more herons

Yesterday afternoon, a loud squawking sound from the marsh sent me running down in time to see two large Ardea herons flying up. They soared overhead and eventually out over the creek and into the misty distance -- but not before I got some good looks. They were, let's say, funny-looking Great Blue Herons, rather streaky-looking with dark crowns and, as far as I could see, no reddish trousers. But the outstanding feature on both birds was a pair of bright white 'headlights' on the carpal joint (i.e. the bend of the wing). Now if you look at North American bird guides, you will not find Great Blue Herons illustrated with white 'headlights' but if you look in British or European guides you will find that the Grey Herons -- apparently in all plumages -- are almost always shown with this prominent feature!

I should say that Great Blue Herons are here on Eastern Long Island all year round but they are scarcest in June and July when most of the wintering and migrant birds have returned to their breeding colonies inland and to the north.

After the flap with the Little/Snowy Egret this past, it seems almost too much of a coincidence to bring up the Great Blue/Grey Heron problem. But once again, we have two members of a superspecies (or species pair), one in Europe, the other in North America, with a serious problem about how to distinguish them. In fact, Little Egrets are regularly seen and identified on this side of the Atlantic (although some of them may be aberrant Snowy Egrets or hybrids). But does anyone see or claim to see Grey Herons? If one showed up, what should we look for?

No photographs this time. The birds soared high and disappeared to the east.

Eric Salzman

birdsong

As many readers of this blog will know, I'm a composer and have a special interest in birdsong. A lot of my birdwatching is, in fact bird listening. Sometimes when I am leading a walk, I will say "There's a such-and-so" and everyone will say "Where? Where?" and I have to confess that I've just heard, not seen, the bird. For me, a heard bird can be as good as a seen bird and an unusual song very often gives me the clue that something interesting is in the neighborhood.

There is a whole tradition of composers -- from Claude Jannequin in the 16th century to Beethoven in the 19th and Olivier Messiaen in the 20th century -- who have incorporated bird song into their music. I am often asked if I have ever done the same. I did use bird songs -- highly transformed -- in a multi-media piece called "Can Man Survive?" which I made for the centenary of the Museum of Natural History years ago (it was on display for some five years!). Currently, I am working on a piece of music which is based, not so much on bird song per se, but on the various inerpreations that humans have put on bird song. My inspiration for this is a wonderful book entitled "Wild Birds and Their Music" by F. Schyler Mathews from the turn of another century (.Mathews not only transcribed bird song into Western musical notation, he even harmonized the songs in the style of Italian opera, Gilbert & Sullivan or Victorian parlor music!).

My subject for today is, however, a very different sort of book about bird song. I have been reading Donald Kroodsma's "Singing Life of Birds". Anyone interested in bird song should get this book which is a remarkable combination of scientific evolutionary biology and very personal and poetic nature writing. Kroodsma, who is emeritus professor at the University of Massachusetts and a fellow at the Cornell Lab or Ornithology, is perhaps the most eminent authority on birdsong in the world today but he is far from a dry academician and, as this book amply demonstrates, he has never lost his enthusiasm for his subjects: the birds and their music. The book comes with a CD of aural illustrations and ample explanations of what you are hearing.

Kroodsma is a modern-day King Solomon; when the birds vocalize, he understands what they mean! There are lots of things to learn here. For example, flycatcher songs are genetically imprinted and don't have to be learned. One result of this is that when two populations of a flycatcher have different songs, they are probably two different species -- even if they look alike (the classic examples are the Willow and Alder Flycatchers). But with most of the true songbirds (the so-called oscines), the songs have to be learned and the result is that different populations have different dialects and, only when the songs differ so greatly as to prevent interbreeding, does the process of species separation begin (as with the eastern and western forms of the Marsh Wren which, the author implies, may well be separate species).

Kroodsma even discusses such seemingly arcane matters as songbirds without a song. Well, not so arcane; it turns out that this includes all the crows and jays, birds that have a big ability to communicate with an amazing variety of calls (I'm particularly fond of the Blue Jay's 'rusty gate' call which I heard repeatedly this morning). Kroodma was also one of the discoverers of the 'world's best singer', defined as the bird with the most songs. Wanna guess? No, not a Nightingale, not a Mockingbird, not even a thrush. It's a Brown Thrasher; each individual singer has between 3,000 and 4,000 distinct songs! No other singer (at least discovered so far) even comes close.

Well, there's a lot more. He analyzes aerial singers (Woodcock), tireless singers (Whip-poor-will, Red-eyed Vireo) and beautiful singers (Bachman's Sparrow, Wood & Hermit Thrush). As you can see, most of these birds can be found -- and heard -- on Long Island. On July 4th (yes, July 4th), I'm doing a birdsong walk for South Fork Natural History Society (SOFO) at East Hampton's Grace Estate. Although it's late in the singing season, I find that many birds have a strong if brief recurrence of song after breeding and that's usually in the first week or so of July. If you're interested call SOFO at (631) 537-9735 for details and reservations.

Eric Salzman

vireos

A Red-eyed Vireo was singing and feeding in the oaks on the north (or north east) side of the property this morning. This is a common woodland bird (in deciduous woods not pine dominated areas) but, as I've mentioned before, it never seems to succeed in nesting down here.

Vireos are birds known to and sought out by birdwatchers but are otherwise obscure and little-known to just folks, probably because they are plain looking and tend to hang out and feed in the tops of trees as they move quietly in and out of the leaves. This is a rare example of a common bird without a truly common name and, as a result, it is known by its scientific name. Vireo means "I am green" and green (or greenish-olive) is what they are with only an eye stripe (white bordered with black) and a dark crown to give it away. The eye is indeed red but rarely very easy to see. Fortunately, vireos are persistent singers even in hot weather when other birds shut up. I recently spent a week in Jamaica where a close relative -- the Black-whiskered Vireo -- may well be the most common bird in the country. I heard it singing everywhere but, even though I knew the song and knew where to look, I was able to get a couple of brief glimpses.

Spotting the Red-eyed Vireo is not quite as difficult (our foliage is not as dense as the Jamaican rain forest) but, even so, the best way to find it is to recognize the song: a series of short separated phrases that sound like a question-and-answer session: "Here I am. Where are you? Over here. Are you there? Very good. Can you see? Lovely day. Where am I?" Etc. Look for movement in the leaves from the spot where the song seems to be coming from.

There are other vireos on Long Island. The Warbling Vireo is, if anything, even plainer than the Red-eyed and even more difficult to spot; it is currently making a comeback as a nester on Long Island after virtually disappearing for many years. These birds are also persistent singers and best located by recognizing their song. Last year Eileen Schwinn and myself found a bird singing on its nest, presumably an indication of how well camouflaged the bird is!

The White-eyed Vireo, a bird of dense, low, moist thickets, is a little more striking but quite shy and rather uncommon. Another species, Yellow-throated Vireo, sporadically appears in the spring and many occasionally breed (but there is very little evidence). Blue-headed and Philadelphia Vireos are found only in migration. the former fairly common, the latter quite rare and a birdwatcher's prize. I once found a Bell's Vireo out on Dune Road, a stray from the midwest and a real prize.

But the most common of the LI vireos is still the Red-eye and it is one of a number of local birds -- Downy Woodpecker, Great Crested Flycatcher, Tufted Titmouse, Pine Warbler -- that now turn up regularly on the place as potential breeding species in our maturing pine-and-oak woods.

Eric Salzman

summer solstice

Summer solstice. The last flowers of spring (arrowhead viburnum, black cherry, honeysuckle. locust) are gone and the flowers of summer are starting to arrive (Virginia and rambler roses, loosestrife, catalpa trees in full display). Bird song is much reduced. I saw my first female Common Yellowthroat of the year and both of our male Yellowthroats are now singing much more sporadically -- indicating, no doubt, that the eggs are hatched. A male Baltimore Oriole was singing and calling furiously, after a week or two of silence -- in this case, because he was trying to attack and chase a couple of sinister-looking crows; there is almost certainly an oriole nest in the area perhaps with young ready to fledge. The warm weather has also bought out the Box Turtles which have been exceptionally active. There is at least one turtle that likes to take mud baths in the pond at low tide; I have seen it -- presumably the same animal -- on several occasions. Some mornings there are up to five different Box Turtles active in widely scattered locales. Muskrats are active in the pond (our muskrats do not make lodges but burrow into the highish west bank of the pond). And cottontail rabbits have reappeared in a couple of places (due to natural cycles and/or the reversion of open meadow to woodland, the once-common rabbits have been drastically reduced in numbers). And, of course, there are inevitable squirrels and raccoons.

I forgot to mention a couple of things in yesterday's account of the Linnaean trip. One was the fact that Dune Road was mostly covered in sea fog which did not make for great visibility -- even so we counted close to 60 species (57 or 58 in my count) although relatively few individuals of each. But I also forgot to mention one exceptional and well-observed event -- observed out the car window! -- which took place in one of the muddy ditches right along side the road. A strange non-stop sound, coming from the marsh by the road, attracted our attention and caused us to pull over. Two Willets were standing in the ditch a few feet away, ignoring us completely. One was facing the other and chittering away, a continuous, mesmerizing roll-out of sound. The other Willet was looking away but standing stock still, clearly transfixed, mesmerized. Something was about to happen and happen it did. The chittering bird edged towards the other ever so slowly, carefully, and then jumped on her back (it was, at this point, clearly him and her). The act was consummated in a matter of seconds with a quick sudden twitching and aligning of rear ends. Off he jumped back into the mud as, with any luck, yet another brood of Willets began to take shape. It's late in the season but apparently not too late for those prolific Willets!

Eric Salzman