a plumage that you will not find in any of the usual field guides but it must indicate an immature or juvenile male bird; I have seen young Hairy Woodpeckers poking their heads out of the nest with red foreheads and I suspect something similar can appear on a young male Flicker! However a loud wick-a-wick-a-wick call suggest that there is at least one adult male in the company.

Eastern Kingbirds continue to operate along the front edge of the woods bordering the pond and creek. One bird seems to take a sentry post calling from the top of a pine, oak or cedar while another bird works lower down, perhaps finding insects on or near the ground. I suspect that the sentry is an adult supervising one or more youngsters who are learning to find food on their own.

I thought that one of the medium-sized terns coming up the creek this morning was an adult Forster's and not a Common Tern. The light wasn't good -- I was up against the bright rising sun -- but this bird has very white primaries and a different silhouette and flight style. Best of all, when it flew past a Common Tern, it looked distinctly larger. What might have been the same bird came flying directly back down the creek with a fish in its mouth, suggesting that it has a breeding site somewhere on the opposite side of the bay. We see Forster's Terns in the late summer and fall but an early summer bird carrying food back across the bay is likely to be nester.

Eric Salzman

a dry intermission

Between last night's rain and this morning's thundering, drenching thunder storms there was a dry intermission that was long enough for me to do a full morning walk. As I left the pond and headed into the marsh, I heard a sound that I can only describe as a cross between an odd-ball crow and a Green Heron. Two good-sized squawking herons came low overhead. I thought they would drop into the pond but instead they veered left heading into the trees on the west side of the pond. I reversed direction, heading back to the pond and, moving cautiously, I was able to get a view of two adult Yellow-crowned Night-Herons perched elegantly on the top of a low Red Cedar. My neighbor, Mike Higgiston, had expressed a serious interest in this species but before I could call him and let him know the two birds took off. Sorry, Mike.

Not long after and more or less in the same area, two or three Eastern Kingbirds, calling to one another, showed up. My first impression was that there was a adult and a young bird, the adult perched at the tip of an oak and the supposed young bird slithering through the lower branches of a Pitch Pine. Later I saw two adults perched high so there may have been three birds in all. Another possibility is that what I thought was a young bird was a female on a late-season reconnoiter for a nest site. As I've mentioned before, Kingbirds have nested at the edge of the marsh in the past and might do so again.

At Saturday's Linnaean Field Trip, there were a number of interesting insects which I neglected to mention in my trip report. The butterfly list included American Copper and Eastern Tailed Blue and there were Halloween Pennant dragonflies at Calverton. Also, the same stocky medium-sized reddish-brown dragonfly that I have been seeing here was also present at Cupsogue and I am more convinced than ever that this is the Spot-winged Glider. It is a sustained flyer that rarely perches and it migrates 'in swarms' from the south so it is logical that it would appear in numbers on the barrier beach as well as at our place on the north side of the bay.

Eric Salzman

Linnaean Field Trip

The hot weather broke just in time for yesterday's Linnaean Field Trip. The Linnaean Society is an old natural history society (the second oldest in the country) which meets at the Museum of Natural History and sponsors talks, field trips, etc. I've been doing this trip (or something like it) for many years now; it's usually billed as "Eastern Long Island specialties" and it usually starts at Shinnecock Inlet. This year, partly because of the Curlew Sandpiper, I decided to start at Cupsogue County Park just off Moriches Inlet and continuing at nearby Pike's Beach, two locations where there are many lingering shorebirds, a good collection of local breeders and various visitors including a variety of terns and possible pelagics.

The area only partly lived up its promise. The Curlew Sandpiper, a distinguished Eurasian visitor, was nowhere to be seen. The Common Terns were active but there were few Least Terns (a species that seems to be doing very badly this year) and we saw just a single Roseate Tern, apparently nesting in the Common Tern colony at the edge of the big spoil island. No other terns were seen unless you count Black Skimmer as a sort of honorary tern. And there were no pelagics unless you count a large unidentified white-winged bird flying away over the bay (possibly a Northern Gannet) and/or a Common Loon in breeding plumage lying dead on the ocean beach. Even without a Curlew Sandpiper, the shorebird collection was a lot more varied than one might expect at this time of the year: Piping Plover, Semipalmated Plover, many Black-bellied Plovers, American Oystercatcher, yellowlegs (calling; I think Lesser), Willets (including at least one Western Willet), Ruddy Turnstone, a few Red Knots (mostly on the island in front of the Pike's Beach overlook), Sanderling, one Dunlin, Semipalmated Sandpipers, a possible White-rumped Sandpiper, and quite a few Short-billed Dowitchers. The dowitchers are usually considered the first fall migrants appearing in the last week of June but, with the obvious exception of local breeders, it seems to me impossible to say where these birds are headed. In my opinion, most of the lingering migrant shore birds are immatures or sub-adults who never reach the breeding grounds in the first place but spend at least part of the summer with us before turning around and heading south.

Did I forget anything? Black-crowned Night-Hernon the marsh; a single Glossy Ibis flying overhead. The usual egrets and cormorants and lots of Barn and Tree Swallows. Osprey here, as elsewhere, seem to be doing well with young birds approaching the age of flight. Willow Flycatcher breeds here and is easily seen and heard; also Eastern Kingbird and Yellow Warbler. There are two birds that should be here but I don't know where to find them; they are the marsh sparrows: Saltmarsh and Seaside. I know where to go on Shinnecock but I still have to figure out the Cupsogue marshes.

Our next stop was Westhampton (Gabreski) Airport where, on arrival, we got a brief glimpse of a Vesper Sparrow plus a pair of Savannah Sparrows, one of which appeared to be very agitated suggesting a nearby nest. My guess is that the nervous bird that hung in close on the airport fence was the female while the second bird, keeping its distance, was its mate. Oddly enough, Savannah Sparrows are the most difficult of the grassland sparrows to locate west of Easthampton! A soaring Turkey Vulture (in the past few years a common summer sight in these parts), a soaring Red-tailed Hawk, a singing sub-adult Eastern Bluebird, Chipping Sparrows, Eastern Kingbirds, an Eastern Phoebe, Brown-headed Cowbirds and a Killdeer more or less completed the local roster at this site.

After a stop at the airport restaurant for lunch, we moved on to ex-Grumman in Calverton and its iconic grassland birds. The middle of the afternoon is not the best time to look for these birds but we did find a couple of Horned Larks, many Grasshopper Sparrows perched on mullein stalks, and many Eastern Meadowlarks, perched and flying (easy to recognize in flight with its characteristic mode of flight, short tail with white outer tail feathers). Singing at the edge of the grasslands were Field Sparrow and Prairie Warbler.

Our last stop was north of the Grumman fence on Route 25a just opposite where the Mountain Bluebird had appeared last winter. The VOR field between Rute 25 and 25a has been mowed and is no longer a propos for savannah species (although it may now be good for grassland species) which have moved one field north to a lot full of emergent Red Cedars. The star bird here is Blue Grosbeak, a species that essentially appeared as nesters in New York in Calverton and is still largely restricted to this area. The bird pictured here was photographed by Michael Lotito and is almost certainly the identical male that we saw yesterday! It made a nice finish to the day.

Eric Salzman

June bug blues?

The hot weather may be uncomfortable for some but insects and reptiles and many of the birds seem to relish it. Spicebush Swallows and Pearl Crescents have appeared along with some of the skippers. The Silver-spotted Skipper on the marsh edge is the easiest but most of the others are maddeningly unidentifiable (Delaware Skipper perhaps; in the grass outside the house). Common Green Darner has appeared with Seaside Dragonlet in the marsh along with those stocky medium-sized dark reddish-brown dragonflies that refuse to perch (a feature that might constitute a field mark; they could be Spot-winged Gliders which are known for their propensity to stay in the air). Box Turtles are active and a Ribbon or Garter Snake type put in a brief appearance. And it's not too early for June bugs (which are traditionally more like July bugs in this neck of the woods).

Yesterday's Red-eyed Vireo sang non-stop (with pauses between choruses but otherwise in a continuous series of vireo question-and-answer phrases) right up until the early evening when I went out. The bird seem to be with a troupe of Black-capped Chickadees that were working the oaks and hickories all around. There are Carolina Wren young out of the nest -- this may be a second brood -- and, by and large, the males have stopped singing. I hear only an occasional burst of the usual loud stereotypical Carolina triplets but also a kind of oddball variation in which the song keeps changing. My guess is that this oddball song is used by unattached males trying to attract a female or secure a territory while the stereotypical triplets come from a territorial male with a mate.

An immature Yellow-crowned Night-Heron was on the pond edge at low tide. This appears to be a second-year bird, class of 2011, but it still supports the idea that Yellow-crowns are nesting somewhere in the vicinity. Green Herons have been active; they definitely nest in the area, maybe even in our own home woods.

Eric Salzman

Red-eye Q&A

This is the time of year for wandering summer visitors and there were a few here this morning: Eastern Kingbird by the pond, Red-eyed Vireo singing in the oaks, a loudly calling Northern Flicker from somewhere. All these birds have some local history. The Flicker was formerly our common breeding woodpecker when we had a larger open area in front of the house where this woodpecker turned into a sandpecker as it dug into the ground to suck up its favorite food, ants; it now seems to have been largely replaced by the Red-bellied Woodpecker which arrived on Long Island in the '70s and is more of a woodland bird. Eastern Kingbird bred for a few years on the rim of the marsh here and might do so again. The Vireo is a common breeder in the near oak woods and, although I have never had the evidence, it could certainly breed here; I have been hearing it on and off all this spring and today's bird has been doing the Red-eye Q&A -- its persistent question-and-answer song -- non-stop all day.

Hot summer weather has brought out a few butterflies (there haven't been many around since the big influx at the beginning of May) and dragonflies (which have been notably absent this spring). Except for a perched Seaside Dragonlet, I haven't identified any of the odentata so far but I'm working on it. There's a definite influx (or hatch) of stocky medium-sized red dragonflies but I haven't succeeded yet in getting a good look at any of them perched.

Eric Salzman

Sumer Is Icumen In

The first day of summer came in like, well, a summer's day: sunny, blue sky, high humidity and a sense of moist warmth hanging over the landscape. The tide was still fairly low and the Black-crowned Night-Heron was still poking around the edges of the pond -- at least until I arrived and spooked him. The Purple Martin colony seems to have sprung back to life and there were Martins as well as Barn Swallows working the air over the marsh which had the promise of considerable insect nourishment. A rather tuneful and colorful male Baltimore Oriole was busy in the oak tops and a White-breasted Nuthatch, perhaps our first summer wandering visitor, was moving with a Chickadee family flock that also included a Downy Woodpecker.

On the flower scene, I noticed a stand of native rose -- is it Virginia, Carolina, Pasture or Swamp Rose? I'm never quite sure -- at the head of the marsh and also along the right of way that runs parallel to the head of the marsh. The Wild Rose by our pond as well as a big stand of Germander or Wood Sage (and a lot of Poison Ivy as well) was wiped out by Hurricane Irene so I was glad to see that the rose at least has survived (I'm not worried about the Poison Ivy and as to the Germander, we'll see). These Wild Roses, unlike the cultivars, have a simple single halo of petals with a large rosette of yellow stamens in the center; the usual color of the petals is a deep rose (rather than pink). These beautiful flowers are a kind of poem to welcome summer in. As Edward McDowell put it, To a Wild Rose!

Eric Salzman

fledglings

I have been under the impression for some time now that I own this place but the crows have a different opinion. As I walk the trails around the place I am pursued by loud, angry corvids who dispute me every step of the way and in the loudest, angriest possible manner. I know that the real reason for all this brouhaha is that there are two or three broods of crow fledglings out there and that the adults are calling attention to themselves only to distract me, to let all crows in the vicinity know that a dangerous predator is lumbering through, and of course to warn their young to take care. Not that the young birds seem very concerned. They hang out in twos and threes high up in the Pitch Pines but quite in the open. How long will all this go on? Probably until the young crows start to disperse.

The crows are not the only birds to have hatched out their broods. A troupe of Black-capped Chickadees almost certainly represents a new family. The Chickadees are also noisy but their buzz-buzz-a-buzz is a minor matter compared to the raucous sound of a murder of crows. However these Chickadees are certainly feisty enough. Three of them separated themselves from the group and two of these were suddenly caught up in a series of whirlwind aerial tangles while the other watched. What was that all about? Two males fighting over a female? Or perhaps just sibling rivalry?

Their relatives, the Tufted Titmice, have been very vocal right through June but I haven't seen any evidence yet of a titmice brood. The Purple Martins, after several times of disturbing quiet, have started to move around again and I can hear their cheery chirping as they hunt insects high over the marsh and, somewhat unusually, I've seen some of them landing on the tops of trees. I had strongly suspected that the Martins may have lost young in the nest colony during the days of heavy rain earlier in the month but now I think that some of the birds I am seeing -- whitish underneath and smudgy on the upper breast and chin -- are newly fledged young ones!

Eric Salzman

here are the pictures

flower power and a revisit with Curly the Sandpiper

Most of the early summer flowers now coming into bloom are garden escapes or introduced species: Day Lily (from Asia), Rambler Rose (traditional garden flower), White Clover (popped out everywhere after the rain replacing the tiny yellow Little Hop Clover which bloomed earlier), Privet (ugh; not my favorite) and probably a number of others. The most spectacular current bloomer, with big orchid-like flowers that are already started to fall, is the Catalpa Tree which I consider a 'near native'; it's a American southerner in the pea family which, like the Honey Locust and a few others, got here with a human assist but which, like the 'Northern' Cardinal or the 'Northern' Mockingbird, has become a conspicuous part of our flora. I could argue that the Cardinal and the Mockingbird, both typical southern birds, also got here with a human assist (of course, unlike birds, flowering plants don't fly -- although their seeds do on occasion). An indisputably native flower in full bloom right now in gardens and around the edges of the woods is/are the Sundrops, the daytime relative of the Evening Primrose, a brilliant low yellow inflorescence with four petals instead of the more usual five.

The bird pictured here is Curly, the Pike's Beach Curlew Sandpiper. I know it's the same one I saw because Tom Lambertson, who generously allowed me to use his pictures, was standing right next to me when he took them. I especially like the one where a feisty Sanderling is trying to eject the interloper -- unsuccessfully, I am happy to add.

Eric Salzman

that Curlew Sandpiper

Curlew Sandpiper, our distinguished shorebird visitor, is a Siberian breeding bird that winters in Africa. In Europe, it's a common fall migrant but mostly in the fall when great numbers migrate in a southwesterly direction -- and in a dull non-breeding plumage. None of that explains how they end up on the Atlantic -- perhaps more commonly than on the Pacific coast (although 'common' is a relative term for this Eurasian vagarant). The mystery of the current bird is even greater in that this is breeding-plumaged male who, in theory, should be heading north to his breeding grounds in Siberia.

One theory is that the bird got somehow mixed up with the flock of Red Knots or with the closely related Dunlin, birds that seem to be short-stopped in Westhampton instead of continuing on to their Arctic breeding grounds. Well, maybe. When I saw the Curlew Sandpiper yesterday, it was hanging out with Sanderlings, Semipalmated Sandpipers and other very different types of shorebirds. In fact, the presence of so many and so various a group of shorebirds in the Cupsogue/Pike's Beach area is remarkable; leaving out the local breeding birds there are at least half a dozen species that should have left a long time ago for their breeding grounds in the far north but, for reasons best known to them, are still here.

I should add that this whole area (and Pike's Beach in particular) has the best shorebirding area on the East End, not only for the variety that can be seen (and often up close) but also for the appearance of the rarer species. I've seen American Avocet, Wilson's Plover, Marbled and Hudsonian Godwits, Red-necked and Little Stints (at the same time!), Wilson's and Red-necked Phalarope! This is also a good place for terns including Black Tern, Forster's Tern (which probably breeds in the area), Roseate Tern, Arctic Tern and, in season, Royal and Caspian Terns; also that pseudo-tern, Black Skimmer. On the same day that I saw the two stints, I also saw a Cayenne Tern which is the South American version of Sandwich Tern!

One of the things that makes this area so attractive to birds of both the nesting and migratory persuasions is that it is our best remaining area for Horseshoe Crabs, especially now that the great breeding conglomerations at Shinnecock have been decimated by the outrageous collection of these ancient animals by the invasion of baymen from neighborhood states (where it is illegal to harvest them). If New York State doesn't act to ban the collection of Horseshoe Crabs, they will disappear from our waters along with the beautiful birds that feed on their eggs.

Eric Salzman

a rare bird

I couldn't go look for the Curlew Sandpiper yesterday because I had an eye exam and the darn doctor dilated my eyes making driving and birding impossible! I went out very early this morning, not long after dawn, to the Westhampton Dunes platform overlooking the bay island at Pike's Beach where the bird had been seen yesterday (it had in fact been found at Cupsogue the day before but it was known to frequent this island and, with a spotting scope, the platform was, if you ignored the mosquitos, an excellent place to see it).

The tide was quite high and the island was reduced to a mere sliver. The raft of shorebirds still there included several different species busily working the sand and salt water for whatever it is that nourishes these creatures of the sand and salt in mid-June: a dozen or so Red Knots (with which the Curlew Sand was reportedly hanging out) plus American Oystercatcher, a Black-bellied Plover, many Willets (including a Western Willet, noticeably lighter and bigger than the locals), Sanderlings, Ruddy Turnstones, Semipalmated Sandpipers, dowitchers...but no Curlew Sandpiper. Finally, the rising tide covered what was left of the island, most of the birds departed and so did I.

Ah, but was I ready to give up so easily? No, indeed. A couple of hours later, as the tide began to drop, I was back at the overlook but overlooking many of the same birds. The supporting cast without the star. After hanging out for a while on the chance that the bird would show up, I became aware of a group of birders a ways to the east on the other side of Pike's Beach; I could see that they were working their way over the top of the peninsula which had been formed, lo these many years ago, by The Perfect Storm (the 1991 hurricane/nor'easter that isolated Westhampton dunes from the rest of the world for a while and created the best shorebird habitat on the East End).

I drove over to the Pike's Beach parking lot and, shouldering my spotting scope, headed east along the bay front and then over the top of the peninsula, being careful to take a circular route to avoid flushing any birds on the east side of the peninsula. Bingo! Along with a supporting cast of birds and quite a few birders, some of them old friends, was our featured performer. He was hanging, not with Knots, but with a small group of Sanderlings, Ruddy Turnstones, Semipalmated Sandpipers and, oddly enough, a Piping Plover. Amidst this group of rather modest and rather modestly attired citizens of the sand, the big, flamboyant Curlew Sandpiper, in full breeding plumage, stood out like the star attraction that he was: a good-sized bird with a strong black curved bill (hence his name), dark intense rufous body color, a striking white eye ring, something of an eye stripe and a ring of white at the base of the bill, a black-and-red marbled back, grayish upper wing with black-and-white wings which, when seen in flight, are almost as striking at the Willet's; also an all- white underwing, white rump and white lower underparts with long, black legs. This elegant Eurasian sandpiper nests in Siberia and is only a vagrant in North America. Even so, it is usually seen in non-breeding plumage. This male in top breeding plumage is a truly distinguished visitor.

Eric Salzman

from the creek and marsh

Even with the shift in weather from rain and overcast to clear and sunny, there was very little activity over the marsh this morning -- only a couple of Purple Martins and a Barn Swallow or two which, frankly, has me worried. If the Martins were feeding young, they should be all over the place.

Mother Mallard appeared on the creek with four half-grown ducklings in tow which surprised me as I had previously seen no evidence of waterfowl nesting this year; the swan pair that 'owns' the creek seems to have abandoned its attempts for the season and if there were some Mallard chicks around they must have been very well hidden (four is not a big brood). The Osprey are still feeding young in their nest and both Common and Least Terns come up the creek fishing (these birds nest on the other side of the bay). Black-crowned Night-Heron in breeding plumage -- with two long white streamers coming out of the back of the head -- comes up the creek every day but, when the tide is high in the morning, he or she passes up our marsh and pond (the muddy edges are covered) for some better spot further upstream. Willets are still active on the creek but, by and large, they stick to the other side these days; perhaps they have decided to nest in the Pine Neck marsh.

A Common Yellowthroat singing on the edge of the marsh this morning but no Yellow Warbler; the two warbler species seem to alternate days. There are a handful of Song Sparrow territories all along the edge of the marsh and one of these sparrows has a very distinctive tune. All Song Sparrows have several different songs, each of which they repeat a few times before moving on to another. But most Song Sparrow songs begin with a few whistled or slurred notes in a high register. In contrast, this song begins with seven or eight perfect flutey notes on the same pitch and in a medium register, a very striking effect. The first time I heard it, I thought it was a new species just arrived on the scene. But no, the singer is a perfectly ordinary Melospiza melodia, undistinguished except for his piping signature flourish (the second half of the tune is an ordinary Song Sparrow jumble).

Eric Salzman

Bank Swallows reconsidered

I got a lot of responses to my posts about Bank Swallows from people on Long Island who wanted to tell me about their local colonies of this species. Most of these colonies are on the cliffs facing LI Sound or the interior bays (Peconic & Gardiners). What I was seeing here on the South Shore was a small number of Bank Swallows on a daily basis followed by fairly large influx of them on the marsh on a single day last week. Since then I've had only a single brief glimpse of what might have been a Bank Swallow. All this leads me to the conclusion that these birds were likely not local breeders (which I would expect to see here on a regular basis) but late migrants on their way north. Bank Swallows have quite a northerly range for swallows and I suspect that the colder parts of their range hatch a lot of insects but only well into June.

To be honest, there were very few swallows of any kind over the marsh this morning after yesterday's heavy rains. I really do wonder how the martins, swallows and swifts survive a few days without insects. The rain was also hard on mid-June flowers including the Rambler Roses, Sundrops and other daytime flowers just now coming into full bloom. On the other hand, the Hawkweed, a flower that does not like the full sun and tends to flower in the morning, is in full daytime, daylong display under heavy skies.

Unfortunately, Nuttall's Lobelia did not do as well. Eric Lamont writes me that "Lobelia nuttallii is listed as a rare plant in New York" and has an S3 rating on the New York Natural Heritage Program. So it was a good find (his words)! Alas, the rain and/or the high tides seem to have done in the half dozen specimens of this rare plant in the one stand that I found. I can only hope that there are at least a few viable seeds to tide it over (no pun intended) until next year.

Eric Salzman

size matters

It's counter-intuitive but it seems as though it's the big guys who are doing well these days in the bird department. Yes, I'm thinking of American Crows and Northern Raven, both doing well and expanding their ranges. Also Turkey Vulture and, to a lesser degree, Black Vulture which have gone from rare to common around here in just three or four years. The survival and revival of Osprey, Bald Eagle and some of the big hawks -- led by Red-tailed Hawk and Peregrine Falcon -- had a human assist no doubt; we quit putting DDT into the environment and some of these A-list raptors were raised in captivity and released into the wild. Even so, their success has exceeded expectations. Other big birds of their kind that have done well include owls (Great Horned Owl, common in our back woods and expanding its range into New York City), gulls (you know), cormorants, some of the herons and egrets (Great Blue, Great Egret) and some of the larger shorebirds (American Oystercatcher, Willet). In the songbird department, the American Robin, Blue Jay, Red-winged Blackbird, Northern Mockingbird, Northern Cardinal and Common Grackle -- as well as those crows and ravens -- are the birds that we see all over the place; they are the big guys, the survivors that have learned how to live with us.

Their smaller cousins have not always done as well. The American Kestrel, the smallest of our daytime birds of prey, was once the most common raptor on Long Island both as a breeder and in migration; but its populations have fallen off dramatically and the only place that it is really successful these days is in New York City (it nests under the eaves of town houses and feeds on sparrows and cockroaches). Down at the shore, the Red Knots are in trouble and, outside of the managed colony at Great Gull Island, the terns have a never-ending battle (the most successful tern seems to be the big Royal which visits us in the summer); the Least Tern, along with its open-sand companion, the Piping Plover, struggles to maintain its foothold on our beaches. Even among the songbirds, the orioles, tanagers, towhees and thrashers are doing better than the relatively smaller warblers, vireos, finches and native sparrows. Even with the humble wrens, the bigger, bolder Carolina has become more common than the retiring House Wren.

I'm sure there are plenty of exceptions to the above observations. Relatively big birds like Wood Thrush are not doing well and small birds like the Tufted Titmouse are thriving. Still it's notable that big and bold (and often colorful) can be the better survival tactic in a tough environment where you would expect small, plain and secretive to be a more useful life strategy.

Eric Salzman

...an ill wind...

Winds from the southeast -- east and southeast are probably our least common winds -- bringing coolness and a mix of clouds and sun. I had an unpleasant experience with the wind on the trail this morning when a previous unnoticed shrub bent over in the breeze and caressed my face from an unexpected direction. I turned to see what it was and realized it was a new, energetic, supple, eye-level growth of, yes, Poison Ivy! Fortunately, I am not very susceptible to the depredations of this dreaded vegetable but then I don't usually use Poison Ivy leaves as a washcloth. We'll see what happens.

Crows are not the only birds with fledgling young. A Carolina Wren, possibly a female, appeared on the trail in front of me calling attention to herself with a characteristic trilling sound. As I moved towards her, she stood her ground and, only at the last moment, flew a bit further ahead and then repeated the same routine. I'm sure she was leading me away from her nest or fledged young hidden in the dense shrubbery. The reappearance of calling Great Crested Flycatchers and Pine Warblers in the past two or three days undoubtedly also had to do with the emergence of young birds; while they are sitting on eggs or brooding nestlings, most birds go quiet. But when the young fledge, the adults suddenly find their voices again -- renewed song, alarm calls or both may serve as warnings to the young but also divert the attention of large threatening predators away from the babies.

Eric Salzman

Birds in Black

We don't have Men in Black (at least not around here) but we sure do have Birds in Black.

Probably the most beautiful black -- a deep and glossy true black -- belongs to male the Red-winged Blackbirds but they do have those red and yellow epaulets (and the females are not black at all). You might think of the Common Grackles as blackbirds but, in the bright sunlight, their plumage has a colorful sheen (the same is true of the big male Boat-tailed Grackles down at the shore).

The real all-black black birds are not 'blackbirds' at all but corvids: i.e. Common Raven, Fish Crow and American Crow. The Ravens are as close as Hampton Bays and Fish Crows are a regular flyover but it's the Am Crow that dominates the scene these days. There has long been a 'colony' on Pine Neck but, for many years, our Red-winged Blackbirds succeeded in keeping them on the far side of Weesuck Creek. Every time a Crow started to come across, an entire squadron of Red-wings would come up to meet it and drive it off. I used to describe it as the Battle of Britain with the RAF fighter planes driving off the Nazi bombers. But, for better or for worse, the Crows eventually made it across and established a branch office on this side of the creek with at least three or four pairs in residence. The crow nests are remarkably well hidden in our Pitch Pines but when the young hatch out the secret is out of the bog...er, bag. Some birds try to keep quiet when their young are out of the nest. Not the crows. The young crows from at least two different nests are now fledged and they make some unpleasant braying sounds while the adults keep up an even more fearful noise. What's the noise all about? Good question. Perhaps the adults have in mind distracting any meandering predators, homo sapiens included, that might stumble into the neighborhood.

I'm reading a very delightful and informative book by John Marzluff and Tony Angell -- two disciples of the great corvidolgoist Bernd Heinrich -- entitled "Gifts of the Crow" about the relationship between crows and people. They suggest that corvids and hominids have a long history of coevolution and many of their stories suggest friendly relations between these modern-day dinosaur descendants and modern-day dominant primates. Friendly Crows? Well, not around here. When I traipse the local trails these days, the Birds in Black set up a terrible racket. Have they found a couple of Bald Eagles on the premises? No, it's my approach and my nearness to their just-fledged young that causes the trouble.

Eric Salzman

Inlet Pond

I did a program on Eastern Long Island breeding birds yesterday evening for North Fork Audubon at the Red House, their headquarters at Inlet Pond County Park just north of Greenport. I had never been to this park before and, since we arrived a bit early, we were able to walk part of one of the trails down to the edge of the big pond. The park itself has a substantial shorefront on Long Island Sound but the Inlet Pond, cut off at present from the Sound, appears to be largely fresh. You can hear the chorus of frogs -- bull and green mostly I think -- and there were Wood Ducks in one of the coves both seen and heard. These upper reaches would be good breeding territory for this charismatic species; the installation of a Wood Duck nest box would be helpful.

Although much of the vegetation here consists of introduced species (as opposed to the new North Fork Reserve where there is a higher percentage of native vegetation), the place is very birdy with active, singing American Redstarts and Yellow Warblers all over the place. There were Rose-breasted Grosbeaks -- at least two males -- singing and calling (loud metallic chinks); these birds, uncommon breeders around here, are almost certainly nesting. Other residents spotted in this short visit included Hairy Woodpecker, Cedar Waxwings, House and Carolina Wrens, Blue-winged Warbler, and Eastern Towhee. All of these birds act as though they are on territory and are good candidates for helping out with the future of their kind; it made a nice introduction to the subject of local breeding birds.

Eric Salzman

breeding bird program at N. Fork Audubon

I'm doing a program on breeding birds of Long Island (focusing on Eastern Long Island) at North Fork Audubon tonight, June 8, at 7 pm. The program takes place at Red House at Inlet Pond County Park in Greenport, which is located at 65275 Route 48 (the North Road). It's located on the north side of Route 48, a few hundred feet east of LI Kampgrounds. You can see the house from the road. There's a parking lot out front, and a small white sign that says "North Fork Audubon" at the beginning of the driveway.

Eric Salzman

old favorites

A lot of old favorites hanging around this morning: Black-crowned night Heron, Red-eyed Vireo, Yellow Warbler, Cedar Waxwing, American Goldfinch and Great Crested Flycatcher. Some of these birds are still singing, some are quiet. In recent days, there has been an occasional wheep from the Great Crested but not much more. I suspect that, like many of these birds, it is in nesting mode which requires that it attract a lot less attention to itself than when its in mating mode. I wonder if that's also the case with the Common Yellowthroat or whether this species -- which used to live up to its common name around here -- has just abandoned us; after a few early arrivals last month, I am not hearing the distinctive song.

I'm sure that the crows have young. I've heard young calling and the adults are in a constant state of agitation -- whether or not there is a Bald Eagle in view. In fact they seem to regard me as one degree worse than a Bald Eagle or Red-tailed Hawk.

Several people have written me about Bank Swallows. They are common nesters on Long Island but not traditionally on the South Shore. Bank Swallows, Belted Kingfishers and, to a lesser degree, Rough-winged Swallows need stable banks into which they build their nest burrows. Sand dunes on the ocean side are usually too unstable and, aside from eroded banks mostly facing north (on Long Island Sound, Peconic Bay and Gardiners Bay), the preferred locale has been old sand mines where there is vegetation holding the banks together. East Quogue Mines used to have both Bank Swallows and Kingfishers but I think the expanding operation has obliterated the sand banks where they were raising young (and they are definitely discouraging visitors who might like to investigate the situation).

Eric Salzman

Bank Swallows redux and a new wildflower

Bald Eagles and phalaropes are glamor birds but the recent proliferation of Bank Swallows along the South Shore has also been worthy of note. Luke Ormand reminds me that Bank Swallows have nested in the cut at Mecox and also in coastal dunes at Sagg Pond. I've also seen them at Wainscott Pond and in Westhampton at or near the dunes. But Bank Swallows were noticeably absent this morning from our East Quogue marsh so perhaps the numbers seen earlier in the week were late migrants afer all. I'll keep looking for them.

I found a small stand of a new wildflower coming up in the damp soil near the head of the marsh. It took me a while to figure out what it was because I still use the old Petersen wildflower guide which is organized by color and the miniature flowers of this plant appeared to me to be quite perfectly white and three lobed. Only this morning did I see the very pale lilac tinge as well as the two thin upper lobes above the three lower lobes. I assume that would make it a lobelia, probably Nuttall's Lobelia, a southern plant at or close to the northern end of its range here. According to the books, this species is supposed to grow in sand but the plants on our place are growing in dark soil within the range of the high tides that has been inundating the marsh edges recently. Hope they survive; they are rather delicate, exotic little things.

Back to the birds. There was a Black-crowned Night-Heron on the pond this morning (the morning tide is starting to be quite low). A male Am Goldfinch has been actively singing along the edge of woods and water, sometimes flying out over the creek in an elaborate extension of what I would have to describe as a Goldfinch long song. This species is noted for its late season nesting (and for its lack of defined territory). Why should this bird (I assume that it's always the same bird) suddenly become so vocal? Cedar Waxwings are also late nesters and there's a pair of them around; they don't have much of a love song but they have some high-pitched buzzy whistles which they seem to use to stay in touch; they are often in -- where else? -- Red Cedars where they appear to feed. But on what? insects? nascent cedar berries?

Eric Salzman

Bank Swallows and . . .

The past few days have been very active over the marsh but when I went down there this morning -- after two days of northeast winds and a decided drop in the temperature -- there was nothing flying. Then, as the sun began to poke tentatively through the clouds, a dozen or so Bank Swallows suddenly appeared, zipping around like the miniature torpedos that they resemble. The classic way to tell Bank Swallows is from the picture in the book: brown on top with a paler rump, white below with a distinct breast band. But almost none of that is very easy to discern as the birds race around their air space. What is easy to see is the torpedo shape, small size with a short tail, the shallow, fast wingbeats and the darting style of flight -- aerial Browning movements.

Where do these Bank Swallows come from? In the past few days, they have even more numerous than the Barn Swallows, Purple Martins and Chimney Swifts which have been feeding on the no-see-ums and other marsh insect outbreaks. Are they local nesters? Bank Swallows nest colonially in sand banks (in Britain and elsewhere they are called Sand Martins) and, in our area, the usual place to find them is near the high, eroded banks facing the Peconic/Gardiners bay system; they also nest in the sand cliffs at Montauk. There might be sand dunes somewhere stable enough to harbor a South Shore colony or perhaps they have set up housekeeping in sand mines in the moraine. Yesterday, I was surprised to see Bank Swallows riding the wind storm and even landing on the sand flats at Mecox where I went to look for phalaropes (successfully). Maybe all these coastal Bank Swallows are late migrants moving to locations in Newfoundland and Labrador (according to most range maps, Bank and Tree Swallows seem to be the most northerly nesting swallows)?

As readers of this blog will know, two adult Bald Eagles were here on Sunday, pretty much all day. I didn't see them yesterday but this morning there was a large raptor sitting in a pine tree on Pine Neck and being hassled by crows. I couldn't see any details (such as a white head) and by the time I ran back to the house for the scope and then back down to the water to set up, both the raptor and its hasslers were gone. Then this afternoon, just before the rain started, I wandered down to the water, scanned the opposite shore and, lo and behold, found a Bald Eagle asittin' on a tree quite out in the open, white head in perfect view and not a nagging crow in sight.

Eric Salzman

Mecox

I was in Southampton today and took the opportunity to visit Mecox. There was a stiff northeast breeze blowing across the wide open bay -- not the best viewing conditions. But there were open sand flats and a variety of birds including a couple of phalaropes, always great favorites: a handsome Red-necked in the water and a Wilson's running around on the sand flats, both breeding plumage females (in the phalaropes, the females have the showy plumage). The attached photos of the Red-necked -- almost certainly the same bird seen today -- were taken on Sunday at Mecox by Frank Quevedo.

There were modest numbers of other shore birds including at least one calling White-rumped Sandpiper (the scratchy call is unmistakable), a Dunlin, a couple of Dowitchers, several Piping Plovers, several Black-bellied Plovers, some numbers of Semipalmated Plovers and quite a few Sanderlings and Semipalmated Sandpipers. There were 15 or 16 Black Skimmers roosting on a sand bar, several very active Osprey (a couple of them with fresh fish in their grasp) plus the usual collection of gulls.

There were also many Bank Swallows flying hither and thither and also roosting on the sand flats. Are these local birds or migrants? There were also quite a few Bank Swallows on our East Quogue marsh this morning but, alas, no Bald Eagles.

Eric Salzman

drama on Weesuck Creek

I was sitting on our porch mid-morning, enjoying the good weather and wondering what exactly I was going to write in today's post when a noisy row of angry crows struck up in front of the house. It wasn't exactly the really furious sound of crows attacking a hawk but rather a chorus of hoots that were almost hesitant, yet strong enough to suggest that something serious had incurred their displeasure. I tried to sneak out the porch door, moving as quietly as possible in an effort to avoid flushing up the object of all this corvid ire. As usual the effort was in vain and I could see that a very large raptor was in the air. That's funny, thought I; the crows don't usually go after Osprey. Suddenly the 'Osprey' wheeled around in mid-air showing an all-white tail. There were two birds. Wait, the other one was a . . . no, it was an actual Osprey joining the crows to chase an old traditional enemy. Who or what was this enemy? It was a very big bird with a white tail and a white head.

Bald Eagle.

As this adult Bald Eagle hightailed it across the water with crows and Osprey on its tail, I ran back to the house to get Lorna and the spotting scope. The bird had settled in a low Pitch Pine on Pine Neck, directly across the creek from where we were perched. It was half-hidden in the tree and the crows were trying, quite unsuccessfully, to flush it out. As we watched through the scope, the Eagle moved a bit out in the open as to make room for -- wait for it -- a second Eagle in even more resplendent adult plumage coming in from the right and landing right next to the first in the low Pitch Pine. Two adult Bald Eagles sat sitting side by side for a spell!

After this somewhat extended session of togetherness, the first Eagle -- possibly a sub-adult and identifiable by its slightly streaky white head -- left its companion and flew to a higher and more exposed perch on a tree somewhat further upstream. I've seen a handful of Bald Eagles here, usually in the air, never more than one at a time, not always fully adult, and always in fall migration; this was our first spring sighting and had the look of a young pair.

I reached Eileen Schwinn, one of our few East Quogue birders, to tell her about the eagles but she was looking at Mississippi Kites up in the Sterling Forest! Fortunately Mike Higgiston, another of our limited supply of East Quogue birders, turned up to verify the sighting, making it official.

Eventually Eagle #2 flew up to join Eagle #1 on its higher and more exposed perch and the two of them again sat together for a bit. Neither of the eagles was much bothered by the crows but when the Osprey came by for another visit, they visibly reacted, stretching out their necks with their massive bills upturned and wide open; perhaps they were calling but, as the Osprey soared in close, the eagles seemed to be saying in unison: "Don't come too close!". Eventually Eagle #1 took off flying down the creek and then over Pine Neck with a crow in hot pursuit. It was followed shortly thereafter by Eagle #2 and as this second bird struggled to get altitude, the Osprey came after it in hot pursuit. Only after a serious tangle or two (at one point, the Eagle flipped over to show its claws) did the Eagle break away and both birds were lost to sight.

Who should turn up a little later in the afternoon but Eileen Schwinn on her way back from Sterling Forest. Well, of course, the eagles were long gone -- except that they weren't! Both Bald Eagles were back in view soaring majestically over Weesuck Creek! Wow!

Eric Salzman

a change in the weather

The change in weather last night was dramatic with a shift from clear and dry with northeast winds to cloudy and stormy with strong southwest winds. The humidity and the rather warm temperatures suggested that we were experiencing the fallout from a tropical storm. Rain and wind helped make the morning high tide even higher than usual and both pond and marsh, including my usual marsh edge trails, were flooded forcing me to pick my way around as best I could.

There were three Osprey hanging out at Pine Neck Point on the other side of the creek. At least one had a fish and the second might have been its mate. It had been a windy, rainy, stormy night but the weather let up a bit after it became light and it's possible that both adults might have been out looking for food, not just for themselves but for their offspring (until now it has almost always been one adult at a time; presumably the other had to stay home sitting on the eggs or brooding the hatchlings). The third bird, perhaps an intruder, perhaps an offspring from a previous year, just seemed to want to horn in. Fishing in these choppy waters cannot be an easy proposition and the Osprey was lucky (or skilled) enough to score a good-sized fish. Bait fish were another story; there were no terns at all even giving it a try.

I forgot to mention it before but Arrowwood Viburnum or Southern Arrowwood (Viburnum dentatum) is a native wildflower in bloom right now; it has little bouquets of white flowers. The Big-leaf Magnolia's jurassic flower show is now over and on one tree at least, many little cones have formed which will become the pineapple-like seed bearing fruits.

Eric Salzman

On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring

I heard my first cuckoo of the year this morning. Of course it was not the classic two-note cuckoo-clock COO-coo (that belongs to the European bird which doesn't occur here) but rather a soft, even double-note -- poo-poo, poo-poo, poo-poo -- given as a discrete series of calls with pauses between each group. This was almost certainly a Black-billed Cuckoo 'song' but, try as I might, I could not get a glimpse of the bird hiding in the dense, leafy tops of the hickories.

There was a lot of grackle agitation along the edge of the marsh this morning, the source of which was revealed when a young and virtually tailless bird flew up from the reeds. There are also probably chicks in the Pine Neck Osprey nest; yesterday evening I saw an Osprey tearing apart a fish on a dead stub and then fly to the nest. This morning's bird list also included Green Heron, a Bank Swallow over the marsh with the Barn Swallows and Purple Martins, Yellow Warbler, a female Pine Warbler, Baltimore Orioles calling on both sides of the creek, and several House Finches both male and female. Common Yellowthroat remains inexplicably silent.

Mike Bottini points out that yesterday's Horseshoe Crab buried in the sand was probably not laying eggs as there was no smaller male attached to fertilize the eggs (which are ferilized externally at the moment of laying). He thinks it may have been an individual left high and dry by the falling tide and it may have buried in to keep from drying out while awaiting the next high tide (and the arrival of some cooperative males?).

Eric Salzman