Medium heavy fog this morning (light fog is when I can't see Dune Road, heavy fog is when I can't see Pine Neck; medium heavy means that the opposite shore is just barely visible). The Chesterfield crane was still perched on its barge near the mouth of the pond with two Osprey perched on it -- one with a fish in its talons on the cab, the other sitting on the top of the crane as in Eileen Schwinn's photo posted yesterday. When I walk out on our neighbor's newly restored dock, both birds flushed but later in the morning they were back, this time both sitting on the highest point. This is the second couple on the creek; the first pair are feeding young on the Pine Neck nest. When the Chesterfield people come back for their barge and crane, they may find an Osprey nest constructed on top and it may be illegal to move it until the young fledge (which would be sometime in July, 2014).
Yellow-crowned Night Heron was back in the narrow pond mouth. This regular visitor (I'm assuming it's the same bird although that's not necessarily the case) has become quite inured to the presence of people nearby. When daughter Eva and granddaughter Juliette went down to sit by the pond, it flew off but eventually decided to ignore them and come back in to a spot where the hunting or fishing was good.
I've been hearing a calling White-breasted Nuthatch through most of June but I finally got a good look at the bird as it was picking its up-side-down and sideways way through the trunk and limbs of dying or dead Pitch Pines. Could it be nesting here somewhere? It's unusual to see it in June.
Yarrow is in bloom along with privet (one of my least favorite plants; passable in a hedge I suppose but unpleasant as a sprawling invasive alien bush). Silene or Lychnis? I finally managed to get a good close-up look at the night-blooming (and early-morning) white flower and have come to the conclusion that it is Evening Lychnis, Lycnis alba. The calyx under the flower is somewhat inflated and nicely veined, and the flowers -- some of them at least -- have curved 'styles'. As the name suggests, this is a flower that blooms in low light; it is probably fertilized by moths and by mid-morning the flower is shriveling up.
Eric Salzman
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Osprey and a Crane
Yesterday morning, Eileen Schwinn took this photograph of an Osprey (with a fish?) perched on a Chesterfield crane in Weesuck Creek near the mouth or exit channel from our pond. Chesterfield Associates is a dock building and repair company in Westhampton and the crane was there to help in the repair of our neighbor's dock which was mangled by Sandy last fall. Since this dock is not reachable by road, the crane was brought in through Shinnecock Bay and into Weesuck Creek, presumably from Westhampton. That afternoon, with the dock completely repaired, a tugboat pushed the barge and crane back down the creek and I did not expect to see it again. But to my surprise, barge and crane were back in the area this morning with, yes, an Osprey and its catch back on top. A little later, there were two Osprey at the summit, probably the young couple that have been active on the creek in the past few weeks.
With the newly repaired dock as a perch, I was also able to see an adult Yellow-crowned Heron feeding at the mouth of the pond and a Black-crowned NIght Heron or two circling around the pond and marsh. The Black-crowned Night Herons are almost certainly breeding on the bay along with other long-legged waders. The Yellow-crowned is more inclined to breed in isolated pairs and often on the north side of the bay. So there is probably a Yellow-crowned nest somewhere in the vicinity.
But the big news of the morning was the first appearance of Yellow or Golden Chanterelles. Cantherellus ciibarius, also known as Girolles, are probably our best edible mushroom. Most mushrooms come in the fall with very few in the spring (I have never seen Morels, the most famous spring mushroom, out here). However there are a number of summer mushrooms including a few good edibles among which Chanterelles take first place. Late June is about as early as they come but it definitely counts as a sign of summer.
Eric Salzman
Friday, June 28, 2013
Dune Road under a lot of water
Twice in the past couple of days, I've been driving down Dune Road at high tide. These are the days of full-moon spring tides and the water comes right up to and over the road. With the high water level in the marshes, it was not surprising that only the long-legged egrets (mostly Great) and herons (mostly Black-crowned Night Herons) were the dominant birds along with the willets, grackles (mostly Common but with a few Boat-tailed) and Red-winged Blackbirds that line the way.
Hurricane Sandy brought overwash to a number of places, easy to spot by the fact that all the dune vegetation was cleared away. Many of these areas have been fenced off in the hope that Piping Plovers and Least Terns -- both of which like the open sand dunes -- would move in. I can't speak to the Piping Plover issue (these birds nest in isolated pairs) but the Least Terns, which form colonies that can be quite substantial, do not appear to have taken to the new territories in any numbers. Disappointing.
One area where the overwash appears to have created substantial sand bars on the bay side is just east of Tiana Beach. This spot has been a great place for Horseshoe Crab landings in the spring (at least before the crabbers devastated the populations) and was always attractive to shore birds. Even now, with the sandy shoreline still exposed even at high tide (and visible even from the road), it has turned out to be a good roosting area for water and shore birds during high water when other such areas are inundated.
The big attraction here was a flock of about a dozen Black Skimmers, all (as far as I could see) in adult plumage. Skimmers are the only birds whose lower beak is longer than its upper mandible, a feature that it uses when skimming in shallow water. One or two of the birds were actually performing this maneuver; the lower beak is trailed in the water and when it strikes something edible, the upper bill snaps down on it. The bright red bill, tipped in black, contrasts with the white face and underparts; the top of the head is covered with a black hood that extends across the back and wings. The total effect is quite exotic and even a little threatening. When the bird skims low it has to flap its wings so that they never descend lower than a horizontal plane (otherwise the wings would dip in the water) so the black-and-white of the upper and lower wings makes a kind of semaphore signal, part of the bird's almost mystic appeal. Skimmers used to nest on the edges of some of the nearby marsh islands. Perhaps they still do or will again.
Other birds noted on the sand bar included numbers of out-of-season shore birds: peep (probably Semipalmated Sandpipers), Sanderlings, a Ruddy Turnstone, a Black-bellied Plover and several rather plump medium-sized sandpipers with medium-length bills that I'm quite sure were Red Knots in non-breeding plumage. Red Knots are famous for dining on Horseshoe Crab caviar so maybe there are still a few crabs coming in to this spot on the full moon to lay their eggs.
Eric Salzman
Hurricane Sandy brought overwash to a number of places, easy to spot by the fact that all the dune vegetation was cleared away. Many of these areas have been fenced off in the hope that Piping Plovers and Least Terns -- both of which like the open sand dunes -- would move in. I can't speak to the Piping Plover issue (these birds nest in isolated pairs) but the Least Terns, which form colonies that can be quite substantial, do not appear to have taken to the new territories in any numbers. Disappointing.
One area where the overwash appears to have created substantial sand bars on the bay side is just east of Tiana Beach. This spot has been a great place for Horseshoe Crab landings in the spring (at least before the crabbers devastated the populations) and was always attractive to shore birds. Even now, with the sandy shoreline still exposed even at high tide (and visible even from the road), it has turned out to be a good roosting area for water and shore birds during high water when other such areas are inundated.
The big attraction here was a flock of about a dozen Black Skimmers, all (as far as I could see) in adult plumage. Skimmers are the only birds whose lower beak is longer than its upper mandible, a feature that it uses when skimming in shallow water. One or two of the birds were actually performing this maneuver; the lower beak is trailed in the water and when it strikes something edible, the upper bill snaps down on it. The bright red bill, tipped in black, contrasts with the white face and underparts; the top of the head is covered with a black hood that extends across the back and wings. The total effect is quite exotic and even a little threatening. When the bird skims low it has to flap its wings so that they never descend lower than a horizontal plane (otherwise the wings would dip in the water) so the black-and-white of the upper and lower wings makes a kind of semaphore signal, part of the bird's almost mystic appeal. Skimmers used to nest on the edges of some of the nearby marsh islands. Perhaps they still do or will again.
Other birds noted on the sand bar included numbers of out-of-season shore birds: peep (probably Semipalmated Sandpipers), Sanderlings, a Ruddy Turnstone, a Black-bellied Plover and several rather plump medium-sized sandpipers with medium-length bills that I'm quite sure were Red Knots in non-breeding plumage. Red Knots are famous for dining on Horseshoe Crab caviar so maybe there are still a few crabs coming in to this spot on the full moon to lay their eggs.
Eric Salzman
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Herons & honeysuckle
I could hear the Green Heron belch again yesterday morning as I walked down to the marsh but instead of one lone burper, two birds flew up from the open area in the middle. There was also a quoguing Black-Crowned Night Heron there as well plus another one on the pond and several Great Egrets in bare tree branchs back of the pond. Both Black-crowned and Yellow-crowned Night Heron were on the pond this morning; it was the first Yellow-crowned that I've seen in a couple of weeks.
More flowers: the weedy Vine Honeysuckle, Day Lilies (suddenly everywhere), one or other of the Yellow Wood-Sorrels (Oxalis), and a white flower that is either Night-blooming Catchfly (Silene) or Evening Lychnis. John Heidecker points out that the Catalpa flowers have a notable scent. My guess is that a tree filled with scented white flowers attracts evening or even night-flying insects, that the two yellow markings (which are on a kind of bump or ridge inside the flower) serve as landing lights and that the purple lines indicate the runway so the insect can taxi inside the flower where some sort of reward (for fertilizing the flower) awaits.
The wild roses are actually blooming in a large stand of canes on the further right-of-away and, after a careful examination of their thorns, I've decided that they are mostly recurved and not straight. Also the calyxes (is that the right plural?) look fairly bristly. And they mostly appear on the marsh fringes where ground water is near the surface. So I'm opting for Swamp Rose, Rosa palustris.
The surest sign that summer is really here: mosquitos all over the place.
Eric Salzman
More flowers: the weedy Vine Honeysuckle, Day Lilies (suddenly everywhere), one or other of the Yellow Wood-Sorrels (Oxalis), and a white flower that is either Night-blooming Catchfly (Silene) or Evening Lychnis. John Heidecker points out that the Catalpa flowers have a notable scent. My guess is that a tree filled with scented white flowers attracts evening or even night-flying insects, that the two yellow markings (which are on a kind of bump or ridge inside the flower) serve as landing lights and that the purple lines indicate the runway so the insect can taxi inside the flower where some sort of reward (for fertilizing the flower) awaits.
The wild roses are actually blooming in a large stand of canes on the further right-of-away and, after a careful examination of their thorns, I've decided that they are mostly recurved and not straight. Also the calyxes (is that the right plural?) look fairly bristly. And they mostly appear on the marsh fringes where ground water is near the surface. So I'm opting for Swamp Rose, Rosa palustris.
The surest sign that summer is really here: mosquitos all over the place.
Eric Salzman
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
a rude gastric sound
A odd repeated sound, something like a rude digestive noise, caught my attention this morning. I actually thought for a moment that it was my stomach in distress! But no, the sound was coming from a tree somewhere down near the water and it was repeated every 30" or 40" seconds or so, mostly as a single sound but sometimes in little groups of two and three. I had heard this sound before and a little research reminded me that the source of this inelegant noise was the Green Heron. Sure enough, after sorting through the various crows (and their various calls), I found the heron sitting on its lone bare branch and, you should excuse the expression, burping away. The gastric serenade continued throughout much of the morning until, remarkably enough, another Green Heron, a distance away, called loudly with the more familiar and more typical 'sheeyew'. Upon hearing this, the gastric Green Heron promptly flew off in the direction of the other call. It's difficult to find even a reference to this call, let alone an explanation, in the literature. The only mention I could find says that it occurs 'near the nest' (which doesn't seem to explain anything). My guess is that it is connected with mating. The idea would be that a male or female bird uses it to notify the world of Green Heronry that it is available. The female Clapper Rail has such a call and I have seen a male Clapper Rail come rushing out of hiding towards the playback of the female call (this should not be tried at home or, for that matter, in the field).
I think there was a Hairy Woodpecker on the place this morning; I heard one calling loudly. There are Hairy Woodpeckers on Pine Neck and I have found nesting birds over there so I have never understood why they are so scarce over here. At the moment, we have plenty of woodpecker wood and three other woodepckers in residence. This morning I found a female Red-bellied outside what I am fairly sure was its nesting hole but, as long as I hung around the area, the mama bird refused to go in.
I made a mistake in saying that the local Catalpa trees were past their blooming prime. They are just coming into flower and their striking ruffled blossoms, marked by purple and yellow streaks inside, are starting to fall off the trees and litter the ground beneath. I assume that the interior markings are guidelines for who or whatever patronizes the tree and fertilizes its flowers to produce the long hanging beans that follow. Another flower to add to the growing list is a Lathyrus pea (Everlasting Pea?). Ironically enough, both the Catalpa tree and the creeping pea vines belong to the same large family of legumes.
Eric Salzman
I think there was a Hairy Woodpecker on the place this morning; I heard one calling loudly. There are Hairy Woodpeckers on Pine Neck and I have found nesting birds over there so I have never understood why they are so scarce over here. At the moment, we have plenty of woodpecker wood and three other woodepckers in residence. This morning I found a female Red-bellied outside what I am fairly sure was its nesting hole but, as long as I hung around the area, the mama bird refused to go in.
I made a mistake in saying that the local Catalpa trees were past their blooming prime. They are just coming into flower and their striking ruffled blossoms, marked by purple and yellow streaks inside, are starting to fall off the trees and litter the ground beneath. I assume that the interior markings are guidelines for who or whatever patronizes the tree and fertilizes its flowers to produce the long hanging beans that follow. Another flower to add to the growing list is a Lathyrus pea (Everlasting Pea?). Ironically enough, both the Catalpa tree and the creeping pea vines belong to the same large family of legumes.
Eric Salzman
Monday, June 24, 2013
black and white birds
A propos of the LI rivers (a subject of recent posts): John Turner writes me that the Nissequogue, as with all other streams and rivers on Long Island, is also groundwater fed. The Carmans River, he points out, receives about 94% of its flow from groundwater that seeps in from along its banks and through the river bottom! That makes our water system quite different from almost everyone else (where streams, creeks and rivers are primarily drainage).
When I head down to the pond early in the morning these days there are almost invariably a dozen large all black birds and at least a half dozen brilliant white ones. The black ones are, of course, crows in a noisy mixture of adult and young birds. The white birds are Great Egrets (with an occasional Snowy mixed in) which roost on and in the dead and dying trees along the backside of the pond waiting for the tide to go out. Even when they are put to flight by my lumbering presence on the path, they are reluctant to leave circling around to find another perch where they can survey the scene. Often they fly around a bit and then perch directly ahead of me on the pond-side path where they are, of course, flushed again as I move forward.
Some new flowers have started to appear in what now seems like definitively summer weather. These include the charming Deptford Pink and the gorgeous Venus' Looking Glass, both tiny flowers of great beauty and both blooming in storm-ravaged open areas.
Eric Salzman
When I head down to the pond early in the morning these days there are almost invariably a dozen large all black birds and at least a half dozen brilliant white ones. The black ones are, of course, crows in a noisy mixture of adult and young birds. The white birds are Great Egrets (with an occasional Snowy mixed in) which roost on and in the dead and dying trees along the backside of the pond waiting for the tide to go out. Even when they are put to flight by my lumbering presence on the path, they are reluctant to leave circling around to find another perch where they can survey the scene. Often they fly around a bit and then perch directly ahead of me on the pond-side path where they are, of course, flushed again as I move forward.
Some new flowers have started to appear in what now seems like definitively summer weather. These include the charming Deptford Pink and the gorgeous Venus' Looking Glass, both tiny flowers of great beauty and both blooming in storm-ravaged open areas.
Eric Salzman
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Sumer Is Icumen In
Summer has slipped in almost unnoticed. Underneath the Rambler Roses there is a single Periwinkle blossom -- a reminder of another spring gone by. The Fish Crows have at least one offspring -- a smaller short-tailed bird that makes baby crow noises that are clearly different from the endless squawking of the young American Crows around. A trio that has been scarce this spring have reappeared as summer birds: a pair of American Goldfinches, a male Belted Kingfisher and a White-breasted Nuthatch
The two singing Common Yellowthroats started out on opposite sides -- one working the edge of the marsh and the other in the screen of trees on the north (or is it northeast?) side of the property. They have both been gradually working their way toward the pond and this morning they finally met in a big face-off with a series of back-and-forth chases to establish the boundaries between their territories.
Black-crowned Night Herons let us know that they are local since when they fly, they distinctly say "Quogue"!
Eric Salzman
The two singing Common Yellowthroats started out on opposite sides -- one working the edge of the marsh and the other in the screen of trees on the north (or is it northeast?) side of the property. They have both been gradually working their way toward the pond and this morning they finally met in a big face-off with a series of back-and-forth chases to establish the boundaries between their territories.
Black-crowned Night Herons let us know that they are local since when they fly, they distinctly say "Quogue"!
Eric Salzman
Friday, June 21, 2013
Sandy clean-up and some puzzling Lysimachia Loosestrifes
The aftereffects of Sandy will be with us for a long time but we have finally managed to remove the mini-mountain of debris deposited by the storm across the open meadow in front of the house. This line of driftwood, decaying seaweed, broken-off reeds, flotsam and jetsam was already sprouting new growth and threatening to become a permanent feature of the landscape. We had to hire a piece of machinery (essentially a small bull-dozer) to clear it off and it has left behind a swath of dark earth that is in sharp contrast to the sandy soil around it. I can only assume that the new, richer soil was formed by the rotting organic matter which sat there like an unintended compost heap for the past few months. It'll be interesting to see what comes up now.
Most of the ground scoured by Sandy is now covered with vegetation -- mostly Seaside Orache but also including Poison Ivy and other late arrivals. A flowering plant with four-petaled yellow flowers is one of the cresses or mustards, a strange plant to see coming up and flowering in the woods. As I mentioned in a previous e-mail, there are many blooming plants now appearing and I'm trying to keep up with them. In addition to the ones mentioned in previous posts, I can add the tiny white flowers of one of the creeping rubus or dewberry vines; another four-petaled flower, somewhat similar to Evening Primrose (Sundrops, a garden escape, I assume); and Daisy Fleabane, an ugly name for a common wildflower with many small daisy-like blossoms. Common Mullein, which has a striking yellow flower that blossoms from a spike jutting up from a wooly leaf rosette, is just starting to go into bloom.
A couple of stands of Wild Rose are blooming profusely. As I said previously, I'm unsure of the species but I notice that the common alternative to Marsh Rose, Rosa palustris, is not properly called Virginia Rose (as I wrote yesterday) but Carolina or Pasture Rose (Rosa carolina).
I got an e-mail from Polly Weigand who works for the Suffolk County Soil & Conservation District about the identity of the two Lysimachia loosestrifes mentioned in yesterday's post. That sent me back out to look at them more carefully but I'm still not sure exactly what they are. The one with larger blossoms has more than a dozen plants about 1-2 feet high. The bright yellow flowers spring from the base of the leaf whorls on about half a dozen of them (everything mostly in threes and fours); the petals are curvy and the flowers have strong red centers with yellow stamens. Whorled Loosestrife (L. quadrifolia; not a garden escape) fits best. The other stand is a distance away and both plants and flowers are more delicate with smaller, less curvy petals and only tiny dots of red at the center. The leaf whorls are in fours and fives. These look like two different species but they both appear to be closer to Whorled Loosestrife than anything else. Beats me.
Eric Salzman
Most of the ground scoured by Sandy is now covered with vegetation -- mostly Seaside Orache but also including Poison Ivy and other late arrivals. A flowering plant with four-petaled yellow flowers is one of the cresses or mustards, a strange plant to see coming up and flowering in the woods. As I mentioned in a previous e-mail, there are many blooming plants now appearing and I'm trying to keep up with them. In addition to the ones mentioned in previous posts, I can add the tiny white flowers of one of the creeping rubus or dewberry vines; another four-petaled flower, somewhat similar to Evening Primrose (Sundrops, a garden escape, I assume); and Daisy Fleabane, an ugly name for a common wildflower with many small daisy-like blossoms. Common Mullein, which has a striking yellow flower that blossoms from a spike jutting up from a wooly leaf rosette, is just starting to go into bloom.
A couple of stands of Wild Rose are blooming profusely. As I said previously, I'm unsure of the species but I notice that the common alternative to Marsh Rose, Rosa palustris, is not properly called Virginia Rose (as I wrote yesterday) but Carolina or Pasture Rose (Rosa carolina).
I got an e-mail from Polly Weigand who works for the Suffolk County Soil & Conservation District about the identity of the two Lysimachia loosestrifes mentioned in yesterday's post. That sent me back out to look at them more carefully but I'm still not sure exactly what they are. The one with larger blossoms has more than a dozen plants about 1-2 feet high. The bright yellow flowers spring from the base of the leaf whorls on about half a dozen of them (everything mostly in threes and fours); the petals are curvy and the flowers have strong red centers with yellow stamens. Whorled Loosestrife (L. quadrifolia; not a garden escape) fits best. The other stand is a distance away and both plants and flowers are more delicate with smaller, less curvy petals and only tiny dots of red at the center. The leaf whorls are in fours and fives. These look like two different species but they both appear to be closer to Whorled Loosestrife than anything else. Beats me.
Eric Salzman
Thursday, June 20, 2013
more on Connetquot and flowers
Here are Mike Bottini's comments on yesterday's post about Connetquot:
"I'm not sure how you are defining 'largest' (flow volume?), but the Peconic is the longest river on Long Island. The famous trout fishing at the park stems from the fact that the trout there were fed (twice a day), resulting in some huge fish concentrated in a relatively small area. Very unnatural and the antithesis of what trout fishing is all about. I considered it a type of zoo. Those conditions probably led to the outbreak that shut them down. Freshwater fish management here, and many other areas, is archaic. They are stuck in the 'stock and hook' mode, with stocking based on what people want to catch, not what is native, sustainable, and ecologically appropriate."
I think the notion that Connetquot was LI's largest river was indeed based on flow volume. In any case, it's worth noting that three of our four major rivers -- Connetquot, Peconic and Carmen's -- are Pine Barrens rivers that originate from ground water springs rather than run-off (not sure about the fourth, the Nissaquogue, but I think it is similar). These rivers are all constantly pumped up by ground water seeping in all along their course.
As to Mike's remarks about the fish hatchery, I have to say that I agree completely. I'm not sure if the hatchery is being reopened on the same basis as before but the likelihood of further outbreaks is very high. There are, by the way, a few fisherman still there trying their luck.
I'm trying to keep up with the flower calendar but keeping falling behind. The Catalpa trees are already past their prime (I don't think they had a very good year). At least two different kinds of loosestrife are in bloom: Whorled Loosestrife and what I think is a garden escape. The first Sheep's-bit, the violet-blue Jasione montana, are also coming up. That's a plant that I had a lot of trouble identifying as it is not in the Peterson Wild Flower book. A single wild rose (Virginia Rose or Marsh Rose, I am never quite sure) showed up yesterday and more are on the way. Sandy wiped out most of our local wild rose (which was on the edge of the marsh area and must have been flooded out) but at least one big stand along one of our right-of-ways survived and is starting to bloom. Multiflora rose and rambler roses are already in flower along with garden varieties but the native wild rose is still the most beautiful in my eyes.
A single Great Blue Heron is hanging around after all its brethren (and sisteren) have left us for their breeding grounds up north. Still missing: the Little Blue.
Eric Salzman
"I'm not sure how you are defining 'largest' (flow volume?), but the Peconic is the longest river on Long Island. The famous trout fishing at the park stems from the fact that the trout there were fed (twice a day), resulting in some huge fish concentrated in a relatively small area. Very unnatural and the antithesis of what trout fishing is all about. I considered it a type of zoo. Those conditions probably led to the outbreak that shut them down. Freshwater fish management here, and many other areas, is archaic. They are stuck in the 'stock and hook' mode, with stocking based on what people want to catch, not what is native, sustainable, and ecologically appropriate."
I think the notion that Connetquot was LI's largest river was indeed based on flow volume. In any case, it's worth noting that three of our four major rivers -- Connetquot, Peconic and Carmen's -- are Pine Barrens rivers that originate from ground water springs rather than run-off (not sure about the fourth, the Nissaquogue, but I think it is similar). These rivers are all constantly pumped up by ground water seeping in all along their course.
As to Mike's remarks about the fish hatchery, I have to say that I agree completely. I'm not sure if the hatchery is being reopened on the same basis as before but the likelihood of further outbreaks is very high. There are, by the way, a few fisherman still there trying their luck.
I'm trying to keep up with the flower calendar but keeping falling behind. The Catalpa trees are already past their prime (I don't think they had a very good year). At least two different kinds of loosestrife are in bloom: Whorled Loosestrife and what I think is a garden escape. The first Sheep's-bit, the violet-blue Jasione montana, are also coming up. That's a plant that I had a lot of trouble identifying as it is not in the Peterson Wild Flower book. A single wild rose (Virginia Rose or Marsh Rose, I am never quite sure) showed up yesterday and more are on the way. Sandy wiped out most of our local wild rose (which was on the edge of the marsh area and must have been flooded out) but at least one big stand along one of our right-of-ways survived and is starting to bloom. Multiflora rose and rambler roses are already in flower along with garden varieties but the native wild rose is still the most beautiful in my eyes.
A single Great Blue Heron is hanging around after all its brethren (and sisteren) have left us for their breeding grounds up north. Still missing: the Little Blue.
Eric Salzman
Connetquot River State Park Preserve
Yellow-throated Warbler @ Connetquot
young Eastern Phoebe @ Connetquot
This has always been a prime spot for birds with many unusual breeding records including (over the years) Canada Warbler, Brown Creeper, Eastern Bluebird and others. The current starring role in this respect is being played by the Yellow-throated Warbler, a southern species whose range has extended in recent years to southern New Jersey. Apparently there were two singing males this year, one of which we (Eileen Schwinn and myself) heard, saw and even photographed (poorly) shortly after arrival. The loud, insistent song consists of a series of loud repeated (spaced, not trilled) notes sometimes ending in a small flourish. As is often the case with rare birds, the sound led us directly to locate the singer who was working the evergreens around the main group of club buildings. So far there is no breeding evidence but one can always hope. . . .
A walk around the nearby pond and wetlands produced a young Phoebe practicing its insect-catching skills but also pausing long enough to be photographed (note the brown head, mottled breast and yellowish belly, all signs that this was a bird of the year). Also on this stretch was a pair of Blue-gray Gnatcatchers desperately trying to meet the incessant demands of a voracious young Cowbird. An unusual sight was a pair of Cedar Waxwings feeding in an opening along with Barn and Tree Swallows and catching insects with with swallow-like dexterity.
Another truly rara avis was the sight of biologist and birder Shai Mitra further out on one of the woods roads that runs through this park. Shai reported on a couple of birds that we missed: Yellow-throated Vireo and a young Blue Grosbeak sighted in disparate areas of the park; both are uncommon nesters on LI but might well be expected in a beautiful, large, natural area like Connetquot.
Eric Salzman
Monday, June 17, 2013
bird broadcasting
We have two Common Yellowthroat territories on opposite sides of the property. On one side, the male sings his 'weetchy-weetchy-weetch' non-stop as he works his way invisibly through the upper dense screen of a leafy grove of trees. On the other side, by the corner of the marsh, the male basically sings very little (a few times early in the morning and occasionally once or twice in the late afternoon). However, unlike his confrere, he pops right up into view -- generally from a low bush -- just as soon as I round the path by his corner. The difference, I'm quite certain, is that the arboreal singing Yellowthroat does not have a mate and the quiet bushmaster -- the one that pops up to survey what's going on in his neighborhood -- has a mate as well as a probable nest with eggs and chicks on the way.
In the same way, the Yellow Warbler that sings persistently from the treetops and the Brown Thrasher that turns up singing his thrasher tunes from the treetops are probably not mated either but both still in the hopes that their excellent singing skills will attract a female and put him on the road to perpetuating his singing genes. These birds are not normally treetop denizens but persistent singing from a high perch literally broadcasts the song over a wider area and increases the chances that the right ears might be listening.
Eric Salzman
In the same way, the Yellow Warbler that sings persistently from the treetops and the Brown Thrasher that turns up singing his thrasher tunes from the treetops are probably not mated either but both still in the hopes that their excellent singing skills will attract a female and put him on the road to perpetuating his singing genes. These birds are not normally treetop denizens but persistent singing from a high perch literally broadcasts the song over a wider area and increases the chances that the right ears might be listening.
Eric Salzman
Sunday, June 16, 2013
the not-so-mute Mute Swan
If you've ever been attacked by a Mute Swan, you know that they are not so mute. But it isn't only aggression that encourages them to make noise. A pair of these birds have been feeding in our pond regularly, nibbling on the algae that has been growing in the pond since the weather turned warm. These tamefowl are not at all put off by my presence (in fact, they clearly associate humans with food) and they continue to feed just a few feet away from the edge of the pond where I am standing. When they are this close, you can hear a variety of almost inaudible grunts, apparently used by the pair to keep in contact. Adult swans also maintain contact with their cygnets this way but we have not had a successful swan nesting here in the past two years in spite of the fact that there are at least two pairs in residence.
Earlier in the spring, there was a female Mallard with eight ducklings but I have not seen any sign of ducklings recently. And the Canada Geese seem to have largely abandoned the creek for greener pastures. These three constitute our common tamefowl, all introduced here, Mute Swans from Europe, the other two from the far north and west.
The Pine Neck Osprey nest may have hatchlings. When I look over there from our side, I see one adult bird perched on the edge of the nest while the other is often on a dead stub in the vicinity fileting the catch of the day. The second pair of Ospreys seem to have dropped their courting behavior although at least one of the birds is still in the area and overnights next to the Aldrich Boatyard a little ways up the creek.
The occasional odd loon -- not always identifiable as to species -- can still be seen high overhead on its southwest-to-northeast flight path, apparently still in late migration. And an occasional Chimney Swift twitters across the sky, as zig-zag in its flight as the loon is arrow-straight. Unlike the loons, Chimney Swifts are local breeders (chimneys in Riverhead, Westhampton and perhaps still East Quogue).
A major flowering plant of the moment is one of the arrowwood viburnums, probably Viburnum dentatum or Southern Arrowwood. The flowers come in slightly rounded white clusters with black seeds to follow. I assume these plants were named by native Americans because they made good arrows.
Eric Salzman
Earlier in the spring, there was a female Mallard with eight ducklings but I have not seen any sign of ducklings recently. And the Canada Geese seem to have largely abandoned the creek for greener pastures. These three constitute our common tamefowl, all introduced here, Mute Swans from Europe, the other two from the far north and west.
The Pine Neck Osprey nest may have hatchlings. When I look over there from our side, I see one adult bird perched on the edge of the nest while the other is often on a dead stub in the vicinity fileting the catch of the day. The second pair of Ospreys seem to have dropped their courting behavior although at least one of the birds is still in the area and overnights next to the Aldrich Boatyard a little ways up the creek.
The occasional odd loon -- not always identifiable as to species -- can still be seen high overhead on its southwest-to-northeast flight path, apparently still in late migration. And an occasional Chimney Swift twitters across the sky, as zig-zag in its flight as the loon is arrow-straight. Unlike the loons, Chimney Swifts are local breeders (chimneys in Riverhead, Westhampton and perhaps still East Quogue).
A major flowering plant of the moment is one of the arrowwood viburnums, probably Viburnum dentatum or Southern Arrowwood. The flowers come in slightly rounded white clusters with black seeds to follow. I assume these plants were named by native Americans because they made good arrows.
Eric Salzman
Friday, June 14, 2013
Fish Crows and foot massage
I don't know if the Tufted Titmice nesting made it through all the rainstorms of recent days but a flock of Black-capped Chickadees, consisting of a dozen or so birds, was almost certainly a family group. The other nesting success is American Crow; I can hear the begging waaahs of the young ones as I write this (more on crows below). Common Yellowthroats continue to sing in widely separated locations; one at the edge of the marsh (where I have seen a female as well) and the other at the opposite side of the property. A Brown Thrasher continues to sing intermittently from a high perch and the Downy Woodpeckers are still at it with their loud, fast raps. Green Heron, Black-crowned Night Heron and both egrets are regular visitors.
I was a little premature announcing a second pair of Osprey on the creek. These two birds appeared to begin to construct a dummy nest (or 'practice nest' or nest foundation) on an empty platform on the opposite side of the creek but, after laying down a few twigs, they have seemingly stopped work. Since the heavy rains of recent days, the noisy active Osprey courting activities of the past couple of weeks seem to have stopped altogether.
In answer to the question if the Sag Harbor Fish Crows are active right now, Penny Moser tells me that every time the door opened at her reflexology session in Sag Harbor, she could hear the giveaway caw of Fish Crow! She also reports that, in feeding birds in the Mt. Misery area of Sag Harbor for the past three decades she has rarely seen any crows at all but she now sees American Crows. She also reports that, as she drove through the village the other day, there was much Fish Crow cawing and puddle-bathing. From various sources, I am beginning to suspect that the appearance of any crows at all in Sag Harbor is a fairly recent phenomenon but that both species have invaded in numbers. Fish Crows may not make big inroads on the South Shore bays and beach but they obviously have reached the shores of the inner bays.
Eric Salzman
I was a little premature announcing a second pair of Osprey on the creek. These two birds appeared to begin to construct a dummy nest (or 'practice nest' or nest foundation) on an empty platform on the opposite side of the creek but, after laying down a few twigs, they have seemingly stopped work. Since the heavy rains of recent days, the noisy active Osprey courting activities of the past couple of weeks seem to have stopped altogether.
In answer to the question if the Sag Harbor Fish Crows are active right now, Penny Moser tells me that every time the door opened at her reflexology session in Sag Harbor, she could hear the giveaway caw of Fish Crow! She also reports that, in feeding birds in the Mt. Misery area of Sag Harbor for the past three decades she has rarely seen any crows at all but she now sees American Crows. She also reports that, as she drove through the village the other day, there was much Fish Crow cawing and puddle-bathing. From various sources, I am beginning to suspect that the appearance of any crows at all in Sag Harbor is a fairly recent phenomenon but that both species have invaded in numbers. Fish Crows may not make big inroads on the South Shore bays and beach but they obviously have reached the shores of the inner bays.
Eric Salzman
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
crow man at Cornell weighs in
Kevin McGowan, the resident crow man at Cornell, tells me that male crows are bigger than females and that crows mutually preen each other. He tells me that the female I saw 'allopreening' (i.e. 'preening another') a bigger male could have been an offspring from a previous year as it is late for a new pair to be forming and trying to nest. Even so, I really think this is a newly mated pair just formed this spring and not a father-daughter combination. Why do I think this? Something about the way they act together. I actually saw the male fly up to the top of a pine tree and call a few times until the female came and continued with her allopreening.
Kevin also reports that American Crows in western Long Island were very badly hit by West Nile and have almost disappeared and their crow habitat has been largely taken over by Fish Crows. Nothing like that has happened here. I counted half a dozen American Crows over the marsh this morning and others in the woods. There's probably at least another dozen on the opposite side of Weesuck Creek -- perhaps even 18 or 20 birds. That adds up to a lot of crows and, even allowing for helpers at the nest, probably at least a dozen nesting pairs. Even as I write this, I can hear the sound of young crows just out of the nest. American Crows that is.
I don't know how to explain the throngs of Fish Crows in Sag Harbor. Was there a die-off of American Crows that permitted the Fish Crows to invade? Or were the American Crows hesitant to invade a built-up habitat in the first place. Most people think of crows as urban birds but American Crows have invaded cities only in recent years. Around here (i.e. Eastern LI) they are still most common around shorelines and in rural, farming areas. At least that's my experience.
Another tropical rainstorm -- the second in three days! -- and, alas, I think the titmouse nest is now defunct (maybe the young ones just fledged but I doubt it). This morning's weather was very beautiful; sunny, dry, almost like a fall day. But it was ominously quiet with just a woodpecker raps and a call or two from the Great Crested Flycatcher. I'm somewhat concerned about the effect that Friday's and Sunday's heavy tropical storms had on breeding birds.
Lots of flowering plants in bloom including Black Locust, Multiflora Rose, rubus blackberry and, one of my favorites, the tiny magical Oldfield Toadflax coming out of pure sand.
Eric Salzman
Kevin also reports that American Crows in western Long Island were very badly hit by West Nile and have almost disappeared and their crow habitat has been largely taken over by Fish Crows. Nothing like that has happened here. I counted half a dozen American Crows over the marsh this morning and others in the woods. There's probably at least another dozen on the opposite side of Weesuck Creek -- perhaps even 18 or 20 birds. That adds up to a lot of crows and, even allowing for helpers at the nest, probably at least a dozen nesting pairs. Even as I write this, I can hear the sound of young crows just out of the nest. American Crows that is.
I don't know how to explain the throngs of Fish Crows in Sag Harbor. Was there a die-off of American Crows that permitted the Fish Crows to invade? Or were the American Crows hesitant to invade a built-up habitat in the first place. Most people think of crows as urban birds but American Crows have invaded cities only in recent years. Around here (i.e. Eastern LI) they are still most common around shorelines and in rural, farming areas. At least that's my experience.
Another tropical rainstorm -- the second in three days! -- and, alas, I think the titmouse nest is now defunct (maybe the young ones just fledged but I doubt it). This morning's weather was very beautiful; sunny, dry, almost like a fall day. But it was ominously quiet with just a woodpecker raps and a call or two from the Great Crested Flycatcher. I'm somewhat concerned about the effect that Friday's and Sunday's heavy tropical storms had on breeding birds.
Lots of flowering plants in bloom including Black Locust, Multiflora Rose, rubus blackberry and, one of my favorites, the tiny magical Oldfield Toadflax coming out of pure sand.
Eric Salzman
Monday, June 10, 2013
more on crows and woodpeckers
I think I received more responses to my Crow Love blog than any other post to date! I had suggested that Fish Crows on Eastern LI tend to breed in isolated pairs away from the coast. The gist of most of the crow correspondence was that Sag Harbor -- assuredly on the coast -- is overrun with Fish Crows, apparently centering on Havens Beach where they have replaced the local gulls as scavengers. I have actually seen such a large gathering of Fish Crows in Hampton Bays -- not near the ocean or bay but at the Suffolk County Water Authority property around the water tower where the Ravens have bred; this is just south of the Hampton Bays LIRR station and near the local parking lots and shopping malls. But, in my experience, the Hampton Bays flock-up is a summer phenomenon.
I don't think any of these observations are contradictory. Fish Crows, like American Crows, would tend to flock up after breeding season in or near favorite feeding areas and also in preparation for moving on as migration season approaches. Fish Crows are basically a southeastern species and have expanded their range to the north only recently and they have a tendency to withdraw from the northern parts of their range (although, as the climate warms, this may change). I wonder if the big Sag Harbor agglomerations are there during breeding season and if they remain all year; I would assume that any birds hanging out through the spring would have to be non-breeders.
Fish Crows, like American Crows, are supposed to be semi-colonial in their breeding habits but, in my experience, the LI birds breed in isolated pairs (and away from the water). I'd be interested if anyone had evidence to the contrary. Also, in researching all of this, I found a fascinating difference between the nesting habits of American Crows and Fish Crows. Young American Crows tend to hang around their birthplace and help out with the family chores for a few years before setting up on their own. This accounts for the fact that an area like ours, with only two or three Am Crow nests, always seems to be hosting a bigger crow colony than is actually the case. This doesn't happen with Fish Crows and apparently all the local young Fish Crows that don't have a mate go off to Havens Beach on Spring Break to party.
Woodpecker drumming continues apace: two or three Downies as well as Red-bellied and N. Flicker. Yesterday afternoon I saw a family group of three Downies: male, female and youngster, the latter identifiable by a red forehead, a feature that disappears in the adults; adult females have no red at all, males only a red spot on the nape (the red forehead of young Downies is not illustrated in many of the field guides although it is a feature of both fledgling Hairy and Downy Woodpeckers). Downies, being year-round residents, can get an early start on breeding and the active drummers are actually late contenders (or second-nesters).
Cedar Waxwings have shown up in small numbers. The Waxwings, along with the American Goldfinches -- also present in small numbers -- are our latest nesters, waiting until their food resources peak in the full blast of summer.
Eric Salzman
I don't think any of these observations are contradictory. Fish Crows, like American Crows, would tend to flock up after breeding season in or near favorite feeding areas and also in preparation for moving on as migration season approaches. Fish Crows are basically a southeastern species and have expanded their range to the north only recently and they have a tendency to withdraw from the northern parts of their range (although, as the climate warms, this may change). I wonder if the big Sag Harbor agglomerations are there during breeding season and if they remain all year; I would assume that any birds hanging out through the spring would have to be non-breeders.
Fish Crows, like American Crows, are supposed to be semi-colonial in their breeding habits but, in my experience, the LI birds breed in isolated pairs (and away from the water). I'd be interested if anyone had evidence to the contrary. Also, in researching all of this, I found a fascinating difference between the nesting habits of American Crows and Fish Crows. Young American Crows tend to hang around their birthplace and help out with the family chores for a few years before setting up on their own. This accounts for the fact that an area like ours, with only two or three Am Crow nests, always seems to be hosting a bigger crow colony than is actually the case. This doesn't happen with Fish Crows and apparently all the local young Fish Crows that don't have a mate go off to Havens Beach on Spring Break to party.
Woodpecker drumming continues apace: two or three Downies as well as Red-bellied and N. Flicker. Yesterday afternoon I saw a family group of three Downies: male, female and youngster, the latter identifiable by a red forehead, a feature that disappears in the adults; adult females have no red at all, males only a red spot on the nape (the red forehead of young Downies is not illustrated in many of the field guides although it is a feature of both fledgling Hairy and Downy Woodpeckers). Downies, being year-round residents, can get an early start on breeding and the active drummers are actually late contenders (or second-nesters).
Cedar Waxwings have shown up in small numbers. The Waxwings, along with the American Goldfinches -- also present in small numbers -- are our latest nesters, waiting until their food resources peak in the full blast of summer.
Eric Salzman
Sunday, June 9, 2013
"Why you Y___=b___ Flycatcher, you"
We went to a wedding at the Devon Yacht Club in Amagansett in the middle of Friday's ferocious storm. The worst of it had let up as we emerged from the festivities at c. 10 pm when we were surrounded by a veritable symphonic storm of trilling Tree Frogs (Northern Grays?) in all the trees around the club parking lot and only lightly punctuated by a few laggard Spring Peepers. I wonder if there was an emergence of Eastern Spadefoot Toads anywhere; heavy rainfall is what brings them out. The Tree Frogs certainly liked the weather!
After that hurricane-like storm, I hoped to see some wind-blown strays but yesterday's haul was just an expanded version of the regulars: all our local breeders coming up for air and nourishment, plus an extra or two: all three warblers (Yellowthroat, Yellow and Pine), a female Eastern Towhee, a male Belted Kingfisher, a Glossy Ibis wheeling just a few feet over my head. With all the standing dead wood, this place has become woodpecker heaven. Downy Woodpeckers -- one very mobile bird or perhaps two or three scattered drummers -- have found some very resonant dead tree limbs for their percussion solos. The two Fish Crows that I wrote about yesterday were on duty again in their usual spot and I even heard one of them call a Fish Crow call.
We have a Tufted Titmouse nest in a split oak cavity and I was worried that it might have been flooded out -- the opening appears to face straight up and would seem to have been open to yesterday's heavy rains. But no, the first thing I saw this morning was an adult leaving the nest carrying a fecal sac. You couldn't ask for a better sign that at least some of the young titmice have survived!
The pond hit low tide in the early afternoon and neither the pondmaster (Willy Willet) nor the Snowy Egret made any serious attempt to flee on my arrival. The Willet did set up a bit of a racket but soon quieted down and the birds resumed their previous activities, both coming to the edge of the pond within a few feet of where I was sitting. I could watch the egret stirring up the mud with its golden slippers and then nabbing the worms that it had disturbed. The Willet spent most of the time preening and bathing but eventually went to feed as well, coming up with the catch of the day: a big wiggler of a worm which he quickly dispatched.
A warm, dewy Sunday morning produced a Empid flycatcher which I'm certain was a late migrant. This olive-green bird had a very well defined eye-ring and equally well-defined wing markings, a short (or short-to-medium) primary extension and, best of all, a yellow belly. It was that most uncommon (and often latest) of the Eastern Empids, the YELLOW-BELLIED FLYCATCHER on its way to the boreal bogs where it breeds.
Eric Salzman
After that hurricane-like storm, I hoped to see some wind-blown strays but yesterday's haul was just an expanded version of the regulars: all our local breeders coming up for air and nourishment, plus an extra or two: all three warblers (Yellowthroat, Yellow and Pine), a female Eastern Towhee, a male Belted Kingfisher, a Glossy Ibis wheeling just a few feet over my head. With all the standing dead wood, this place has become woodpecker heaven. Downy Woodpeckers -- one very mobile bird or perhaps two or three scattered drummers -- have found some very resonant dead tree limbs for their percussion solos. The two Fish Crows that I wrote about yesterday were on duty again in their usual spot and I even heard one of them call a Fish Crow call.
We have a Tufted Titmouse nest in a split oak cavity and I was worried that it might have been flooded out -- the opening appears to face straight up and would seem to have been open to yesterday's heavy rains. But no, the first thing I saw this morning was an adult leaving the nest carrying a fecal sac. You couldn't ask for a better sign that at least some of the young titmice have survived!
The pond hit low tide in the early afternoon and neither the pondmaster (Willy Willet) nor the Snowy Egret made any serious attempt to flee on my arrival. The Willet did set up a bit of a racket but soon quieted down and the birds resumed their previous activities, both coming to the edge of the pond within a few feet of where I was sitting. I could watch the egret stirring up the mud with its golden slippers and then nabbing the worms that it had disturbed. The Willet spent most of the time preening and bathing but eventually went to feed as well, coming up with the catch of the day: a big wiggler of a worm which he quickly dispatched.
A warm, dewy Sunday morning produced a Empid flycatcher which I'm certain was a late migrant. This olive-green bird had a very well defined eye-ring and equally well-defined wing markings, a short (or short-to-medium) primary extension and, best of all, a yellow belly. It was that most uncommon (and often latest) of the Eastern Empids, the YELLOW-BELLIED FLYCATCHER on its way to the boreal bogs where it breeds.
Eric Salzman
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Crow love
Jean Held writes to me about how the crows are 'taking over' Sag Harbor and she wonders if they could be responsible for the 'decrease in smaller birds' that we all have observed. She mentions a drop in the number of nesting Common Grackles, something I've also noticed. Perhaps this is due to competition with American Crow but it's hard to prove and, in any case, we still have lots of grackles. The American Crow is a native species, Common Grackles are not that deeply in trouble, and the smaller birds that have suffered the biggest declines are mostly neo-tropical migrants -- warblers, thrushes, vireos and the like. Crows are not likely to be major culprits in most of these cases.
I will say that until a few years ago, American Crows were common nesters on Pine Neck but not on our side of Weesuck Creek. Any Corvus brachyrhynchos that was bold enough to try and cross the creek to our side was met by squadrons of RAF fighters in the guise of Red-winged Blackbirds. It really was like the Battle of Britain. As soon as the Crows started to come across, you could guarantee that the Red-wings would rise up out of the marsh to attack and drive off them off. The Red-wings had the trick of getting above their nemesis and dive-bombing them repeatedly until they turned around and went back. But, alas, it didn't work forever and, although, our Red-wings still attack marauding Crows, they now have to deal with local nesting birds; the crows eventually -- inevitably I suppose -- eventually got established on our side.
Yesterday morning, before the rains closed in, I had the chance to observe a pair of crows in a grove of pines and oaks just off our right-of-way on Foster Crossing. I believe that these birds, although largely silent, are Fish Crows. Both of them seemed to have a rather shiny glossy black plumage and somewhat slim bills with a hook at the end. One bird was noticeably smaller and sleeker than the other. The larger bird had a ruffled collar -- throat and neck feathers fluffled up -- and the smaller bird was nibbling at the ruffled ruff of the larger bird. Looked to me like crow love!
This is the area where I heard Fish Crow calls quite regularly a little earlier this spring and I think one of these birds at least was the caller -- perhaps a male who eventually attracted a female. You might imagine that Fish Crows should be down by the water but on Long Island, in my experience at least, they are usually back from the water and often nest in isolated pairs. Fish Crows are a southwestern species and, like many southern species, they have colonized Long Island relatively recently. My guess is that they found the Common Crow well entrenched on all shore areas so they may have adapted by choosing nest sites away from Common Crow agglomerations.
Eric Salzman
I will say that until a few years ago, American Crows were common nesters on Pine Neck but not on our side of Weesuck Creek. Any Corvus brachyrhynchos that was bold enough to try and cross the creek to our side was met by squadrons of RAF fighters in the guise of Red-winged Blackbirds. It really was like the Battle of Britain. As soon as the Crows started to come across, you could guarantee that the Red-wings would rise up out of the marsh to attack and drive off them off. The Red-wings had the trick of getting above their nemesis and dive-bombing them repeatedly until they turned around and went back. But, alas, it didn't work forever and, although, our Red-wings still attack marauding Crows, they now have to deal with local nesting birds; the crows eventually -- inevitably I suppose -- eventually got established on our side.
Yesterday morning, before the rains closed in, I had the chance to observe a pair of crows in a grove of pines and oaks just off our right-of-way on Foster Crossing. I believe that these birds, although largely silent, are Fish Crows. Both of them seemed to have a rather shiny glossy black plumage and somewhat slim bills with a hook at the end. One bird was noticeably smaller and sleeker than the other. The larger bird had a ruffled collar -- throat and neck feathers fluffled up -- and the smaller bird was nibbling at the ruffled ruff of the larger bird. Looked to me like crow love!
This is the area where I heard Fish Crow calls quite regularly a little earlier this spring and I think one of these birds at least was the caller -- perhaps a male who eventually attracted a female. You might imagine that Fish Crows should be down by the water but on Long Island, in my experience at least, they are usually back from the water and often nest in isolated pairs. Fish Crows are a southwestern species and, like many southern species, they have colonized Long Island relatively recently. My guess is that they found the Common Crow well entrenched on all shore areas so they may have adapted by choosing nest sites away from Common Crow agglomerations.
Eric Salzman
Thursday, June 6, 2013
A winner!
Well it looks like there is a winner.
For the past few weeks there has been a lot of Osprey activity on the creek with calling birds carrying their catch while calling loudly. There have been as many as three or four birds circling over the creek and on occasion more. My guess is that there were several males competing for the favors of a young female. At least one or two of the contenders were knocked out of the running a while back and, in the the past few days, I think she narrowed her choice down to the two birds who have been circling with her over the creek in a kind of choreographic competitive display. Look at me! Look at what a great fisher I am! Now I think she has made her pick. She and the lucky guy are starting to build a nest on the hitherto unused osprey pole on Pine Neck on the opposite shore, the first sign of activity around that platform. It is probably too late for them to breed this year but this 'starter' or 'practice nest' can serve as the foundation for the real thing next year.
The young Yellow-crowned Night Heron was back this morning sitting out among the Spartina alterniflora grass of the marsh in an area where, as the tide drops, Fiddler Crabs emerge. If you were a Yellow-crowned Night Heron, you'd love Fiddler Crabs too.
Eric Salzman
For the past few weeks there has been a lot of Osprey activity on the creek with calling birds carrying their catch while calling loudly. There have been as many as three or four birds circling over the creek and on occasion more. My guess is that there were several males competing for the favors of a young female. At least one or two of the contenders were knocked out of the running a while back and, in the the past few days, I think she narrowed her choice down to the two birds who have been circling with her over the creek in a kind of choreographic competitive display. Look at me! Look at what a great fisher I am! Now I think she has made her pick. She and the lucky guy are starting to build a nest on the hitherto unused osprey pole on Pine Neck on the opposite shore, the first sign of activity around that platform. It is probably too late for them to breed this year but this 'starter' or 'practice nest' can serve as the foundation for the real thing next year.
The young Yellow-crowned Night Heron was back this morning sitting out among the Spartina alterniflora grass of the marsh in an area where, as the tide drops, Fiddler Crabs emerge. If you were a Yellow-crowned Night Heron, you'd love Fiddler Crabs too.
Eric Salzman
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
A Squawk of Herons?
The sudden proliferation of small passerines chasing big crows is a good indication that there are eggs and fledglings in many a nest. The crows come around marauding, looking to find food for their own young by raiding the nests of other birds. Most of the chasers are Red-winged Blackbirds but many other birds recognize the threat and will go after the crows. I found two Tufted Titmice, both with food in their beaks, in an extremely agitated state but unwilling to go to their nest -- in the cavity formed by a split oak -- for fear of giving its location away to a crow hanging out in the neighborhood. They were buzzing the crow but unable to chase it away. I don't think the crow could have gotten its oversize beak into the cavity but the titmice were clearly not taking any chances. However my arrival chased the crow, and the two titmice both came into the hole -- at the same time! -- to successfully deliver their food packages! For once, I was the good guy and not just another threat.
There have been a sedge of night herons on and around the pond ('siege' or 'sedge' is the proper collective term, I am informed) -- several Black-crowned but also including at least one first-year Yellow-crowned molting into adult plumage. As I approached the pond, they flushed with a collective squawk that was hideous enough to scare off any potential predator. They all took off except one Great Egret who was squawking as loudly as the rest but was not quite willing to give up on the pond; it landed on the dead cedar on the opposite side and eventually dropped back down into the pond where it was shortly joined by a Snowy Egret. The one bird that never flushed at all was, of course, our Pondmaster Willie Willet -- who, after a few loud protests from the shallows, settled back into his toilette.
Four swallows over the marsh: Tree and Bank in addition to Barn and Purple Martins. Common Yellowthroats are almost certainly nesting at the corner edge of the marsh; there is a pair and the male is 'en garde' but not singing. Yellow Warbler continues to sing a bit further inland and from the tree canopy. Yesterday I described our local House Wrens as non-dooryard birds but today at least one of them seems to have retreated to the bushes in a neighbor's backyard. Very active singing Baltimore Orioles -- at least two different males with different songs.
Instead of 'a sedge of herons', how about 'a squawk of herons'?
Eric Salzman
There have been a sedge of night herons on and around the pond ('siege' or 'sedge' is the proper collective term, I am informed) -- several Black-crowned but also including at least one first-year Yellow-crowned molting into adult plumage. As I approached the pond, they flushed with a collective squawk that was hideous enough to scare off any potential predator. They all took off except one Great Egret who was squawking as loudly as the rest but was not quite willing to give up on the pond; it landed on the dead cedar on the opposite side and eventually dropped back down into the pond where it was shortly joined by a Snowy Egret. The one bird that never flushed at all was, of course, our Pondmaster Willie Willet -- who, after a few loud protests from the shallows, settled back into his toilette.
Four swallows over the marsh: Tree and Bank in addition to Barn and Purple Martins. Common Yellowthroats are almost certainly nesting at the corner edge of the marsh; there is a pair and the male is 'en garde' but not singing. Yellow Warbler continues to sing a bit further inland and from the tree canopy. Yesterday I described our local House Wrens as non-dooryard birds but today at least one of them seems to have retreated to the bushes in a neighbor's backyard. Very active singing Baltimore Orioles -- at least two different males with different songs.
Instead of 'a sedge of herons', how about 'a squawk of herons'?
Eric Salzman
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
our June morning chorus
Now that the bedroom windows are open at night, I can hear sounds from the outside very clearly. I woke up this morning to the whistles and chirps of an Osprey -- probably one of the new pair that seem to be romancing on our side of the creek. It was shortly followed by the loud repeated rhythms of a Carolina Wren and then the gentler notes of a Tufted Titmouse. Next were the crows (not in song but in some kind of social confabulation) and then the unmistakeable whistles of the Northern Cardinal. No robins, no Blue Jays, no Catbirds -- all birds that I assume are feeding nestlings or fledglings, an activity that keeps them quiet. I actually heard Blue Jays mobbing a crow a bit later in the day -- the first jay sounds in weeks.
The Osprey are forming what I think will be a second pair in the area. The established pair has a nest on Pine Neck and I believe there are young in that nest. The new pair has been active most of the month of May with a third bird -- a second male in competition for the female? -- in attendance much of the time (at one point, there were four or five birds on the creek). I think these are all young birds. If all goes well, I would expect to see these Osprey affairs settled out and perhaps even some new nest construction this summer but probably not any egg-laying by the new pair until next season.
Tufted Titmice are nesting again in a vertical tree-hole formed by the split in the trunk of a small oak. I saw one bird fly straight down into the cavity carrying food. Either he is feeding a female sitting on eggs or, more likely (since there seem to be two birds flying in the neighborhood), there are already hatchlings in the nest.
This has not been a very good year for butterflies. So far I've seen a Tiger Swallowtail or two, a couple of Red Admirals and a large black butterfly over the marsh, probably a Spicebush Swallowtail. There are a few skippers around of the Hobomok/Zabulon variety and duskywings of the Juvenal/Horace type. By the way, how did Duskywings get named for Roman poets? And did Hobomok and Zabulon get their exotic names from Native Americans or from the Bible?
Eric Salzman
The Osprey are forming what I think will be a second pair in the area. The established pair has a nest on Pine Neck and I believe there are young in that nest. The new pair has been active most of the month of May with a third bird -- a second male in competition for the female? -- in attendance much of the time (at one point, there were four or five birds on the creek). I think these are all young birds. If all goes well, I would expect to see these Osprey affairs settled out and perhaps even some new nest construction this summer but probably not any egg-laying by the new pair until next season.
Tufted Titmice are nesting again in a vertical tree-hole formed by the split in the trunk of a small oak. I saw one bird fly straight down into the cavity carrying food. Either he is feeding a female sitting on eggs or, more likely (since there seem to be two birds flying in the neighborhood), there are already hatchlings in the nest.
This has not been a very good year for butterflies. So far I've seen a Tiger Swallowtail or two, a couple of Red Admirals and a large black butterfly over the marsh, probably a Spicebush Swallowtail. There are a few skippers around of the Hobomok/Zabulon variety and duskywings of the Juvenal/Horace type. By the way, how did Duskywings get named for Roman poets? And did Hobomok and Zabulon get their exotic names from Native Americans or from the Bible?
Eric Salzman
Sunday, June 2, 2013
swallows and a wren
Troglodytes aedon, better known as the House Wren, is considered a dooryard bird from Canada to Tierra del Fuego but out here that honor rightly belongs to the Carolina Wren. Although our local House Wren does use bird houses, it is almost more of a woodland bird that can be found in open pine barrens, at woodland edges and wherever there is dense shrubbery or lots of dead wood, with or without woodpecker holes. "Troglodytes" means "cave dweller" and, like most wrens, House Wrens like small holes for nesting but will also nest in and under wood piles, artificial or natural. Heaven knows we have a lot of wood piles these days. It's an ill wind that blows no good and the hurricanes have been a boon for this small spunky songbird; not surprisingly, this has been an excellent spring for House Wrens. Unlike the Carolina Wren, the House Wren migrates south for the winter and some of the spring birds we see (and hear) are undoubtedly just passing through but today's bird, moving around the brushy edges between the woodland and the marsh, is a good candidate for a local nester -- if his enthusiastic, non-stop singing technique can attract a female. He certainly got my attention; once you learn the jumbly song of this species, you realize that there are a lot more of these elfin birds around than you thought.
The marsh itself was full of swallows -- Purple Martins, Barn Swallows and a single Bank Swallow -- all catching insects low above the burgeoning Spartina. The Martins were carrying on still further up into the stands of Phragmites at the head of the marsh. As their lines of flight converged, the birds seemed to start colliding with each other, generating some surprising inter-martin aerial combats and even forcing some of the birds down to rest momentarily on reeds or shrubs. Oblivious to all of this, a Yellow Warbler and a Common Yellowthroat were working the perimeter and a rail -- probably, although not certainly, a Clapper -- called from somewhere inside the marsh.
Our pondmaster, Willy Willet, was back at his/her low tide post, hanging out again with the female-plumaged duck -- an odd avian couple. The question of the species identity of the duck was seemingly settled when it was joined by a male Mallard that came dropping by and the two of them waddled and swam up the pond while the Willet finished its toilette and began foraging in the shallow water -- for exactly what I could not see.
Eric Salzman
The marsh itself was full of swallows -- Purple Martins, Barn Swallows and a single Bank Swallow -- all catching insects low above the burgeoning Spartina. The Martins were carrying on still further up into the stands of Phragmites at the head of the marsh. As their lines of flight converged, the birds seemed to start colliding with each other, generating some surprising inter-martin aerial combats and even forcing some of the birds down to rest momentarily on reeds or shrubs. Oblivious to all of this, a Yellow Warbler and a Common Yellowthroat were working the perimeter and a rail -- probably, although not certainly, a Clapper -- called from somewhere inside the marsh.
Our pondmaster, Willy Willet, was back at his/her low tide post, hanging out again with the female-plumaged duck -- an odd avian couple. The question of the species identity of the duck was seemingly settled when it was joined by a male Mallard that came dropping by and the two of them waddled and swam up the pond while the Willet finished its toilette and began foraging in the shallow water -- for exactly what I could not see.
Eric Salzman
Saturday, June 1, 2013
tree tops to pond bottom
A Baltimore Oriole has been singing repeatedly from the canopy of oak and hickory just outside the porch where I am writing this. Somebody (Roger Tory Peterson perhaps) once said that the oriole song is like an introduction to an even more beautiful song that, however, never comes. This effect is due to the fact that the oriole seems to whistle its mellow notes in a very laid-back, almost random manner with none of the rhythmic precision that most birds put into their musical efforts. To our human ears, a 'real' song should have a more formal structure of rhythm and phrase; the oriole song or songs seem almost lackadaisical. On the positive side however, every oriole's singing is individual and oriole music is never stereotyped.
A very different and even less likely kind of 'song' is coming from the other side of the house. A Green Heron, Butorides viresens, is calling from a tree inside the woods back of the marsh and this consists of just one explosive squawk every minute or two. Thrush music this is not but it is, I suspect, the Green Heron's love song
-- i.e., an invitation to a potential Mme Butorides to join him to make love and a nest to raise more Green Herons. These are one of the few herons that breed in isolated pairs (the Yellow-crowned Night-Heron is another) and they have nested in these woods before.
Black-crowned Night-Heron (a colonial nester) is on the pond again at low tide. He flies off at my approach but the resident Willet, intent on his or her toilette, utters a few token protests and, after I sit down (thus lowering my threatening profile), proceeds with the task at hand. After splashing around a bit in the water, he/she proceeds to ruffle, preen and smooth out one feather after another after quickly dipping its bill into the pond in between. It is a laborious process but a necessary one; birds that don't keep their feathers in good shade don't last long. Occasionally the striking black-and-white wings are flashed straight up in the air, perhaps to dry them off a bit; otherwise the wing pattern hardly shows. This bird is so oblivious to my presence that it actually moves towards me as it works over its plumage.
A female-plumaged duck watches all this with interest. She looks like a Black Duck although her tameness suggests a Mallard or a hybrid; in any case, she also has neglected to fly off. Eventually she walks to the edge of the pond, climbs up on a rock and, in a much more casual way, begins her own toilette.
Eric Salzman
A very different and even less likely kind of 'song' is coming from the other side of the house. A Green Heron, Butorides viresens, is calling from a tree inside the woods back of the marsh and this consists of just one explosive squawk every minute or two. Thrush music this is not but it is, I suspect, the Green Heron's love song
-- i.e., an invitation to a potential Mme Butorides to join him to make love and a nest to raise more Green Herons. These are one of the few herons that breed in isolated pairs (the Yellow-crowned Night-Heron is another) and they have nested in these woods before.
Black-crowned Night-Heron (a colonial nester) is on the pond again at low tide. He flies off at my approach but the resident Willet, intent on his or her toilette, utters a few token protests and, after I sit down (thus lowering my threatening profile), proceeds with the task at hand. After splashing around a bit in the water, he/she proceeds to ruffle, preen and smooth out one feather after another after quickly dipping its bill into the pond in between. It is a laborious process but a necessary one; birds that don't keep their feathers in good shade don't last long. Occasionally the striking black-and-white wings are flashed straight up in the air, perhaps to dry them off a bit; otherwise the wing pattern hardly shows. This bird is so oblivious to my presence that it actually moves towards me as it works over its plumage.
A female-plumaged duck watches all this with interest. She looks like a Black Duck although her tameness suggests a Mallard or a hybrid; in any case, she also has neglected to fly off. Eventually she walks to the edge of the pond, climbs up on a rock and, in a much more casual way, begins her own toilette.
Eric Salzman
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