Willet by Tim Wallace.

 Although the weather on August 21 was not what most people would consider promising, the rain created hopes among the Hoosier Gang that migrating shorebirds might be forced down.  They stood in the descending water waiting.  Yes they became wet but it was all worth it as they were rewarded by a large flock of whimbrels and an even larger flock of Hudsonian godwits. Several birders made independent counts and arrived at totals ranging from 52 (the birder closest to them) to 48. The higher figure would have tied the state record. Then a strange thing happened later that day. Ken Brock examined several of the photos taken and in every one all he could find was 43. Ken joked that “after numerous embarrassing experiences with the Identification of young jaegers, I finally adopted the maxim, never call a juvenile jaeger until it is safely out of sight. In view of today’s pervasive digital photography it now seems appropriate to create a similar tenet for the counting of passing bird flocks.”  But what is a few godwits among friends?

Or the other approach is to just report one individual- impossible to over count, unless the identification is wrong. On Sunday Brendan Grube saw a parasitic jaeger. Therefore, between the possibility of large shorebirds and jaegers, and a day when the weather looked propitious, I joined Ken and John Kendall on the next Wednesday.  I arrived early and waited for Ken’s arrival, when we headed to the top of a sand dune. Then John showed up and for him it was quite a feat. He had a bum foot so he was on crutches- struggling up the mound of loose sand took quite an effort.

We then sat there for about four hours. Mostly what we did was eat sand. There is nothing like the distinctive feel of grit between your teeth to sharpen your senses (or incisors). I had the fine particles in my ears and hair for a couple of days- mementos of what was actually a thoroughly enjoyable experience. (OK, given the place and company, I doubt I could ever not enjoy myself at Miller. Well, maybe there was that one day in late November when my hands were aching so bad due to the cold I had trouble extracting the keys from my pocket and manipulating them sufficiently well to open the car door. Nah, that was a good day too.)

Bird wise it was typical of Miller: nothing extraordinary but enough birds to keep one’s interest for half a day but not a whole day. Early on a flock of five willets flew by, there bright white wing stripes conspicuous in binoculars. While we spend most of our time staring out at the lake, it is important not to forget to scan the beach in front of us. Ken  spotted a small flock of sanderlings, semipalmated sandpipers, and one Baird’s. I don’t see Baird’s that often so it was a treat.

Ken and John are also alert to how the gulls are behaving on the beach. Every so often, the birds would take flight and we all look every which way to try and figure what flushed them. Often the disturbing entity is a person or dog, but an avian cause Is not unusual either. Twice they were flushed by a pair of peregrine falcons- one adult and one immature that were likely local residents.  The youngster tarried over us as it headed into the wind but unfortunately none of the cameras were at the ready as they were securely stowed away to protect them from the sand.

The only other birds of note were 70 black terns in two large flocks and 71 common terns. Black terns are now extirpated as a breeding species in Indiana and nest in no more that two or three places in northeastern Illinois so it is always a pleasure to see them. And this time of year they vary in appearance from slate colored birds still in breeding plumage to others that look white in the distance.

The day ended with lunch at Miller Bakery. The food was great as always, just the thing to eliminate the tiny bits of beach that still resided in one’s mouth. I left the place feeling full and gritless.

Less than record sized flock of Hudsonian godwits photographed at Miller, IN by Ken Brock.

Blogger and John Kendall perched atop Miller dune. (Photo by Ken Brock)

          

Eastern meadowlark photo by John Cassady.

Markham Prairie is one of the finest examples of tall grass prairie still extant. There are several reasons why this is so. Although back in the 1800s it was grazed a bit, it was never plowed and was pretty much left alone for decades before it came to the attention of conservationists. It is also diverse in that there is a section of mesic (moist praireid0 that drops in elevation to become wet prairie. And finally, it has been under the management of the late Robert Betz, a biologist who did so much to study and preserve prairies in thus region, and a former student Ron Panzer, who currently oversees activities.

The prairie aspect changes at least slightly every week or two from May through September as a different guild of plants bloom and go into senescence. For me the single most dazzling floral display occurs at the end of July and beginning of August. That is when the blazing stars are in flower. Two species, the marsh and prairie, spread purple over sections of the prairie, making the irregular swaths look almost like ponds, as the wind gently ripples the colorful blossoms. I try not to miss this singular phenological event and it is one of those displays that I love to show off. Even if you know or care nothing about prairies you have to admit that it is beautiful on a purely aesthetic level. If you can’t make even that concession, it is hard to imagine that we have enough in common to maintain any but the most cursory of relationships.

This year Cindy, Lynn Hepler and I planned our visit for a late Saturday afternoon. Lynn and I have been friends since graduate school and she is currently an educator at a local forest preserve district. The late hour was selected so we could head for dinner at Millers Bakery, a superb restaurant in Miller, Indiana a frequent subject of these blogs. From Markham, in southern Cook County, the drive to the restaurant is about 40 minutes. Definitely worth trying out. My other favorite eating establishment in Miller is the much more modest Porky’s Pit. The owner is Tom who has been a pit man for forty years and he makes ribs that are out of this world. I was hoping I could order a slab to pick up when we were done with Millers but it was closed.   

As a birder, my nature outings usually start as early in the day as possible. (I know botanists who say that the desire to sleep late caused them to select the taxon they now study.) This is generally a good thing, as mammals and herps are also most active then. But butterflies are certainly not. A trip to Marknam in the morning will yield a smattering of them but nothing like what we saw. I don’t remember ever seeing Markham as alive with butterflies. Common wood nymphs swarmed around the rattlesnake master. The highlights, though had to be the two prairie obligate fritillaries, the Aphrodite and the even rarer regal. Both have larvae that feed exclusively on violets. Ron Panzer has called Markham the Aphrodite capital of Illinois and I usually see one or two on a trip there. Kenn Kaufman in his wonderful Butterflies of North America says that the regal “is one of North America’s vanishing butterflies” and that it “has almost disappeared from its former range east of the Mississippi River.” The regal was introduced to the site only a few years ago, but seems to have done well. It is one thing to see a rare and beautiful creature sufficiently well to identify it, but it is another to have the privilege of studying many individuals at close range in perfect light.

This season’s blazing star crop was modest in comparison with previous years but lovely none the less. And other favorite prairie plants were also in full bloom- wild quinine, purple prairie clover, yellow coneflower, tall green milkweed, partridge pea, and many more. Rattlesnake master is thick here. It is a species of the tall grass prairie that looks as if it ought to inhabit deserts, a fact reflected by its specific name yuccifolium. The spiny flowers look like the head of a mace, but they attract hordes of wasps, beetles, and other insects in addition to the butterflies.

Markham is not the birdiest prairie around but it does usually have a few nice grassland species. We missed the Henslow’s sparrows that are often there (albeit earlier in the day and season) but an eastern meadowlark perched on a wire and uttered most of his song. From the lowland grasses a sedge wren announced his presence. If you need inspiration,  nothing beats  Markham. No matter what time of the day you visit.

Short green milkweed.

Lynn and Cindy.

Viceroy on blazing star.

          

Whooping crane desplaying for patient observers (Photo by Tim Wallace)

This is the first blog in a while, reflecting a new arrangement with my boss whereby I will continue to blog but less frequently. I also pinched a nerve in my neck which makes driving less than fun. Coupling that with the hot and not very birdy summer and manuscript anxieties, I just have not been out in the field much. But this past weekend Cindy and I went up to Baraboo, Wisconsin to visit our friend Lizzie Condon, who is interning at the International Crane Foundation (ICF).

Should you ever have a deep passion about some great task and feel despair that it exceeds your capacity or resources to accomplish, stop and consider the ICF. Ron Sauey and George Archibald met as students at Cornell University in 1971 and two years later they established ICF on a horse farm belonging to Sauey’s parents. In 1985 they received a pair of black-necked cranes, making their facility the only place in the world that held all fifteen species of cranes. Three years after that they were actively involved in restoring wetlands in Vietnam. Today ICF has all fifteen cranes species on display, sponsors a variety of educational programs, breeds cranes for release in the wild, and works on the ground in countries around the world to help ensure that cranes will flourish.

Lizzie is an educational intern at ICF and her days off are Sundays and Mondays. We met her on Sunday around 11:30 at the headquarters. Tim Wallace joined us but he had to be at work the following day so he drove up by himself. I had been to ICF years before and walked around on my own, but to be accompanied by Lizzie provided an entirely different dimension. She was able to give us the lowdown on not just the species, but the individual birds on display.

One of the first birds we encountered was Slidell the African Grey Crowned Crane. This is a crane that was raised by humans and imprinted on them.  As a female crane who thinks she is a person, she has no interest in other cranes and holds deep antipathy towards female Homo sapiens. When the mood strikes her, she can either manifest aggressive or courting behaviors, depending on the sex of the person she encounters.

Siberian crane, rarest crane in the world (Photo by Tim Wallace)

Siberian cranes are the most endangered species in the world. Two of the three populations are either absolutely (wintered in India) or functionally (winters in Iran) gone, so there is but one left (winters along the Yangtze River in China). They are the most aquatic of cranes, and have less feathering on the head than other species. The two on display, O’Keefe and Pieper, vocalize often and become the dominant back ground noise. Where else will a cell phone conversation be drowned out by bugling Siberian cranes?

Probably the highlight for me was the Whooping Crane display that features a lovely open water marsh in which Chip and Crockett can forage and play. When we stopped during our first circuit the two were on a berm at the far end of the display. Their long necks were visible through the prairie grasses. We came back later as Lizzie thought it would be likely they would eventually move towards the pond. This pair had been provided with a fertile egg which Chip successfully brooded. The youngster seemed to be healthy and active but wound up drowning. I mused that the adults perhaps saw the water in a negative light now, but that was no doubt anthropomorphizing. Indeed, after waiting a bit, Chip ventured out of the grass and began feeding in the pond. She stalked prey unseen to us in knee deep water, occasionally extending her neck to grab something. We had dinner plans at 6, so Lizzie had to nudge us a bit to keep to our schedule. A visit to ICF is a must if you are living in or visiting the Midwest. If you were not a craniac when you arrived, you will be at the end.

Tim bid us adieu and the three of us drove to Baraboo to meet Curt Meine. Curt is a writer and scholar who has worked with numerous environmental organizations. As a graduate student at University of Wisconsin, he wrote his doctoral dissertation on Aldo Leopold, which later was published as a book. (His most recent book is a fascinating collection of essays called Correction Lines.) Curt, who is from the Chicago region, contacted me last fall when he saw my request for information on ppigeons on the Wisconsin list serve. Curt seems to know just about everyone in the conservation movement and so it was inspiring to hear him talk about the innovative and courageous things people are doing to help keep the planet livable. Then there was the digression where we learned about the two graduate students he recently met- the guy is working on how human sounds affect bird populations and the gal is writing her thesis on the history of sexual devices. Perhaps someday the two can author a monograph on the Picidae.

American Gothic II (Photo by Lizzie Condon)

If there was an unseen presence that permeated our little trip it was that of Aldo Leopold, the brilliant ecologist and philosopher whose moving prose I have commented on before. His articulation of a “land ethic” goes to the heart of modern conservation. On the faculty of the University of Wisconsin for many years, he bought a piece of land near Baraboo, on the banks of the Wisconsin River, and built a cabin (“The Shack”) where he and the family spent the summers. His classic Sand County Almanac was conceived here. The Leopold Foundation has a lovely education center surrounded by prairie plants. We walked around the property on a trail to the shack. Mosquitoes were bad (they seemed to prefer Lizzie) but cleared up a bit in the open areas.   It was a privilege to walk on such hallowed ground.

Lizzie standing in front of an African wetland.

ICF staffers use crane puppets to feed baby cranes so they don't bond with people. Here one of the puppets escaped and savagely attacked Cindy. Lizzie and Joel are so surprised they lack the appropriate facial expressions. (Phot by Tim Wallace)

          

Pied-billed grebe photographed by John Cassady.

It has been a couple of months or more since I wrote anything about the Wadsworth Wetlands. The spring surveys were completed towards the end of April. The breeding bird surveys started in late May and I have two more visits (out of a total of six) before they are history. A pair of red-tailed hawks set up a nest in a row of trees that I had to visit frequently. I never did get used to their sharp calls, but it was good to know they were keeping track. At least one of the birds is still present, but I have not seen any sign of youngsters which is sad. And although there are certainly cranes in the vicinity, I have not seen any indications of a nest or young.

On two of the last three spring visits I had unusual interactions with that strangest of all organisms, Homo sapiens. The first was rather unnerving. There are a series of trails that run through the wetland grounds. Trails now days, of course, are not like the trails most of us grew up with. These trails accommodate cars, although only those on official business can use them. That includes me, and I routinely drive to my sites within the larger wetland property. Occasionally, bicyclers will yell at me for driving, and police stop me for an explanation. I am very careful and to make sure there are no accidents, when I see someone biking or running towards me, I will pull over and wait for them to pass. On this particular day a young woman was running towards me, but when I pulled over to the side and motioned for her to pass, she stopped and began running down the road away from me. This was not good because I had to go down the same route and as I approached her she headed as fast as she could off the road through thick vegetation. When I was some distance away, she came back to the road and was making a call on her phone. I assumed she was calling the police, which would have been ok so long as she did not claim I did something which I had not. But no police ever showed and that was the end of it. I do wonder what in her experience would have left her so easily spooked. And would she have felt more secure had the person approaching her been on foot?

The next week I was scoping a pond next to the same path when another young woman comes by. This time, she kind of preens coquettishly and jokingly asked if I was looking at her.  That too was unlike any comment I have heard since I began birding but I will take goofy over fearful anytime. I thanked her for her friendliness, and explained the very different reaction manifested by the other gal. She thought it was odd too.

The breeding surveys have not been overly interesting from a wetland bird perspective. (And from the first survey at the end of May the mosquitoes were awful. They are only now beginning to thin out.) Wadsworth years ago hosted yellow-headed blackbirds and moorhens, but more recently the best we have had has been a least bittern and a few Virginia rails laer in the season after floods forced them out of wherever they had been. There are nice populations of marsh wrens at several of the marshes, a few swamp sparrows in the exact place we get them every year, and a sedge wren in its usual spot. The route also traverses some nice woods and there have been two wood thrushes in one stretch, plus scattered red-eyed vireos, yellow-throated vireos, and rose-breasted grosbeaks. In open areas with scattered trees there are one or two orchard orioles. By far our best bird has been a white-eyed vireo in a shrubby area in between two sites we do cover. Andy Sigler, who is helping me on these, heard it as we drove slowly by.

But this most recent visit did yield a surprising marsh bird, although I am amazed we had not seen it on any of our previous three visits. There in the biggest pond right by the parking lot were three swimming chicks of something or other. A moment later an adult pied-billed grebe popped up in their midst. That is the first confirmed nesting of that species since I have been doing the surveys here. And that explains the whole point of the surveys- why we need to keep looking.

White-eyed vireo photographed by John Cassady.

          

Loggerhead shrike photographed by John Cassady.

Andy Sigler and I went up for another round of interesting bird surveys on the Praire Island Indian Community property near Redwing, Minnesota. We arrived on a Tuesday and we had made arrangements to stop by Brad Frazier’s office to say hello before we would meet him the following the morning at 5am to begin the operation. It turns out Brad was having a meeting with his staff, which has grown a bit from the year before. At various times over the next four days, several of them would act as our guides taking us to the 72 points that encompass all of the habitat types on tribal land.

Wednesday morning Brad took us out and we covered mostly grassland, much of it prairie re-creation. Another section was the savanna like area where the tribe maintains its bison herd. We covered 30 points that first day, all of which are pretty easy to access. Some coordination is necessary with the bison manager to make sure we can enter fenced in areas without risk of being gored by the large horned beasts, many of which were cows with calves. The bulls were segregated and apparently pose less of a risk to bipedal primates. (But we were told they occasionally kill the unfortunate deer that somehow manage to get inside the extensive fence but can not get out.)

The grassland birds that we enjoyed last year were back. One of my “concerns” was that as the prairie re-creation matured there would be less habitat for birds that need shorter and sparser vegetation. Two species in this category are horned lark and vesper sparrow. But they were present, as were sparrows like clay-colored, lark, grasshopper, and jillions of savannas. Last year we only had one silent dickcissel, while this year we had two very loquacious males.

We had two unexpected birds that first day. Andy spotted one loggerhead shrike perched on the top of a small tree on the edge of a field. As we watched, it flew into a small juniper tree and another flew out. Shrikes often place their nests in conifers, as the dense needles provide protection. We could not prove it, but it seems likely the pair is nesting. We will certainly know better when we return later in June.

 Loggerhead shrike populations have really crashed in the Upper Midwest. One study found that survival rates of young and adult birds are not high enough to maintain current populations, which means that they will probably disappear from our landscape. The species is fecund, however, producing three to seven eggs in a brood. This at least holds out the possibility that if there were adequate grassland, perches, and food supply the bird might be able to recolonize lost ground. Loggerhead shrikes have been on the Minnesota threatened list since 1984, and there is an effort underway to consider whether the species should be upgraded to endangered.

The second unexpected bird is the blue grosbeak, heard singing in the bison territory. In some ways the status of this bird is just the opposite of the loggerhead shrike. Blue grosbeaks are a southern species that have been steadily marching northward. They are now a not unexpected summering, even breeding, bird in northeastern Illinois. Minnesota is still at the northern end of its range, but if current trends continue the grosbeak will become established in counties ever farther north.

One highlight of the surveys is the visit to the islands in the Mississippi River. “Highlight” is used advisedly, as it involves scampering out of a boat up steep banks, or splashing out of the boat to wade through deep mud.. At one point, I really needed someone to help me pull me out of the sticky morass. Then the island is covered with nettles and poison ivy that hide logs of every configuration that are littered by flooding. It is a joy, though, to be out on the water. We walk close to bald eagle nests (empty by now) and hear their families yell as they fish.

Prothonotary warbler photographed by Darlene Friedman.

The wooded islands are great habitat for prothonotary warblers. We heard several and at one point Brad wanted to see it well so we used a recording. A pair of these exquisite birds flew all around, giving us great views. Then at one other spot, we heard a cerulean warbler. Again with the recording the bird came low to take a look and Brad obtained some great photos. When we return in a few weeks, the singing levels are apt to have decreased markedly and we will probably have fewer warblers.

And one day as Andy and I walked from the hotel’s casino to its restaurant, we broke down and gambled. We inserted an entire dollar into a slot machine and discovered that we were playing a penny a game. When that fact became apparent, we both became overwhelmed by ennui at the very thought of having ninety-nine more scintillating plays to go. So we upped the ante to a quarter a play. And by golly if we did not hit a jackpot of $6.52 (not including our initial dollar investment.)! We cashed in the receipt and walked away feeling like the winners we are.

Gabe, Joel, and Andy listening to the ethereal strains of Mississippi Island music. (Photographed by Brad Frazier)

Cerulean warbler on Mississippi River island (Photographed by Brad Frazier)

          

Travis Mahan capturing an image.

Large twayblade photographed by Travis Mahan at Braidwood Dunes and Savanna in Will OCunty, IL.

Spring passerine migration ended pretty abruptly this year and my last two May outings were not very productive in terms of birds. But when Travis Mahan called to say he was coming up to look for a rare orchid, I was happy to join him. Travis is part of a small cadre of superb birders downstate who are responsible for many of the rarities that show up within our boundaries. He is usually one of the folks who meets us upstate listers when we drop everything and head down to tick some wayward species that he, Dan Kassabaum, Mark Sieffert, or Keith McMullin have located, or at least spread the word on good birds found by others (as with last year’s tropical kingbird). Travis has also been avidly seeking out the state’s orchids to photograph. What makes this particularly challenging is that flowers are more vulnerable than birds, and thus those who are privy to where they are tend to be highly reticent in sharing the information. Every so often, there are reports of local orchid thefts. (Hey, maybe I should do a book on someone who engages in such behavior. I could call it the “Cyprepedium Absconder.” Catchy title.) I see no problem if you know the person and trust them, so I have shared what I know with Travis.

Last year he asked me if I knew the whereabouts of a rare orchid, which it turns out I had never even heard of. It seems that within the last 15 years or so it was split from a much more widely occurring species that I do know well. The new one has a slightly different color, petal shape, and blooming time than the species from which it was separated. Travis further explained that it is known from only one site in the state, Braidwood Dune and Savanna.

Braidwood is not a particularly birdy place, and few birders spend much time there. But it is the principal remnant of a remarkable place recognized as early as the 1920s as being of extraordinary floristic diversity. It covers an area that was once inundated by glacial melt water and was known as Lake Morris. When Lake Morris receded, it left as its legacy many hundreds of acres of dune and swales. Dry prairie studded with prickly pear cactus thrives a few feet from wet prairie where sundew are common. It has of course shrunk over the decades due to various kinds of development but the Will County Forest Preserve District carefully manages and protects 315 acres. Most, if not all, of this land has also been dedicated as an Illinois Nature Preserve, which gives it the maximum legal protection possible in the state.

Travis and I met at the agreed upon time. He had arrived earlier and had heard a singing Alder flycatcher, a late migrant that I will probably miss this year. We hiked over the property checking out promising locations that Travis had scouted out on previous visits. We did flush a woodcock and located a couple of species of orchids but not the one we wanted. (Further research by Travis suggested we might have been a tad early, as the species tends to bloom throughout June.).

Our biggest coup, it turns out, was another of Travis’s finds- he spotted and photographed a “northern” oak hairstreak butterfly. To find out more information about it, Travis went on the Illinois Birders Forum which has a butterfly section. Jim Wiker, an authority on Illinois butterflies, sent a detailed response that I am relying on for the next few sentences. It turns out that this is a species that has a widespread range but is largely restricted to the canopy layer of oak and hickory woods. Thus it is rarely seen and even more rarely photographed. (And when photographed, not generally very well. Jim thought Travis’ shot was one of the best he has seen.) This was apparently the first Will County record.

Obviously the experience of seeing the butterfly will stay with me, but it becomes even more significant in the light of these words by Jim: “ I would expect this butterfly to appear anywhere in Illinois but it is not one you can ever plan to see. You just have to be lucky, as you were. Cherish it as it may never happen again.”

"Northern" oak hairstreak photographed by Travis Mahan at Braidwood Dunes and Savanna Nature Preserve.

          

Whip-poor-will photographed by Tim Wallace.

A Night on the Town

 I don’t really understand why but the only significant populatin of whip-poor-wills in northeastern Illinois occurs in a very circumscribed area of Illinois Beach State Park from say the WI line to the Dead River on the south. Most of this territory is closed after dark but there are several access points, my favorite of which is a now disused road that crosses marsh and dunes as it heads towards Lake Michigan. Last year, Andy Sigler and I took Sulli Gibson there to show him his lifer whip. Not only was Sulli able to hear the birds, but he saw their eye shine as birds called from the limbs of the squat black oaks.

Sulli had a hankering for a repeat, so Tim Wallace and I joined him and Dick  Paulson for a nocturnal adventure. Every year the road becomes more pitted and there are usually extensive areas underwater, this spring seemingly more so than usual. Our first interesting find were peenitng woodcocks. By now, the birds have abandonined their nuptial displays (any guy who hasn’t found a gal yet, is probably out of luck) but that doesn’t make them mute. And one bird flew over the road, giving me the best view I have had of the species yet this year.

But t hen the whip-poor-wills started their  almost maniacal calls. As we traversed a low point and reached a wooded dune (arranged parallel to the lake) a new group of birds would get louder. We agreed that there were likely nine to twelve birds  calling at various points along our route. Sulli wanted to see the “the lights of their eyes” so we left the road and went bush whacking. Throughout the exercise, he periodically played whip noises from  his I-pod (note the 21^st first century reference- “tape” is what I almost wrote).  We had stopped as he readied his gizmo. The dulcet voice of the bird came forth when a few seconds later a brown object aimed straigt for him before veering off but a few feet short of its target. If Sulli, had been prepared and armed with a butterfly net, he could have caught himself a whip.

Tim, Dick, and Sulli wading for the whips to wail.

Swamped

Barred owl photographed by John Cassady.

As I have written here before, I am drawn to the Kankakee River valley. Here is a place that once cradled one of the largest inland wetlands in the  forty eight states. Besides the waterfowl and the sandhill cranes, there are a few places still extant that conjure up images of what the old swamp used to be like before the authorities in Indiana decided to turn the river into a series of nine ditches. Of these places the most evocative of all is the Kankakee Fish and Game Area in Starke County not far from the bustling metropolis of Toto (“we are not in Toto anymore, Kansas”). In the fall the area is closed for hunting but at other times of the year it is possible to ride for miles on the dikes that separate the Yellow and Kankakee Rivers. A bald eagle has nested here in recent years, and it is a reliable spot for prothonotary warblers, pileated woodpeckers, and barred owls. But, truth be told, even if the birding is slow, its very looks set it apart- if you were brought there blindfolded and then were allowed to see, you might very well guess you were in the Okeefenokee (ok, there are no alligators in northern Indiana).

The area is one of those local spots that I enjoy showing off. While great days of birding can be expected over time, only the sandhill cranes at Jasper Pulaski can be virtually guaranteed. There are also the floral displays at places like Chiwaukee Prairie and Markham Prairie which are knockouts during the right time of year when specific species are in bloom. But the Kankakee Swamps are amazing any time of the year, and it was high on my list of places to share with my friend Lynn Rotunno. So last week we found a day that we could both spend and headed down to the Kank.

I was disappointed that the 10 mile loop drive was closed due to repairs. We headed down another dike but had to stop as its surface began to lose its capacity to support cars. I backed up with Lynn leading the way to make sure I was on the straight and narrow. We did eventually find yet another series of dikes that were far more accommodating.

Spring has so many charms, naturalists can be driven to exhaustion in their frenzy to enjoy it all. My neighborhood is loaded with soft-wooded and short-lived silver maples that tend to blow down in strong wind storms. But as I sit at the computer, I rejoice on those breezy mid-May mornings when the swarms of samaras twirl earthward. They collect on the car and I toss them by handfuls to watch their rotors ride the air currents. The other tree with impressive displays this season is cottonwoods. Clouds of puffy seeds pour down like snow, to carpet vast swaths of land. They are particularly striking when they come to rest on still backwaters, which is where Lynn and I found them.

Cottonwood seeds blanketing the backwaters of Kankakee Fish and Game Area in Starke County, IN (Photographed by Lynn Rotunno)

Two barred owls were finishing their duet when we started down our first dike. Then later I was playing the tape (Lynn was amazed that I had a tape recorder) for prothonotary warblers but only redstarts replied. In my sequence, pileated woodpecker followed the warbler and as I let it play for but a moment before the woodpecker began yacking back. More playing and the big bird came closer, until I glimpsed it darting through the woods. Lynn was impressed by the calls and loud raps, for she had never experienced the bird before. Then she too had a brief view, seeing the red crest.

We later stopped at Jasper-Pulaski to see the lakes there. By the time the day had ended, we had observed water in configurations and settings that have become rare around here- except on the Kankakee.

Lynn and Joel at Kankakee Fish and Game Area headquarters.

          

Dunlin photographed by John Cassady.

I had been planning on joining the Ken Brock’s crew for more trap birding, but a  last minute change in plans had me considering other options. On Friday May 14, Amar Ayyash found something like 16 species of shorebirds at the Tinley Park Wetlands, a place I never been before that is not too far away. I headed out there and had a great time. It is Cook County Forest Preserve District property where the trees- young ones as the land had not too long ago been ag fields- had been removed and drainage tiles broken to create wetland. They have a long ways to go to wetland plants to become established but the shorebirds have found it for sure.

I walked out across the wet fields and found a delightful mix of sandpipers. I did not see nearly as many individuals or species as Amar had, nor did Wes Seraphin who visited later in the day but it was still great fun. There were five Wilson’s phalaropes, all of which were males. (Amar also had some females). A large flock of dunlin flew over, zigged and zagged as they almost touched down a few times only to rise for some more aerial maneuvers.  Evantually, thought, they did land. A lovely flock of black-bellied plover foraged on some slightly higher ground. They ranged in plumage from pure alternate to semi-basic. Over twenty dowitchers of both species provided comparative views of what I consider to be one of the most difficult identifications posed by any two birds in this region (I am excluding gulls here.) Perhaps, though, my personal highlight was white-rumped sandpipers, a species I have not seen for awhile. They were in tall grass and I had to wait for them to expose themselves so I could see the wings projecting beyond the tail and other marks. One bird conveniently flew a short distance, so I could see the character for which it was named.

Ordinarily, when I watch shorebirds I am looking at a mudflat, sewage bed, or beach with birds at a distance. Tinley Park was different. Here, the birds were all around me. The phalaropes were to the right, the black-bellied plover to the right of them, white-rumps were way over to the left, and least sandpipers behind me. It was reminiscent of a South Dakota prairie pothole. This was a spot I definitely wanted to share.

I had already made plans to bird Sunday moring with Cindy, Tim Wallace, and Lizzy Condon. Lizzy is a terrific young birder who came to my attention last winter when she contacted me wanting to go on the Christmas Bird Count. She has worked at some of the premier ornithological organizations in the country with stints at such places as  Point Reyes Bird Observatory and Cape May Bird Observatory. This summer she is a naturalist at the International Crane Foundation. Lizzie had to be in Urbana, IL later that afternoon to attend her brother’s graduation so a half day was perfect. Tim picked Cindy and me up at my house and we headed for Montrose where we were to meet Lizzie, who had not been there before. Lizzie arrived bearing a most wonderful fresh rhubarb-strawberry jewel with a pie crust bottom and crisp topping. (When we arrived home we gave some to Tim- two days later there was not a sign of it at either household. Hmm, maybe it was all a dream.)

Montrose was slow but there was enough action to make it entertaining. There were lots of Nashvilles, a few Tennessees, Blackburnian or two, and good numbers of yellowthroats. A warbling vireo seems to be nesting. This is one of the plainest of birds, but its faded spectacles are distinctive, and I have come to feel affection for it because it likes wet woods, a habitat I frequent a lot during bird surveys. It also has a great song, with a great pneumonic: “See it and seize it and squeeze it till it squirts.”

We then headed to Tinley, which is in the direction of Urbana, to the benefit of Lizzie. The place looked just like it did the day before except for two things. First, garter snakes were everywhere. I don’t think I have ever seen more in my life. There were large adults and small youngsters. We watched one approach a least sandpiper, thoroughly expecting a PBS moment, but alas the bird kept eating and the snake kept moving.

Garter snake (sp?) photographed at Tinley Wetlands by Tim Wallace.

The other huge difference between the two days was that with the exception of five least sandpipers, every single migrant shorebird was gone. No plover, white-rumps, dowitchers- nada. But Lizzy did make it to U of Illinois on time to see her brother graduate. And we had taken possession of her delightful culinary gift.

Tim, Cindy, and Liz at Tinley.

Least sandpiper photographed at Tinley Wetlands by Tim Wallace.

          

Parula warbler photographed by John Cassady.

I have mentioned the Skokie Lagoon before but it is a special place for me. Up until the 1930s, it was known as the Skokie Swamp, an inter-morainal wetland that formed during the last glacial incursion. Its mollusks were studied in detail but there is not a  great deal in the ornithological literature concerning its birds. The most interesting report was by a botanist who found numerous singing LeConte’s sparrows one June. Acquired by the Cook County Forest Preserve through a gift by Edith Rockefeller McCormick, most of the swamp was converted into the Skokie Lagoons by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s. The very northern part, from Dundee Road to Lake-Cook Road, was destroyed with the construction of the Chicago Botanic Gardens in the 1970s.

For most of the year, the lagoons are not very birdy, but during May and early fall it remains a wonderful place to observe migrating land birds. Most of my warbler lifers were seen here in the late 1960s. My parents would occasionally let me play hooky to go birding. The first time was in April 1967 when Brother David, a priest in the Passionist Order, took me to the Skokie Lagoons birding. I recall we saw a very early Wilson’s warbler. (Some issues that consume society today were simply not in the ken of most people back then.) Then I remember August 1968 when Chicago hosted the Democratic convention. I expressed some interest in going downtown to watch the proceedings (I think it was before the really violent stuff occurred) and my horrified mother responded by inviting a birding friend, Bedford Brown, over for dinner and an afternoon of birding at the lagoons. We spent some time studying a black-throated green warbler thinking it might have been a Townsends.

 The Evanston North Shore Bird Club has been conducting Friday morning walks in May at the lagoons since well before I ever started birding. More than once my mom took me on a walk led by such luminaries of the day as Louise North, Bertha Huxford, and Irene Buchanon. I still try to make the walks, and it looks as if this year I will be in attendance on all of them.

Last week (May 14) I went on one of the lagoon walks led by Barbara Brown and Lynne Carpenter. There were 25 people present, which could be daunting for one or even two leaders. And high water forced us to walk on the bike path, where bikers seem not to realize that while a pedestrian would likely be harmed more than they, a collision would create consequences for both. In fact, I was almost hit by a clown zooming by. Many are pleasant though, and I would assure them that the birders would be gone in another week or two.

The warblers were not as good as they had been the week before but there was still some nice variety. A blackburnian sparked a renewal of a discussion we had last week: which warbler is more beautiful- the blackburnian or prothonotary. Lynne strongly holds to the latter, while I opt for the former. We almost came to blows, and a 25-year friendship hung in the balance, but cooler heads prevailed, and we agreed- reluctantly- to disagree.

With such a large group of people one of the challenges is trying to get everyone on a bird. And the warm April advanced the development of foliage by a week or so, thus making it even harder than usual to pick out tiny birds in the canopy. A parula and black-throated green each proved particularly difficult for some folks.  Warblers being so fidgety and all, by the time I managed to articulate where it was, the bird has moved off. You just hope that you get people close enough so that when it does move, the birders will at least get a view of it in flight. At one point, while everyone was searching for warblers, I looked up and saw the most unexpected bird of the day- a young bald eagle. It was pretty easy getting people to see it: look up, see sky, and then look for huge bird circling slowly overhead. I think everybody but one person managed to see it. Now, how to get everyone on that female Cape May . . .  

Evanston North Shore Bird Club field trip to Skokie Lagoons, May 2010.

          

Blue-headed vireo photographed by John Cassady.

Ken Brock suggested that we make an effort to collaborate on some birding this spring. I said that I would love to, particularly if Jeff McCoy and John Cassiday could join us on a week day.  Wednesday was the day selected and I arrived early at Forsythe Park in Hammond, Indiana.  Heavy fog blanketed the park and although it lightened over time never really burned off completely. (Ken said the temperature never exceeded 51 degrees.) As I scanned from the car, I saw a northern waterthrush feeding at the edge of a puddle in the park and a veery hopping on the lawn of a house across the street.

As we birded Forsythe, it seemed that new birds kept seeping in through the fog. Among them were two individuals of my favorite vireo, the blue-headed (although I do prefer its old name, solitary).  We wound up with a total of 15 species of warbler. One noteworthy moment occurred when I spotted a very plain looking warbler that could have been an orange-crowned. Just as the bird provided a view that allowed confirmation of the identification, John yelled “orange-crowned warbler.” I assumed we were looking at the same bird but when I glanced his way, I realized he was viewing a different bird in a different tree.

Scott's mutant/hybrid butterfly.

At one point during our stay at Forsythe, a Scott’s lawn care truck pulled up and stopped, while the driver figured out where his next yard was. I have seen these before and they amuse me no end. The graphic on the truck’s side depicts a colorful butterfly that is supposed to assure customers that the chemicals being applied threaten nothing but the targeted weeds. That may be but they undercut their message by showing a mutant/hybrid butterfly that does not exist. Most of the organism illustrated is a monarch, but the lower part of the hind wings is a swallowtail of some ilk, perhaps tiger. The millions of years of evolution that have led to the monarch as we know it were not enough for someone at the company who felt the real thing was somehow wanting. But the image selected is quite fitting: the perfect butterfly for the perfect lawn, neither of which exist in nature.

Nineteen warblers awaited us at the Hammond Bird Sanctuary (aka Migrant Trap). Orange-crowned warblers are usually in the first wave of warblers and the Connecticut the very last. On this day both species were present. Another noteworthy find was an Acadian flycatcher. This species is not uncommon in the lowland woods of the Indiana Dunes (much less common in other parts of the Chicago region) but rarely shows up on in the lakefront traps. Adding to its scarcity is that most of the species belonging to the Epidonax genus are very difficult to identify by visual characteristics. This bird fortunately was calling and thus making us sure of its identity.

Wolf Lake straddles the Indiana/Illinois borders.  Along one portion of it is a woods called appropriately enough, Stae Line Woods. As I mentioned in one of the earlierst blogs, the Indiana birders focus on their side- it would take a mighty rare bird indeed for them to make th e effort to turn the 180 degrees so they could see Illinois. Jeff had tarried at another spot, so Ken, John, and I split up and each reached the same conclusion that the woods were rather empty. Perhaps the most interesting result was finding

ten yellow-rumped warblers, twice the number of the next most common, yellow and common yellowthroat. It is always surprising to me how species composition of migrant warblers can change so dramatically from place to place. Last week on the spring bird count, yellow-rumps were overwhelmingly the most abundant. The following day (May 9), Cindy and I spent a couple of hours at Montrose on Chicago’s Lakefront. While others saw a few, I did not see a single yellow-rumped, although northern yellowthroats were thick.

I stayed with the group for one final location after lunch. It was Whiting Park, home of the infamous “Great Wall of Whiting” which I have written about in an earlier blog. (Rumor has it that 15 people died during its construction. Or maybe dieted. The rumors are garbled on this point.) As John was peering over the wall, he saw a black-throated blue warbler and a very pale female warbler that he thought might have been a Brewster’s (blue-winged/golden-winged hybrid). The even taller Ken enjoyed the black-throated blue and had a quick view of the possible Brewster’s which he thought looked promising. Your blogger, on the other hand, made a series of ineffectual hops to try to glimpse these birds (achieving any sort of height, by the way, is not easy for kwashiorkor sufferers who have largely abandoned walking in favor of sitting as they spend most of their time writing about passenger pigeons). But fortunately for him, a quick decision was made to walk around the wall and search for the birds where they would be most observable. The possible Brewster was relocated, and it was identified as a washed-out female golden-winged, of which another individual was also found.

Ken Brock and John Cassady peering over the Great Wall of Whiting.

Common yellowthroat photographed by John Casssady.