returns of the day

The Tricolored Heron was back this morning. It came in as I was standing on the edge of the pond; it seemed to come up from the marsh and it actually flew straight towards me, landing in the middle of the pond. Among the pond denizens, only the Willet is so tame that it will fly at you rather than away from you when your figure looms up across its field of vision.

Yes, the Willet was there too. Also a Green Heron -- much more shy than the other waders -- was hiding in the trees at the edge of the marsh; it was, I think, being harassed by crows. The crows were very nervous this morning and one of them in particular was raising up quite a racket. Curious to see what the trouble was, I tracked her down only to realize that he (or she) was in fact tracking me! I was the intruder she was yelling about. The explanation was almost certainly that there was a newly fledged young crow in the area and I realized that I could make out its calls quite clearly.

It's often said that the calls of a young crow and the calls of the Fish Crow can be confused but when you hear them at the same time, as I did this morning, the differences are quite clear. The Fish Crow calls were isolated repeated nasal notes in a steady pattern while the young crow's calls were much more random and varied.

Among the morning's return visitors: Great Crested Flycatcher and Pine Warbler, two species that have, I believe, a wide circular range that includes our woodlands. Also Red-eyed Vireo and Common Yellowthroat. The Brown Thrasher, who sang all yesterday afternoon, did not reappear.

A House Finch sings regularly at the foot of Weesuck Avenue (just off our property); this is a species that was formerly much more common but was apparently decimated by an epidemic; it may now be making a comeback. And, though I don't like to admit it, the dreaded Cowbird -- a species that parasitizes other birds by laying its eggs in their nest (with the result that they raise Cowbirds rather than their own young) -- is also in the neighborhood.

Two more (and better) pictures of the Big-leaf Magnolia, Magnolia macrophylla, in bloom.

Eric Salzman

big leaf & little leaf

The Jurassic Park tree is in full bloom.

The real name of this exotic tree is Big-leaf Magnolia or Magnolia macrophylla (which translates exactly to "Big-leaf Magnolia"!). The Jurassic Park moniker was bestowed on this tree by Eileen Schwinn and it fits. It is not a towering tree but it has the largest leaf and the largest single flower of any North American plant, something you'd expect to find in California or Texas perhaps but not in your own back yard. And the Jurassic Park designation is reasonably accurate for another reason: magnolias are among the most ancient of flowering plants and because they are even older than the bees, they have to be pollinated by beetles. That's the way they did it in the old days!

The fruit of this pollination is a sort of pineapple or pinecone-like fruit in which the seeds are enclosed, putting the plant in a category between the gymnosperms and angiosperms -- in other words half-way between conifers, cycads and ginkos on the one hand and the 'true' flowering plants on the other. Big-leaf Magnolia is native to the southeast where it is considered rather rare and even endangered. But our grove of trees (which must have seeded in from a garden plant) appears to be flourishing, self-sustaining and even spreading. Right now the trees are sporting a good crop of large white flowers which unfold from their giant buds to reveal great floppy white petals (known as tarpals). These have no smell but apparently produce copious amounts of pollen to feed the beetles which they need to fertilize the cones, a system that is thought to have remained unchanged since the Mesozoic Era (to be technically correct, magnolias belong to the early Cretaceous just after the Jurassic; in any case, this tree's ancestors were indeed well acquainted with the dinosaurs)!

At the opposite extreme, there is a miniature plant coming up in patches in the hurricane-blasted meadow in front of the house. It has tiny leaves and tiny four-petaled blue flowers . I think this is one of the speedwells. I need to get a magnifying glass to look at the flower and possibly identify the exact species. It is rather an exotic little thing; if it were bigger it would be an attractive garden plant.

No sign of the Tricolored Heron this morning; instead there was a Black-crowned Night-Heron and a Willet in the pond at low tide. The Red-eyed Vireo was singing all morning along with a foraging Common Yellowthroat, a Great Crested Flycatcher, a Baltimore Oriole and, a bit later, that champ singer, a Brown Thrasher, all forming a kind of punctuated background music

Eric Salzman

an uncommon visitor

A breeding-plumaged Tricolored Heron (ex Louisiana Heron) on the pond this morning! The bird was trotting up and back in or near the neck of the pond at low tide and presumably catching fish. I sent Eileen Schwinn a quick e-mail and she came over. The bird seemed to have disappeared from the neck of the pond but as we worked the pond edge, it reappeared right in the middle, nicely posing for its portrait. The two strange objects sticking out from the sides of the bird's head in the top photo are its nuptial plumes (they're also visible in the other photo but in the more usual position behind the head).

Derek Rogers of the Nature Conservancy tells me that there was one on Pine Neck this morning as well but due to some discrepancy in the timing, it is not quite clear if there were two birds or one bird shuttling back and forth. There have been reports of this species from Dune Road in the past few days and I even saw one in distant flight last weekend so there is the possibility that Tricolored Herons are on the move.

The morning was further enlivened by the Red-eyed Vireo's persistent calls and the very un-persistent call of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo (it actually called twice with that characteristic gulping slowdown that marks the species). Both these birds turn up regularly in the spring and both breed in the Pine Barrens but I have never had any evidence that either one breeds down here. The Tricolored Heron is an occasional breeder in mixed heronries on Western Long Island but it is decidedly uncommon to the East and has not, to my knowledge, ever bred on Eastern Long Island.

Eric Salzman

when even high tide is low

We've had a continuous low tide in Shinnecock Bay for about three days now; this is apparently due to the full moon and strong winds from the northwest. This long exposure of mudflats certainly helped with finding shorebirds on the SOFO Shinnecock shorebird walk on Sunday and it has created an almost perpetual habitat in our pond which has hosted Spotted Sandpiper, Least Sandpiper, Willets, both egrets and Green Heron right through the holiday weekend.

A Red-eyed Vireo has working the oak trees all day and singing away; that's the bird that sings its long non-stop series of short songs in a question-and-answerformat: "Are you there? I'm up here. Whaddya know? Nice 'n' leafy. Is that you? Watch your step. What am I getting? Lotsa bugs!" etc. Red-eyes are common breeders in the Pine Barrens just north of us but they are sporadic down here. Yellow Warbler and Common Yellowthroat continue to signal their presence with their songs,mostly coming from the upper part of the marsh.

I signed my granddaughter Juliette for some Southampton Town Parks & Recreation activities and then stopped at the Hampton Bays water tower to look for ravens. I had heard a rumor that the Suffolk Water Authority (which runs the place) had dismantled the nest. Indeed there was no nest in sight but there were at least two birds hanging around the tower so apparently there are still ravens in residence. Their appearance a couple of years ago -- right opposite the LIRR station on the south side of the tracks -- was a big surprise and a notable range extension. But I think that Northern Ravens are now fairly widespread on Long Island belying their reputation as a wilderness bird!

Eric Salzman

CCO on Dune Road

Went back to the Dune Road early this afternoon to meet with Frank Quevedo and a group from SOFO (South Fork Natural History Museum). Most of the shore- and water-birds seen were similar to those in my post the other day but with a few notable differences.

One big difference was the presence of a veritable pod of whirling, hovering, diving, fishing terns just off the end of the jetty at Shinnecock Inlet and occasionally even into the inlet itself. There was obviously a good run of fish -- at a guess, Bluefish chasing their baitfish which were also being hunted from the air by the terns. What made this unusual was that there were Northern Gannets in the mix (diving for the big fish no doubt) as well as Sooty Shearwaters who were apparently harassing the terns trying to make them give up their catches. As the terns would move in closer to and even inside the inlet, the Gannets and Shearwaters dropped out and eventually disappeared.

Most of the terns were Common but there was at least one Roseate. The wind made it hard to get close looks at the flying terns but this bird clearly had a black bill and a very light silvery upper backside (and a noticeably different call). Oddly enough, there were at least two Common Scoters in the area -- one by the near jetty and the other under the rocks on the eastern side. Also a Red-throated Loon.

The combination of full moon and northwest wind produced one of the lowest tides I have ever seen; even high tide looked low. With all the mudflats exposed, the shorebirds were very widely spread. As before, Ruddy Turnstones were dominant with fair numbers of Black-bellied Plovers, Semipalmated and Piping Plovers, Semipalmated and Least Sandpipers (a few), Dunlin, and Short-billed Dowitchers. In one rather handsome group of breeding-plumaged dowitchers there were two or three that were almost certainly Long-billed: large size, deep coloration, very long bills with a notable curve at the end -- almost like Whimbrel! These are, I believe, breeding plumaged females and they offer the best chance of picking out this difficult species. I could also hear Long-billed notes mixed in with the Short-billed when the small flock was spooked by a gull.

Clapper Rail, Saltmarsh Sparrow, Boat-tailed Grackle, Willets, Oystercatchers and lots of Least Terns more or less complete the day's roster.

Eric Salzman

magic cicadas?

If you're waiting for the 17-year locusts to appear, I hope you have a lot of patience. Only 8 years to go!

The locusts are cicadas, of course -- magic cicadas (Magicicada) to be generically specific (or should I say specifically generic). These are the so-called periodical cicadas that live underground in their nymph state for 17 years (some have a 13-year cycle) and then emerge en masse creating a massive buzzing, blooming cicada symphony, tuned up for quick mating to be followed post haste by egg laying in trees, nymph hatching and burrowing underground for another prime number of years before reemerging.

There have been lots of stories about this year's emergence of the 'Eastern brood', last seen in 1996, and this has aroused a good deal of local interest. There was even a page about them in the latest issue of the ELIAS (Eastern Long Island Audubon Society) Newsletter and my old friend David Rothenberg is coming out to SOFO this evening to perform with the insects; he loves to duet with non-human songsters and other sound-making creatures from the natural world and has written several books about the subject his latest being, appropriately, "Bug Music".

Unfortunately, there are not likely to be any cicadas around for him to duet with. For once, the reason has nothing to do with global warming or the destruction of the environment (or, for that matter, the lousy weather). The 17-year cicadas don't emerge all at once but have different cycles in different places; there are (according to various estimates) between seven and 15 known broods, each with a different timetable. The periodic cicadas that have been getting all the publicity belong to Brood II which is indeed widespread in the East -- but not Eastern Long Island. Our guys belong to another set of Eastern magic cicadas: Brood X which appeared here in 2004 when they were all over the place. 2004 plus 17 makes 2021. As I said, only eight years to go.

There may be some Brood IIs coming out on Western LI and we will have our regular annual cicadas emerging a bit later on. The Annuals are an entirely different insect and they (or at least some of them) emerge every year. Unlike the Periodicals (which emerge -- when they emerge at all -- in the spring and take all summer to complete their cycle), the Annuals come in the hot weather and are a typical feature of mid- to late summer; one of their common names is Dog-day Cicada. Alas, neither Magic Cicadas nor Dog-day Cicadas are likely to be singing out here this Memorial Day.

Eric Salzman

Dune Road post-Sandy

Went out with Eileen Schwinn to cruise the post-Sandy Dune Road for shore- and waterbirds with a fair amount of success; many if not most of these birds were firsts for the year.

The best bird of the day was a Tricolored Heron flying away but unmistakeable. Other herons seen were Black-crowned Night Herons and both egrets. There were a dozen Glossy Ibis feeding in a marsh and in flight. And a curious Clapper Rail came out to inspect us, permitting us to inspect him and Eileen to take his picture (see below).

Many Osprey all the way down from Quogue to the Inlet. Ducks seen were Mallards, Black Duck and some lingering Red-breasted Mergansers.

Big overwash areas were cleared of vegetation by Sandy and are now exactly what the hurricane name suggests: sandy! They have been cordoned off and should turn out to be excellent nesting areas for Piping Plover and Least Tern. Both species were seen on this jaunt, the Least Terns in some numbers in a few popular spots. Terns are gregarious and they nest colonially. The Leasts have not started nesting yet but one spot, a tidal pond near the Shinnecock boat basin, was being used by many birds to bathe and preen. All the other terns that could be ID'd were Commons.

In the shorebird category, there were Piping, Semipalmated and Black-bellied Plovers, many Ruddy Turnstones, Semipalmated and Least Sandpipers, Dunlin, Short-billed Dowitchers plus some Oystercatchers and many Willets. These last two species along with the Piping Plovers (and Killdeer) will stay to nest. In fact, we saw Willets making love and even flushed a female off its nest (with a single egg; she must have just started laying). The courtship was fascinating. The male stood behind her and flapped his striking black-and-white wings at high speed, noisily transfixing us onlookers and also the female who finally succumbed to his obvious charms.

One very upsetting observation: almost no Horseshoe Crabs. The Crabbers have virtually cleaned them out and, with the huge reduction in crab egg laying, we are seeing a big decline in shorebird numbers (the shorebirds feed on the eggs not the adults). Until the harvesting of this ancient creature is totally banned, the crabbers (many, if not most of them from other surrounding states which have banned the practice) will continue to decimate the populations and, with them, the shorebirds.

In the landbird category: Common Yellowthroat, Yellow Warbler and Willow Flycatcher, all birds that frequent the scrubby dune vegetation. Also Boat-tailed as well as Common Grackles. Many swallows in flight, mostly Barns but also some Trees.

Above are Eileen's photos of Mr. Curious Clapper. We've just been added to his Life List.


Eric Salzman

calling terns

Carl Safina suggests that the calling terns heard in the fog the other day might have been Roseates. The Roseate Tern call with which I am familiar is the well-known (and rather emphatic) 'k'vick' but that is may be more of an alarm call; apparently there is also a flight call which might have been what I heard. The whole subject of tern calls is difficult especially since almost all the recordings I have been able to find were made on the breeding grounds where the birds may sound very different. Roseates breed locally so they are theoretically the most likely to turn up although, in my experience, they almost always head out to sea to fish: I have never seen them on this side of the bay (however we are still in migration time and in the fog anything is theoretically possible). Other possibilities like Arctic and Sandwich Terns, are even more uncommon and appear sporadically on or near the barrier beach at places like Mecox or Cupsogue and are even less likely anywhere else.

Still another species of tern was on the creek yesterday. At this time of year, Forster's Tern looks like a Common Tern but it is noticeably smaller, has a slightly different flight look and shows a flashy bright white patch in its primaries as it flies. Thus it was yesterday. The most common tern on the creek these days is the Least but there are also Commons around. I suspect that Forster's Terns may even be breeding somewhere in our area -- most likely at Cupsogue -- and, along with Royal Terns, they tend to be most common in mid- to late summer.

Our recently arrived Common Yellowthroat seems to have settled in on the upper edges of the marsh and he was singing away all morning with his signature 'weetchity-weetchity-weetch'. Hope he finds a mate. Great Crested Flycatcher was also back doing a regular circuit of the larger oak trees all around and calling all the while. I presume this is also the male and I also wish him luck finding a female.

By contrast, the Carolina Wrens, which have flying young, are relatively quiet with a burst of song only now and then. When birds start nesting or have young they often stop singing. The Catbirds, which have only recently arrived (the Wrens were here all winter), appear to have paired up quickly and they may already be attending to nesting business; I hear their meeows but surprisingly little song. The only other incessant singer (besides the Yellowthroat) is the Tufted Titmouse which continues its steady one- or two-note songs with surprising persistence and more variation than you might think was possible.

Eric Salzman

Green-up time

My prediction that the fog would come rolling back in this morning did not come to pass -- unless you can consider the morning overcast a form of fog. Although the weather was gloomy, birds were active with Willets taking over the pond and marsh. One bird came diving at me as I sauntered by, missing my head by inches -- his way of demonstrating that the marsh now belongs to him. And yesterday's newly arrived Common Yellowthroat has established himself in the brush near the head of the marsh, singing his head off all day long. Only just now is the green-up in and around the marsh beginning to create some decent habitat.

The marsh grass is coming back at a rapid rate. It consists mostly of Spartina alterniflora but there is also some Spartina patens and, of course, stands of Phragmites in a number of places. Ivo and Baccharis -- the two so-called 'High Tide Bushes' -- are sprouting on the slightly higher edges and I think will make a good recovery after having been blasted by Sandy. Back from the salt marsh are plants that have proved to be much less hurricane-proof. In addition to the Red Cedars and Pitch Pines that actually went over, the front line of oaks and Red Maples was hit very hard and, as is just now becoming apparent, many of these trees will not be coming back; some are barely alive with just a few leaves sprouting on top. All the plant life in and around the wetlands is very late but the Hickories and, in particular, the Tupelos are the latest -- as much as a week behind the 'mainland' and still barely beginning to leaf out. It'll take a little longer to assess what kind of shape they're in. 

One feature of the post-Sandy recovery is that many upland areas that were covered with water during the hurricane have lost, not only their leafy canopy, but their original ground cover. Large patches of bare ground are now sprouting pioneer plants of the types that specialize in barren ground. The most widespread is one of the Oraches (probably Seaside Orache or Altriplex) forming large areas of ground cover. A tiny white flower that I have not noticed before has also appeared in and around the Orache; this plant has tiny ovate leaves which probably makes it Thyme-leaved Sandwort. On higher ground, other, more dramatically noticeable flowers are coming in including Wisteria and Bush Honeysuckle. The pretty Cinquefoil and Lily of the Valley are just at or past their peak.

Another plant that is coming up in unaccustomed numbers is Pokeweed. Like the Orache, it is a pioneer plant of open places and also a good wild edible. Pokeweed is by far the more substantial plant and well worth gathering in its early spring stage. Because it has a poisonous element in its makeup, it must be picked in early spring when the first shoots appear and even then it is desirable to blanch it in boiling water a couple of times, pouring off the water each time. My recipe (really Lorna's recipe) is to cook it in duck fat with a little bacon and some garlic. Collards have nothing on these spring greens!

Eric Salzman

fog into sunshine into fog

This morning's foggy walk took me out onto Weesuck Avenue where I ran into Mike Higgiston, one of our small group of East Quogue birders. Just as we were commiserating about the lack of even some of the most common birds, lo and behold, the first Common Yellowthroat of the year finally appeared -- the first, by sound at least, on these premises. Were the local Yellowthroats decimated by Sandy? Or is it the damage to their bushy habitat that is responsible for the scarcity of what should be a common species?

The other birds of the morning were Pine Warbler, Great Crested Flycatcher, White-breasted Nuthatch and Northern Flicker, all active and calling between our property and the road. The tide was a bit too high for the various sandpipers and herons that like to frequent our tidal pond -- which is partly visible from the foot of Weesuck Avenue -- but at one point, a strange call from from overhead caught my attention; there were two good-sized terns in the fog but the call, something like that of a Common Tern but more even and higher in pitch, did not sound familiar. What tern -- not a Least Tern -- has a smoother, higher-pitched call than a Common? An Arctic Tern, perhaps? Perhaps. I don't get to hear the flight call of an Arctic Tern very often. This may have been the moment but, alas, I'll never know for sure.

Not satisfied with this haul, I took off for Hunters Garden, hoping against hope for another warbler wave like the one there the other day. No such luck but I did find a Scarlet Tanager bathing in a mud puddle (you don't see Scarlet Tanagers at ground level very often), heard the unmistakeable call of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo (but couldn't find it high in the dense canopy), and closely observed the silent presence of a far-from-unmistakeable flycatcher, flycatching in the mid-level of an open, wet forest glade.  It was flicking its tail vigorously which pretty much ruled out the most obvious choice; it was not an Eastern Wood-Pewee. Even though this was a brownish bird with no visible eyering, it was, in fact, one of those interesting Empidonax flycatcher of the kind that used to be called Traill's Flycatcher, now separated out into Willow and Alder. My guess is that it was an Alder based on the following: the habitat (inside the woods, not in an open shrubby area), a rather darkish head (a little bit Phoebe-like), and the fact that a migratory bird (which this almost certainly was) is far likelier to be an Alder because most of the Alders breed north of us while the Willow, which is a local breeder, is more of a southern species close to its northern limit on Long Island.

Back at the house, the fog gave way to summer sunshine and there was a sun-bathing Jay and a sun-bathing Crow, both catching some rays out on open sandy areas outside the porch windows. Both birds crouched low to the ground, spread their wings and fluffed their feathers in an odd sort of disarray with heads up, open beaks, and staring eyes. This gave the birds a look of ecstasy although they were probably only maintaining a measure of alertness for any sign of danger. Later in the day, I did a little sunning myself, sitting on the front deck, when I became aware that there was something strange about the deep blue calm of the bay. It took me a moment to realize what it was: I couldn't see the other side. Not Pine Neck which was in clear sunshine but Dune Road, its Great Dunes and its not-so-great MacMansions all equally swallowed up in the deep layer of sea fog covering the barrier beach. We will, I suspect, see that fog back across the bay in the not too distant future (tomorrow morning perhaps).

Eric Salzman

an e-mail in the fog

Eileen Schwinn sent me an e-mail from Weesuck Avenue asking me if I had seen a posslble Spotted Sandpiper in our pond (she thought she had seen one from the foot of Weesuck where you can look a ways up the neck of the pond). I was about to send her a reply stating that she was probably looking at a Least Sandpiper (they are also dark-backed, they sometimes bob like a Spotted and they have a similar stiff-winged flight). Fortunately, instead of sending her a misguided missive, I decided to go down and have a look for myself. The pond was at dead low tide and, sure enough, there was a Least Sandpiper. AND not one, but two bobbing Spotted Sandpipers in full adult breeding plumage! Not to mention two Black-crowned Night Herons, a Green Heron and a dabbling female Blue-winged Duck. I wasn't paying much attention to the duck when it took off, showing its pale-blue speculum. Both the Blue-wing and the Spotted Sandpiper were the firsts of the year.

Earlier, in the fog of early morning, a pair of Osprey were carrying on over and around Weesuck Avenue and out into the creek. At one point, they were both perched on the last street light -- one on the wooden pole, the other on the metal light itself. A few minutes later, they were circling around each other over the creek in an almost balletic fashion. A lovey-dovey pair? Or were they just sizing each other up? Afterwards there were a couple of big chases up and then down the creek that did not look at all lovey-dovey. Perhaps one of the locals had had enough of these intruders poaching his (or her) territory.

In the stillness of a foggy morning, sound travels far. I could hear a Common Yellowthroat calling on Pine Neck; I have yet to hear a single one on this side. Another song floating across the creek was a melodious Baltimore Oriole. Definitely on our side was the calling Great Crested Flycatcher and a somewhat distant but distinct Eastern Phoebe. Also what I think was the short song of a Magnolia Warbler. Eileen reported a Blackpoll Warbler from Weesuck Avenue but I have yet to see or hear one here (only in the Manorville Hills). And, finally, my first dragonfly of the season was on the pond; it was a quick flyby, moving too fast to be identifiable as to species but definitely a libellule.

Eric Salzman

Swan Creek

There were no less than four noisy Osprey on the creek this morning and Mute Swans all over the place.

The Osprey seemed to consist of two pairs and in both cases one of them had a fish and was yelling to call attention to prowess. I'm not sure that either of the Osprey on the Pine Neck nest were involved; if not, that would make six Weesuck Creek Osprey in all. Perhaps this morning's performers are young (i.e. yearling) birds in a courtship phase; the routine with the fish certainly seems to suggest as much (and it's quite late for them to try and start a family). If finny prey are plentiful, I suspect that the older birds might not be too territorial.

The swan situation is more surprising. Adult Mute Swans are reputed to be both aggressive and highly territorial and a single pair has long held onto Weesuck Creek and fought off all potential competitors. Yet this morning, to the accompaniment of much chasing accompanied by noisy flapping (not vocal; the sounds are made by the giant wings hitting the water while the bird is low in flight). There were no less than three birds in the bay right at the mouth of the creek at least two of which seemed to be trying to get a foothold inside the creek. Arrayed against them were two more birds -- seemingly a male and a female -- defending the wide, middle part of the creek where most of the action was taking place. Further up,  there was a single bird in view patrolling the narrower neck of the creek opposite the boatyard; this bird was in full defensive Lohengrin swan mode with wings akimbo, neck curved. This is the famous threat posture of the male and suggests that this fellow was guarding the upper part of the creek (or the side creek known as Little Weesuck) where the female may be sitting on eggs.

The male is, by the way known as the cob, and, like any good street performer, his display is called busking. Busking doesn't seem as though it has to be directed at anyone in particular but can apparently be used to delineate territory and warn off potential intruders. When the cob is ruffled he goes into busking mode and may float around in that position indefinitely. If an actual threatening intruder comes along, he takes right off, heading towards him (I presume it's usually a 'him') with neck outstreched low, flying low just above the water so that his wings slap the surface loudly and rhythmically. "Watch out, here I come!" Since the wings as well as the powerful beak are strong weapons and since he is the fierce local title-holder, the new bird usually vacates the premises almost immediately. The chase ends back out in the open water of the bay and the resident male returns to the creek where his mate has been watching events with close interest. The truce lasts until one of the invaders gets up the courage to try again -- with seemingly identical results.

The Swans may not have young (yet) but our Carolina Wrens are actively feeding fledglings and there is a Mallard duck with eight small ducklings hanging around the pond. The resident Willets stay mostly on the Pine Neck shore of the creek but Green Herons have been active in the marsh on our side and there are a few Least Sandpipers about as well. Further back, on the wooded edge of the marsh, there is an American Goldfinch singing a long lonely goldfinch song as if he is the winner and sole survivor of the goldfinch choral competition held the other day.

Eric Salzman

warblers, Warbling Vireos and a cuckoo

After yesterday's amazing warbler wave at Hunters Garden, I decided to try my luck at Bald Hill, a somewhat similar spot in the Manorville Hills and a lot easier to reach on foot from a trail off the Moriches-Riverhead Road. And there were a few warblers there including Magnolia (new for the season), Parula, Black-throated Green, Black-and-white, Pine, Yellowthroat, and Ovenbird. I didn't refind the orange Scarlet Tanager that I saw a few days ago although there were singing tanagers in the vicinity. Birds seen included Veery, Red-eyed Vireo, Eastern Towhee and a flood of active, noisy Baltimore Orioles. But the best bird of the morning was heard, not seen: a Yellow-billed Cuckoo, the first one detected in a while.

Meanwhile, an Ovenbird appeared on the East Quogue property (only the third E Quogue warbler of the year) and the Great Crested Flycatcher continued to haunt the woods around the house, delivering his somewhat raucous calls from the treetops. He seemed to follow me around, appearing in one part of the woods and then again in another spot (perhaps there was more than one bird). And, in a nice touch, there was a pair of Warbling Vireos working high in the oaks on the edge of the property. I'm rather certain they were a pair as one was singing softly and intermittently to the other in a throaty warble that seemed to hold them together.

Eric Salzman

warbler deprivation

The weather seemed encouraging for migration but all I could find this morning was (1) a noisy Great Crested Flycatcher in the woods between the house and Weesuck Avenue -- a favorite spot for this species in years past; (2) a single Common Loon flying overhead on its familiar southwest-to-northeast track; and, though I'm loath to admit it, (3) a Brown-headed Cowbird.  

Feeling warbler deprived, I set out for Hunters Garden, the most likely spot in our area for these spring migrants to appear. Sure enough, I was only a few steps into the woods when I became aware of a real fall-out of warblers -- something I haven't seen in a while. Fall-out is a manner of speaking since these birds did not fall very far as they flitted from tree-top to tree-top, mostly back-lit, twittering and buzzing away (our warblers don't warble) in a confusing jumble of song and often hidden in the bursting leaves of the emergent oaks. I would barely get fixed on the outline of one bird when it took off and, as I tried to follow it, two more took off in two different directions neatly diverting my attention. The action was continuous and continuously distracting. I managed to identify Parula, Black-throated Green and Yellow-rumped Warblers but I'm sure there were many others

I had previously picked out a Prairie Warbler as well as the local breeders, Ovenbird, Yellowthroat, and Pine. But I was determined to nab something special out of the canopy. Just take your time, I told myself, and get a good fix on one bird at a time. Too late! As suddenly as they had appeared, they vanished. It was a warbler wave in a big hurry to get somewhere. Someone once remarked that the difference between warblers and no warblers is very slight. I would put it differently. The difference between warblers and no warblers was very striking and very sudden.

As I emerged from the woods into the open area, the members of the Hunters Garden Association were busy setting up for their biannual Chowder. They very graciously asked me to join them but, quite regretfully, I told them that I had to get back home. The Hunters Garden Association and its eel, clam and oyster Chowders go back to the 1800s and they are still going strong! They donated their land to New York State with the condition that they be allowed to continue holding their Chowders there and I'm happy to report that still do.

Eric Salzman

a charm of goldfinches

A small and quite charming chorus of singing, fluttering, tweeting, buzzing, scolding, whoop-it-up American Goldfinches appeared on the edge of the marsh this morning, zipping from one bare tree branch to another, diving down into the bushes and reeds, chasing one another around and showing off to each other and to the world their newly acquired gold=and-black goldfinch plumages. There were perhaps only half a dozen birds (hard to count since they were constantly diving into the reeds or melting back into the woods) but with the majority in adult male finery, they were putting on a big show. Two of the company were either females or, more likely, first-year young still in juvenile plumage but quite bright nonetheless (no black cap).

Carduelis tristis breeds later than other birds and is always said to be non-territorial but there was no question that some of these birds were scrapping with some spectacular aerial dog fights. Despite all this, the chorus continued on as before, ignoring the pugilists who eventually rejoined the others as if nothing had happened. The whole balletic extravaganza kept moving along the front line of the woods facing the marsh with the choristers clumping up together or separating widely apart from treetop to marsh edge, always in time to their twittering, tweeting cascade of song.

If this is not about territory and not about mating, then what is it about? These early spring goldfinch ensembles -- I have seen it before in one form or another -- are clearly important events in goldfinch life but I have never seen or heard of any explanation. Perhaps there is something definitive buried in the ornithological literature somewhere. In the meantime, I would venture a guess that it has something to do with establishing a social hierarchy among males in a gregarious. not to say social, species.

Mixed in with the very yellow goldfinches was, of all things, a Yellow Warbler -- perhaps bedazzled by the flashing yellow all around. This was not only the first Yellow Warbler to appear on the place this year but also only the second warbler of any variety seen locally. The first was the Pine Warbler who, after two weeks of non-stop singing, suddenly went silent; either nesting is well in progress in the upper reaches of one of our Pitch Pines or he has left the premises in search of greener pine pastures.  

Eric Salzman

back to Maple Swamp

I went up to Maple Swamp this morning for my first visit since Sandy. Maple Swamp is a distinct locale in the Pine Barrens tucked into the hills directly to the north of us. It was long one of the best areas locally for both breeding and migrant birds but it was badly hit a couple of years ago by an inchworm infestation that left many dead trees. As I suspected, many of these were knocked over by last fall's hurricane. As a result some of the best spots were difficult of access or unrecognizable -- partly because of fallen wood and partly because new and dense vegetation now covers the ground in areas opened up by the loss of the tree canopy. I found myself bushwhacking or pushing through old, obscure and overgrown trails through unfamiliar areas.

Lost in the woods in Long Island? Well, not quite. I was able to find my way back to the main trails and made it to the main swamp and the open pond at the center where I found what were undoubtedly the best birds of the day: a Lincoln's Sparrow, a Swamp Sparrow and a Ruby-crowned Kinglet (looking almost as lost as I was; somebody forgot to tell him that winter is over). There were, as always, a fair number of birds on and around the pond including Barn and Rough-winged Swallows hunting over the water, two or three Yellow Warblers in the surrounding vegetation, as well as Great Crested Flycatcher, Red-eyed Vireo, Eastern Towhee, Baltimore and Orchard Orioles, and a handsome scarlet Scarlet Tanager (as opposed to the orange Scarlet Tanager at Bald Hill yesterday). Further afield there were other warblers: Blue-winged and Pine, Common Yellowthroat and Ovenbird and a hint of Black-and-white (by song). Also a hint of Blue-gray Gnatcatcher (also by song). Field and Chipping Sparrows were vocalizing in the drier open uplands and a Red-tailed Hawk went screaming by overhead. Unless you count American Robin, there was no sign of any of the thrushes.

An open canopy may be a bad thing for deep forest species but it certainly encourages some of the flowering plants. Dogwood is everywhere in spectacular bloom and the various blueberries and huckleberries are also flourishing. A fair number of butterflies included the year's first Tiger Swallowtail, American Copper, our local duskywing (Juvenal's? Horace's?) and what we used to call the Early Spring Blue ('Pine Barrens Spring Azure'?).

Eric Salzman

first and lasts

Clear blue-sky morning with slowly increasing wind and cooling temperatures.

If yesterday's lead vocalist, the Brown Thrasher, is our #1 singer (at least according to some calculations), this morning's soloist would have to rate pretty far down near the bottom. 'Tschup-zee' or 'Chick-a-zee' repeated over and over again from somewhere in the phragmites on the opposite side of the marsh was the whole of it. This would have to be one of the less endowed sparrows (I actually thought of Henslow's or Nelson's Sparrow, both poor singers, but neither one is much inclined to sing on Long Island where they do not breed). The tide was low and I was able to got close enough to make out a big handsome dull gray Seaside Sparrow proudly flashing his yellow supraloral and his white throat and malar as if in accompaniment to a prodigious musical effort. On spotting me, he dropped down into the reeds but shortly reappeared not far away with a recap of his shattering chorus of 'Tschup-zee'. If not a First in Musical Prowess, definitely a First-of-the-Year for a bird that's hard enough to find in his breeding marshes on the opposite side of the bay.

And then, for a change of pace, there was a truly elegant song from high in a tree at the edge of the marsh; it was an Orchard Oriole, one of the most melodious of our singers, announcing his seasonal arrival. Other new birds of marsh and creek included a distant Least Tern and several peep flushed out of the marsh grass (probably Least Sandpipers; I was too intent on the sparrow to pay much attention). Also two yellowlegs at the mouth of the creek, a late great Great Blue Heron (should be up north by now) and a Snowy Egret (surprisingly uncommon as it loses ground to the Great Egret in the local nesting colonies).

As it was still early, I again drove through the Pine Barrens -- this time to try the Bald Hill Trail. This is a relatively short walk in the woods; before the turn-off to Bald Hill (which is not bald anymore and has lost its views), the main trail goes down into a wet area that is good for both breeders and migrants. The outstanding song here was a buzzy repeated treetop melody which I tried, without success, to pin on some warbler or other; I never did see the bird but I finally realized that it was a Warbling Vireo, a bird that I did not expect to find deep in the woods. More easily on view were the season's first Veery (calling but not yet singing), the season's first Common Yellowthroat (singing) and a striking Scarlet Tanager that was not scarlet but a flaming orange!

Most of the common pine barrens birds were there too including Great Crested Flycatcher, Ovenbird, Pine Warbler, Chipping Sparrow, and Baltimore Oriole. Plus my candidate for the most beautiful singer of all: the pine barrens Hermit Thrush. I never saw this one but the glorious song came echoing through the woods and made me happy to know that he is still around.

Eric Salzman

And the winner is . . .

It's official: Brown Thrasher is #1 on the Birdsong Hit Parade.

This view was ratified this morning by our own resident (we hope) Toxostoma rufum in a virtuoso performance from the top of one of the highest trees around. Let's wish him good luck in finding a mate and settling down to raise some more musical thrashers -- the way the Bach family raised musical Bachs. And safe from marauding cats!

Of course, the notion that the Brown Thrasher is the World's Best Singer rests on a scientist's view of his singing abilities. What are the crucial criteria? It has the largest known repertoire of any song bird; any given Brown Thrasher on a good day can go through more than 1000 different songs before repeating himself. I can confirm that I spent quite a bit of the morning listening to our homeboy songster without hearing a single musical recapitulation.

Of course, each song is usually immediately repeated at least once (sometimes twice and sometimes not at all) before the bird moves on to the rest of its extended repertoire. And the general tone is a bit husky -- without the melodic glow of a thrush or the tonal variety of a Mockingbird. He likes to sit high and broadcast his music over a wide area and these qualities make it fairly easy to identify a thrasher song long before you actually find the bird (hint: look high). In a purely esthetic judgment, the thrasher might not be everyone's #1. Also he is sometimes overlooked because this large, long-tailed, streaked, mimid (relative of catbirds and mockingbirds) has a short singing season -- mid-May to late June or early July at the maximum. The time to enjoy it is now!

The thrasher wasn't the only bird music heard this morning. I had an inquiry yesterday about Tufted Titmouse songs and, since we have a titmouse that sings every morning right outside the bedroom window, I decided to do some avian musicological studies while still in bed! All the guidebooks will tell you that the Tufted Titmouse sings 'peter, peter, peter'. But this bird's principal song consisted of a single note, repeated immediately and obsessively some 40 or 50 times. He then switched to another song, a kind of short glissando or sliding note, also repeated dozens of times. Finally, the classic 'pee-ter, pee-ter, pee-ter' -- a fast two note chant also repeated over and over again. Within his tiny vocal range, titmice (or is it titmouses?) produce a surprising variety of notes. In fact, my rule is that, if I can't identify the call, it's probably a Tufted Titmouse!

The Purple Martins decided that this foggy, cloudy, drippy morning was not a good time to venture out. By the time I got down to the pond, they were all still close to home, continuing their melodious morning communal chatter (martin lovers like to call it their 'morning song'). Since the birds were mostly perched on and around their nesting gourds, I was able to count 27 or 28 birds. Some of the birds may have been inside the gourds (or aways from the nesting area), so I could estimate that the colony holds perhaps 3 dozen birds with the potential for more than a dozen pairs. There is also now a second colony around a smaller collection of gourds hanging near the mouth of Little Weesuck on the opposite side of Weesuck Creek and there is at least one other colony in the neighborhood. Martins like to nest in open areas near water and marsh where there are insects to feed on.

Eric Salzman

9 Warblers 9

A warm sunny morning and the arrival of a few neotropicals was a quick antidote to the previously held view that some terrible disaster had wiped out all the warblers on their way north. Singing Yellow and Yellow-rumped Warblers were joined by a singing Baltimore Oriole right outside our door.

This was enough to inspire an early-morning drive through the Pine Barrens to that favorite warbler spot, Hunters Garden. Alas, the convenient dirt access road off of the Moriches-Riverhead Road has been closed off (presumably by Suffolk County), forcing me to find a longer, bumpier and decidedly more circuitous route to get in. But the effort was worth it. There was an almost full line-up of local breeders plus a contingent of warblers passing through; all but a few were First-of-Season or, if you prefer, First-of-Year.

Local Breeders: all four woodpeckers (including Hairy), Wild Turkey, Great Crested Flycatcher, Eastern Wood Pewee, Red-eyed Vireo, Gray Catbird, American Robin, Wood Thrush, Scarlet Tanager, Baltimore Oriole, Chipping Sparrow, Eastern Towhee plus the warblers.

The Warblers: Northern Parula (several), Blue-winged Warbler, Yellow Warbler, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Black-throated Green Warbler, Pine Warbler (on territory), Bay-breased Warbler (female; best bird of the day), Black-and-white Warbler (several), Ovenbird (many, on territory).

Missing: Common Yellowthroat and American Redstart. Stll, 9 species is not bad for the second week of May out here and if I'd had more time to spend hanging out I might well have been able to up the ante!

Eric Salzman

Catbirds occupy the catbird seats

Catbirds came in last night. Yesterday: Catbirdless. Today: Catbirds all over the place. They're not yet singing very much but they are popping up and down and meowing as if they had been here all the time. And yet before this morning there was not even a hint of Catbird.

There were a few other first-of-the-seasoners: terns (Common Terns presumably) fishing on the creek, a beautifully-plumaged Black-Crowned Night Heron and a pair of Green Herons on the pond and marsh at low tide. Also a pair of Willets and our faithful Yellowlegs.

The Pine Warbler is widening his circuit as he moves around the woods, not always sticking to the pines. Other warblers? Not a trace. The lateness of the season and the tardiness or absence of long-distance migrants has been notable and not only out here on Eastern LI but also in the city parks and surrounding areas -- usually loaded with warblers and other neotropicals at this time of year. Does anyone have a likely explanation?

Among the locals, the corvids continue to dominate. A Fish Crow sits on the top of a tree honking away at regular intervals (definitely more of a honk than a caw); is this a Fish Crow mating signal? Blue Jays are preparing to nest -- I saw one carrying nesting material. American Crows are probably already on eggs and they are ready to flock up and create a major racket-- the classic 'Murder of Crows' -- at the first sign of a raptor flyby.

Eric Salzman

A Turtle Wind

Wind shifted to the south/southeast bringing in some warmer temperatures, cloudy skies, some on-and-off rain and the roar of the ocean surf. But no migrants!

It did bring out the Box Turtles from hibernation: two different individuals, one at the edge of the marsh, the other on our doorstep! I guess moving from underground to above ground in a time of warmup is a kind of wind-blown migration.

I watched two crows courting on an oak tree branch, making strange little sounds and one bird at least going through all sorts of contortions. These were, I'm almost positive, a pair of Fish Crows (I've seen them before on the same branch). The American Crows are, I think, mostly already nesting.

Derek Rogers reports that there was a Warbling Vireo on Pine Neck on Monday, possibly the same bird that I briefly saw and heard on this side of the creek. Could be a possible nester on Pine Neck? Eileen Schwinn reports that she came down Bay Avenue to look for the Yellow-crowned Night Heron but found a Green Heron instead (a bird that I have not yet seen this year). She later found the Night Heron seen at the outlet of our pond as viewed from the foot of Weesuck Avenue.

Eric Salzman

fog and a night heron

Fog covered the landscape this morning suggesting that mid-May warm-up time was indeed approaching (spring fogs materialize when the air temperature is notably warmer than the water temperature). In the extended early-morning light, there was a lot of bird singing and this morning's recital roster included a rather tentative Brown Thrasher (in what might have been his first outing of the season), Eastern Towhee, Chipping Sparrow, American Goldfinch, White-breasted Nuthatch, House and Carolina Wren and, of course, the redoubtable Pine Warbler. There was a rather rhythmic song or call that I could not identify or track down plus all the other regulars.

Someone stole the molded plastic chair that I put by the pond and it turned up in a open wooded glade back of the marsh where the local kids like to hang out. I hauled it back out to the pond edge and, with the fog replaced by blue sky, I settled in for a bit of bird sit. I didn't have long to wait. Almost immediately a Yellow-crowned Night Heron popped up in a bit of marsh just over the far side of the pond and I was able to watch his incredibly slow movements as he inched forward and then lowered his long neck, one millimeter at a time. Then suddenly he lunged down into the grass. Nothing. Repeat performance. Caught something. Another repeat. This time a good-sized crab, big enough to require a bit of crunch and scrunch to get it down. The crustacean made a substantial bulge in his gullet and it took a gulp and a shake to get it down. This bird or its lookalike cousin has been a regular spring visitor in recent years and there is, I suspect, a nest somewhere in the vicinity (this species, like the Green Heron but unlike the other herons and egrets, tends to nest in solitary pairs). Judging by the habitat, the crabs would have been Fiddlers rather than Blue Crabs.

More early spring flowers. The few bushes of Shadbush that surviving the hurricane are blooming. Also wild strawberry and a violet. The ol' Apple Tree is in full flower at the moment having turned from dotted pink to almost pure white. An early spring butterfly came fluttering by but it would not pose; it was very dark above with yellow or yellow/orange bands. It was too small to be a Mourning Cloak and I don't think it was a Red Admiral; frankly it didn't look at all familiar.

Eric Salzman

One that got away

A frustrating bird moment. A striking call from the top of a tree near the pond -- a brief, husky warble -- suggests a 'good' bird. But before I can get my binoculars focused, it takes off, flying high and away. What was it? A Black-throated Blue Warbler? More likely, a Warbling Vireo -- a rarity only a few years back although increasingly common in recent times.

Warbling Vireo is one of the so-called neo-tropical migrants, birds that breed here or farther north but winter in the tropics. They should be coming in about now but few of them -- local breeders or travelers in transit -- have turned up so far this month. Pine Warbler has been an insistent presence all week but this is one of the few warblers that doesn't go very far south in the winter; it is only a short-distance migrant and most of its population doesn't even migrate. Birds like the American Robin, Northern Flicker and Eastern Towhee go short distances only in the winter. The only truly tropical migrants that are back in numbers so far this May are the swallows, notably Barn Swallow and the Purple Martins.

The dominant woodland birds right now are the corvids: American Crows (which are probably already nesting), Fish Crows (nasal calls have been resounding in the post few days) and, of course, the omnipresent zippy Blue Jays (one unfortunate Jay got unzipped -- or rather plucked -- by a raptor leaving behind only a pile of feathers to mark the dark deed). Has anybody seen the Hampton Bays Ravens? I'll have to go and look for them.

Eric Salzman

a few migrants and a Marsh Marigold mistake

May 5, 2013

A big First of the Season that I forgot to mention before was a flyover Turkey Vulture. Only a few years ago, this was a real rarity on LI and it is still a notable bird, especially in migration.

The wind continues to blow the wrong way -- from the east/northeast -- but a few other migrants turned up yesterday, mostly identified by ear rather than by sight. These included what sounded like at least two or three Yellow-rumped Warblers, two First-of-the-Season Northern Flickers (together with Red-bellied and Downy Woodpeckers, rounding out our trifecta of breeding 'peckers) and a calling nuthatch, probably White-breasted. Also an FOS Baltimore Oriole -- heard only but unmistakeable. Other birds of the day (yesterday and today in no particular order): singing House Finch (FOS), Fish Crow, Mourning Dove, Willet, Purple Martin, Northern Mockingbird. House Wren, Blue Jay, Pine Warbler, American Robin, Tufted Titmouse, Black-capped Chickadee, Red-winged Blackbird, Common Grackle, and both wrens, all likely or at least potential nesters.

In a very neat coincidence, Alex van Boer is working out of the Nature Conservancy property directly across Weesuck Creek. Coincidence because Alex, who is the son of the late Diane Gorodnitski (a wonderful nature photographer) and Kenton van Boer, is someone we've known since he was a sub-teen bird-watching prodigy in Sagaponack and later on Shelter Island. He is now a full-fledged naturalist with a degree from Bowdoin. His current project is a 10-week study of forest edge and saltmarsh birds, a project connected with the University of Connecticut and the Saltmarsh Habitat and Avian Research Center (SHARP). He informs me that, although I cannot see it from this side of the creek, there is indeed an Osprey sitting on the bulky Pine Neck nest,

I have recently been touting the amazing and mystifying spread of Marsh Marigold from its normal marshy haunts to edge habitat all over the place (mostly roadsides). Well the explanation turns out to be quite simple: it isn't Marsh Marigold at all! As Jean Held pointed out to me yesterday, this early spring efflorescence undoubtedly belongs to the Lesser Celandine which, unlike the Marsh Marigold, is a garden escape. Although they are actually placed in different genera, these two members of the buttercup family are strikingly similar in many respects. They both have heart-shaped leaves and large buttercup-like yellow flowers and they are both early-spring bloomers. The Marsh Marigold flower is described as made up of sepals rather than petals and that appears to be the biggest difference between them (but it would take a close-up examination to determine). This does not, of course, explain the recent explosive spread of the Lesser Celandine; like many garden plants, it would seem to have been pre-adapted to a human-altered landscape.

Eric Salzman

A persistent Pine Warbler

May 4, 2013

Thursday's southeast wind shifted to the northeast yesterday morning. Not optimal for May migrants.

Our Persistent Pine Warbler spends so much of his time feeding and singing in a small isolated group of Pitch Pines back of the house that he has me worried. Does he have a mate? Does his persistent singing indicate that he's looking for one? Or is there a nest already built in one of these pines that requires him to stay on the alert for possible competitors? I can't find a nest or second bird but that's not surprising considering how difficult it is sometimes to find the male when he's working high inside a tangle of pine needles.

Carl Safina writes me that the Ospreys in his area are on eggs. That may be the case around here as well but the two nests that I have tried to observe are so large (and presumably deep inside) that there is a strong possibility that the sitting bird is invisible from my vantage point. It is certainly true that I am seeing only one Osprey fishing on the creek or fileting its catch on a dead stump near the nest.

Two more FOS (First of Season) birds: Downy Woodpecker and Belted Kingfisher. A male Kingfisher appeared at high tide, hovered over a tidal pool in the marsh, dropped in and came out with a fish. But instead of devouring the fish on the spot, it flew up the creek still holding the fish suggesting that it was headed for a kingfisher nest hole perhaps to feed its sitting mate.

Willets and yellowlegs (apparently the same Lesser) still active and calling; ditto House and Carolina Wrens. A few Purple Martins overhead but not much activity at the colony site.

Eric Salzman

A Balmy May 2nd

Oh what is so rare as the second of May.

Early May didn't used to be so balmy out here but, global warming or no, it's hard to complain. The ol' Apple Tree is bursting forth; that venerable tree, planted by Johnny Appleseed himself, stands just behind the house. It has been through everything -- lightning strikes, winter storms, sapsucker dental drills, rampant ivy squeezes and any number of hurricanes -- but it's still a May-time symphony of pink and white. The nearby lilac bushes, equally antique, are now shaded out and produce no flowers but another bush has sprouted next to the cottage and has a few flower heads. Similarly, we have a few Marsh Marigolds, some already in flower. Neither promises the gaudy floral display you'll see elsewhere but we're thankful for what we have.

Star billing among the birds still belongs to the Pine Warbler. His trilling is so constant that I almost wonder if there isn't more than one bird. There's definitely more than one Purple Martin; in fact, there's about a dozen-and-a-half birds, all gathered noisily around the colony. It's almost as if they are afraid to leave the immediate vicinity for fear of missing out on the choice of a mate or nesting site.

What else? A Lesser Yellow-legs on the pond this morning at low tide and Fish Crows honking away in the woods. The latter species is increasing around here -- it is a something of a southern species that is spreading north but along the actual coast (where you would expect it to do well) it has stiff competition from the well-established American Crow. Still at this time of year, it nasal call is unmistakable and isolated pairs do nest away from the water.

Other FOS (birder-speak for First of Season): Snowy Egret, several Willets, Killdeer, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Barn Swallow, House and Carolina wrens.

Eric Salzman

May Day! May Day

I'm back in residence in East Quogue and blogging almost daily. The following are the blogs from the past week:

May 1st, 2013

May Day! May Day!

We arrived yesterday afternoon and opened up the East Quogue house to the welcoming trills of the Pine Warbler. This morning I was able to greet the month of May  with a full circle of the property, the first since Hurricane Sandy. The line of debris -- sea wrack, tree branches, litter of all sorts -- shows how far the water came up during the storm and there are toppled trees, mostly Pitch Pine and Red Cedar, all along the open edges facing the water or marsh. The worst damage by far is at the head of the marsh far in from the bay (but not near the house) where the water and wind must have pushed in mightily; the landscape there is unrecognizable. Otherwise the damage is confined to a few severed tree limbs.

Actually it will be a few days before the full extent of the hurricane's after effects is shown by the number of dead trees and bushes, killed by salt water and spray. Even now, it is striking how much of the ground appears to have been scrubbed clean. Will there be new growth?

On the far side of the debris line, the signs of spring are everywhere. Perwinkle, Cinquefoil, Dandelion and dreaded Garlic Mustard are all in bloom along with the Forsythia and Saucer Magnolia. The trees are a further behind with only the Old Apple Tree fully leafed out and ready to bloom. The green on the Norway Maples comes from the color of their flowers; the leaves are not yet in full display. Some of the other shrubs, bushes and trees show some green; this is, in fact, an early spring compared with the May Days of years past.

The Pine Warbler is easily the most incessant singer with his constantly repeated trills as he makes his appointed rounds on his very well defined territory. Around the marsh and a ways into the surrounding woods, the Red-winged Blackbirds are active, with complicated chases -- territorial disputes? amorous chases? -- in every direction. A male Eastern Towhee is singing away; there's always hope for a towhee nesting here if the feral cats don't drive them away.

Osprey are back but haven't started nesting yet. Our neighbor has put the Purple Martin gourds back up and the birds are back from their winter quarters, already investigating nesting sites. Great Blue Herons are still around (most will leave shortly for their nesting grounds) along with Great Egrets (which nest on the bay).  A pair of Red-tailed Hawks appeared over the creek, attracting the attention of a screaming gull which attempted to chase them away. Will they stay and nest or are they migrants passing through?

Eric Salzman