Jolynn Willink scans a Des Plaines River backwater on the Evanston North Shore CBC on December 26, 2009 (Photo by Phil Willink)
The temperature decreased significantly over Christmas night but unfortunately the heavens continued to discharge fluids at an annoying rate. The rain that plagued us on the Chicago Lakefront Count turned into the snow that challenged us on the Evanston North Shore Count. The snow lasted all day, varying only in the size of the flakes that fell. The two days were a study in the various kinds of precipitation possible at this latitude in this season.
The north shore count circle is centered at Routes 68 and 41. My territory is the northwestern third of the circle, with Lake-Cook Road on the south and Rt 41 on the east. It is a big area so it is divided between three groups; everyone meets around two at Ryerson Woods to compile our list before joining the rest of the count participants in the evening.
I met my small group, Jolynn and Phil Willink, at 6:45. We were minutes away from our first stop, which is a water treatment plant that sends it outflow west through a channel that feeds into the Des Plaines River. For thirty years coverage of the site requires lying flat on one’s back to get under a fence. (We quickly separate the dilatants from the true masochists.) Amazingly, however, this year the gate was open so we were spared the squeeze (every year I worry that my untreated Kwashiorkkor will prevent me from fitting). Usually, the channel is filled with ducks which fly towards the river when we flush them. This year, though, there were few ducks in the stream but over t he hours or so we were there hundreds of ducks flew towards us from the west. By the end of the day our section yielded over 950 mallards, hundreds more than any other area.
Soon after getting out of the car I heard a kingfisher, which is a pretty good bird. As the three of us scanned the channel in the muted light, I spotted an odd stump-like shape on the bank. It raised its head and proved to be a sad looking great-blue heron (the first of four for the day) that had been hunkered down to perhaps maximize the heat from the outflow. It then took off on droopy wings, before settling down in a wooded area downstream. Right across from where the heron first stood was the equally forlorn kingfisher. Since Phil is an ichthyologist, it is not surprising that kingfishers are his favorite group of birds.
Our next stop was also a water treatment facility and the stream through which its heated emanations flow. This stream, though, has a name, almost as long as the channel is wide: it is the West Branch of the North Fork of the Chicago River. Most of our walk here is along a very narrow bank between the river and fenced in backyards. Many of the residents consider this linear pathway as a garbage dump for them to discard Christmas trees, lawn waste, and other trash. As we gingerly made our way, we encountered another great-blue heron and added our first and only black duck. At one point, I played my screech owl tape and we drew in a nice flock of chickadees (10), three kinds of woodpeckers, white-breasted nuthatches, and robins. Nothing unusual, but it beefed up our numbers. (In my mind, screech owl recordings are an essential tool in conducting CBCs. A seemingly lifeless wood can suddenly burst into activity after just a few owl whinnies. And the birds that do respond often sit and scold inches from where you stand.)
We headed back to the Des Plaines River and checked various spots. Because the river was in flood stage, it was difficult in places to get as close as we usually do. And the snow carpet left you wondering what was underfoot: dry land or water. Early on, I stepped on what I thought was the former only to get both feet drenched. We did see a common goldeneye on the river, a duck for more at home this time of year on Lake Michigan. But there were no hawks flying and even the land birds were inconspicuous.
The last thing I do before joining the others is to drive around some subdivisions checking for feeders. It is a little discomforting to be playing a screech owl tape in front of some mansion, but it can be very productive. This particular area used to be the best in the circle for tufted titmice, but they are largely a thing of the past here. But at one overgrown lot, I played the tape and almost immediately a hermit thrush flew up in plain view. Later we were to learn that it was the only one seen on the entire count.
At Ryerson we met our colleagues and heard that they had added such species as eastern bluebirds (a good number were recorded by other groups as well), yellow-rumped warbler, and Cooper’s hawk (not rare, but hard to discern through the snow). For the final two hours of the day, we walk along a broad marshy swale that meanders through a corporate complex. We saw yet another great-blue heron and our first kestrel.
The swale is the only significant habitat that remains on the large tract that used to be covered in grasses, marshes, and a few wooded patches. Over the years I have watched that habitat be whittled down to the remnant that remains (and the swale is only there because land use laws require that developers have do something with the water that falls on their property).It was here that the ring-necked pheasant made its final stand within the count circle. For several years, there was a pair. Then, the female disappeared, leaving behind her mate in a world where he was the sole survivor. He hung on for a while, but by the third count, he too was gone.
One of the highlights of the Evanston North Shore Count is the dinner and countdown afterwards. The countdown is conducted in an unusual way: we read off the list from the most to least common to build suspense. And the participants know the etiquette. If asked how your day was, you reply with something like, “Oh, it was all right,” or “Kind of slow. You know, with the snow and all.” You hold your goodies close to the vest. Unfortunately, this year nothing very extraordinary was seen. The total tied last year’s record low (last year we were treated to continuous rain) of 58, but in the days following we picked up a monk parakeet at a feeder and one of the field people reported back with a savanna sparrow. Sixty sounds so much better than 58, don’t you think?
Black-capped chickadee taken by John Cassady.
