After two very wet CBCs, I was quite pleased that the Waukegan count, held on January 1, would be dry. But there was a catch associated with this, my final count fo the period: the day was bitterly cold. When I met my group, Tim Wallace and Jennifer Schmidt, to go owling at Old School Forest Presaerve, the temperature was 5 degrees. A full moon (indeed a blue moon) made it seem a tad warmer but more in hind sight than at the time.
Owling is a sure way to get chilled on a cold night- you go in and out of the warmer car and stand around as, in my primitive case, the cassette recorder plays screech owl sounds. While strong winds can be a killer for both one’s personal comfort and the ability to induce the owls to respond, even a calm night might prove fruitless. Fortuanetly, we heard one owl and then had a bigger treat when a pair began calling over our heads. They flew around a bit and we had as good a view as possible in the dark without a light,
My territory on this count encompasses roads on either side of the Des Plaines River, from Route 120 on the north to Route 176 on the south, For many years, we would start walking along the river at the southern end and go all the way to the north, arriving seven hours after we began. For those who agreed to accompany me, it became known as the killer march. Now we walk only the southern third and access various points to the north by car. If enough people participate, we generally divide into two groups, one on either side of the river. (Mike Solomon, on his second and last time as a participant, enthusiastically proclaimed that the walk is more fun than a colonoscopy.)
The walk has had its trying moments. One year, I did the west side myself and assigned my two companions the east side. While one was searching for a winter wren discovered by the other, she slipped on the frozen bank and slid into the river. The bank was undercut so she could not climb out; nor could she move latterly because the bottom was so soft. Paramedics were called and they rescued her. I did not know any of this was happening so imagine my surprise when as I approached the end, I heard my name being shouted through a loudspeaker. I quickened my pace to see a police officer standing by the side of the road calling me. He explained that Margo had fallen into the river and was currently at a hospital, but she was all right. He took me there and Margo was indeed ok. In fact, when she was released she drove home to change and was back in the field to join us for our final hour of the day.
Nothing nearly that dramatic happened this time. We were joined at day break by Frank Abderholden, a reporter for the News-Sun newspaper who has become a friend. Among his other duties at the paper, he writes an outdoors column and usually does a story on the count. I decided that we would bird as a group rather than splitting up, in part because the east side would be difficult given that the river was in flood. We walked along the formal bike trail, but at one point it too was so inundated it looked impassable. In thirty years we have never had to go back because of water and I was prepared to wade on through if necessary, letting my companions, all endowed with far more sense, meet me at the next accessible spot. But there had been just enough freezing temperatures to make it possible to find solid ice as we made an arc away from the river.
Two days earlier I had scouted the section and had located a pair of yellow rumped warblers, but they failed to appear. I played my tape recorder and brought in the usual suspects of chickadees, nuthatches, cardinals, robins, and cardinals. The best bird that we lured in was a brown creeper. A flock of robins feeding on berries, included a few cedar waxwings. We also found the results of an interaction between an accipiter and a robin. Although the river was still open, all it produced were small numbers of mallards and Canada geese. We usually get a great-blue heron or kingfisher.
When we arrive at Route 137, where two of the cars were, we took a detour to cover some pines where I had seen a great-horned owl during my scouting outing. But just like the warblers, the owl had vamoosed. (I actually hate finding good birds when scouting- it makes missing them so frustrating. And if the bird is really unusual, I can burn a lot of time looking for it, as I refuse to leave.) But the longer trek proved worthwhile because I spotted a dark rough-legged hawk circling overhead. That is a bird often missed, but during the countdown, we learned that several others were also seen. It seems the frigid weather drove the birds south.
Frank left us when we arrived at the cars and Jennifer stayed for one or two more spots. Tim and I found the day to be kind of slow. Our best bird, and the only one seen by any of the eight other parties, was a northern shrike at one of the species most reliable locations- a cemetery that generally hosts one every second or third year. We also wound up with two sharp-shinned hawks (but not one of the far more common Cooper’s) and a kestrel. We ended the day at a robin roost. Hundreds of robins begin swarming in a small wooded area around 3:30. The only other species to join them are starlings and, on this day, a sharp-shinned hawk. We totaled over 800 robins.
This count also has a dinner and count down. Spouse Cindy and I spend December 31 cooking, and she schleps everything to the countdown venue on the first. So when counters begin showing up they are greeted by a spread of my chili, Cindy’s ham and macaroni and cheese, deserts (my apple crisp, chocolate pate, and white chocolate cheese cake garnished with pomegranates, and her cranberry-walnut pie and gingerbread cake), and assorted dips and other noshes. Only ten counters showed up so we have been living on leftovers, but the count did reach 70 species, including American pipits, eastern bluebirds, black scoter, glaucous gull, bald eagle, and eastern towhee. There are also 70 feeder watchers, but so far nothing new has been added.
Just 350 or so days left before my next CBC. . .
Cedar waxwing seen on Waukegan CBC January 1, 2010 (photo by Tim Wallace)
Tags: cedar waxwing, owling, screech owl
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.
A riled up Lake Michigan as it lashes Chicago lakeshore on Dec 25, 2009 (photo by Ethan Gyllenhaal)
I hope all of you had an edifying holiday season. Computer problems here at your Blogger’s high tech multi-hundred dollar facility precluded a blog last week, a situation for which I am sorry. Hopefully, though, blogging will now be able to proceed according to schedule.
While the Hanukah candles do generally get lit (although spouse, aka IT-Gal, and I missed some this year, being that we spent three joyous evenings at the Compu Serve store dealing with the aforementioned computer failings), the holiday season for me is really the Christmas Bird Counts (CBCs). Spouse spends Christmas with her family in Ohio or Florida (as was the case this year) so I am left alone to obsess over the three counts that I compile, or help to compile.
The first of my counts this year was the Chicago Lakefront. While adhering to the 15 mile diameter circle required of all nationally sanctioned counts, coverage is largely restricted to the Chicago lake shore and harbors, including Jackson Park on the southern edge and Montrose area on the north. Besides the unusually limited habitat of the count, it is one of the very few that is actually held on December 25. I used to joke that it is for people without family or friends (we actually had an all Jewish count back in 1972, although we only had four participants) but over the years we have built up a following of birders who spend half a day counting birds and then heading off for more traditional Christmas celebrations. We have two main groups- mine meets at the south end and works north, while Geoff and Chris Williamson meet at Montrose and work south. They quit mid-day while my group continues to Montrose. (It is easy to keep separate lists at all the spots, so there is no double counting.) While I don’t have the exact number yet, this Christmas we had around ten participants. My group consisted of the three Gyllenhaal’s (Aaron, Ethan, and Eric), Tim Wallace, Kelly McKay, and Caroline Hertzberg.
Holding Lakefront on Christmas Day, it turns out, has real advantages for a count that focuses on the downtown portions of America’s third largest city. Lake Shore Drive, the count’s principal thoroughfare, is almost empty. You can drive onto the usually very crowded Navy Pier without harassment, and there is no one to shoo you away from McCormick Place as you scan the lake. It would be nigh well impossible to cover the territory as thoroughly on a week day or holiday weekend.
Another attribute of this count is that it draws media attention like no other local birding event. The idea of birdwatching early Christmas morning must seem so weird that it merits coverage, particularly on a day that rarely generates news. There weren’t any stories this year but three years ago I was interviewed by a radio station that ran a few snippets focusing on our best bird of that day, a mockingbird. A newspaper reporter heard the piece and called me up for yet another interview that was the basis for a story ran on a Wednesday, Staffers at our local public radio station read the article, and contacted me for a third interview that they ran on the next day.
And then there is Kelly McKay, a birder from the Quad Cities area of western Illinois. Kelly has become famous in the world of birders by subjecting himself to Christmas Bird Count marathons. This year the Christmas Count period begins on December 14 and ends on January 5: there are 23 days on which CBCs can be held. Kelly, for the third time, is planning on attending 23 counts, which are scattered across WI, IA, and IL. He birds all day and than drives to the next location (or home if the next count is in that direction). But since only one is held on Dec 25, he pays us a visit. To fill in gaps, he compiles five or so counts himself, including the only one scheduled on December 24.
Ring-billed gulls on Chicago Lakefront CBC on December 25, 2009 (photo by Tim Wallace).
December 25, 2009 was marked by unremitting rain and winds of 25 to 35 mph. The temperature was in the high thirties. Waves crashed into the lake wall and exploded like geysers. Not only do such conditions preclude effective scanning of the lake, it means that notebooks become soggy and optical equipment fogs up. Now for the good news: areas that have few people on Christmas morning even during the best of weather were completely deserted in the face of heavy rains. Even the shivering foreign tourists in their summer clothing who usually flock to such destinations as Adler Planetarium and Shedd Aquarium for photos of the skyline were absent.
Despite the adverse weather, we actually did pretty well. And that has not always been the case. The fewest species seen on the count occurred on a frigid day when the lake was still open, conditions that created a thick impenetrable layer of fog over the water. It was impossible to see anything smaller than a swan, and none of those were around. My mother and I, the only participants on the last day of the count period, logged six species, a total that exceeded no other North American count south of Yellow Knife, Northwest Territories.
Our first stop was at LaRabida Children’s hospital. The harbor yielded a nice group of ducks including such unexpected species as canvasback (2) and red-head. That started us off on a productive duck roll- over the course of the day, we also saw ruddy, gadwall (a damaged wing highlighted the white patch), and all three mergansers. The best duck was a male harlequin at North Avenue. With its harlequin pattern of irregular white blotches, this is one stunning looking bird. It was riding the waves full of debris as they smashed into the pier; but the bird was able to maintain a safe position and even dive into the cresting wave. This is a species of the northeast coast and northwestern rivers, so raging water is its home and conditions were perfect for it.
American pipits have been hanging around in various places on the lakefront so it was not surprising that we added this species to the count list for the first time. Geoff and Chris saw nine at Montrose and we had one fly over at McCormick Place. It was a first for the count. Northerly Island produced a short-eared owl, which attracted the attention of a persistent crow. Northerly Island used to be the home of Meigs Field, until Mayor Daley decided he’d rather have a park there. When the airport operated and the land was off-limits to people, snowy owls would often linger. It was probably the best place in IL for the species but not so since the area has become accessible to pedestrians. On the other hand, short-eared owls appear more often, perhaps because there is no where for them to hide from mobile searchers. A few snow buntings also flew over.
Need to get home to dry out the boots and coat for tomorrow’s Evanston North Shore Count . . .
Short-eared owl photographed by John Cassady.
Tags: Chicago Lakefront Christmas Count, Christmas Bird Count, harlequin duck, short-eared ow
Red-throated loons photographed off Beverly Shores (Porter County, IN) in November 2007 by John Cassady.
The Illinois Beach State Park hawk watch shuts down Thanksgiving weekend and the same is generally true of the Miller lake watches. The idea is that the bulk of the migration is over by then, and whatever procrastinators remain don’t warrant the effort. But this fall, there never really was a great flight day on the lake. We had not yet experienced the frigid blasts that drive the hardy birds south. A number of us were convinced that one good cold front could still prove exciting. And December 3 seemed like the day.
Despite the years that I have been birding it seems inevitable that I am never quite dressed warm enough for the first cold spell. After a summer and fall, I am usually one item shy of what I need. It might be the heavy sweater, a second pair of gloves, or the gator. And Miller is especially challenging. I am known by friends as one who rarely if ever gets chilled. I have been out in minus 25 degrees without a problem. But generally, when out in the field one is neither stationary, nor facing into the wind. After a few hours of sitting, however, the discomfort eventually begins to creep in. Two years ago during a windy and snowy lakewatch in late November my hands became so cold I had trouble manipulating my fingers at the level necessary to open the car and turn the heat on. Fortunately, the car was not very far away and there were other people around, but that kind of chill is disconcerting.
With all that in mind, I had long underwear and jeans topped by insulated pants (so many layers over the nethers means that caffeinated beverages should be avoided- indeed all fluids should be avoided) and five layers over my torso. I was going to be ready. I arrived at Miller at 6:15, forty-five minutes before sunrise. A half-hour later the first birder showed up. It was the gentleman I wrote about in an earlier posting who suffers from that strange malady that only strikes during autumn cold fronts. I will call him Arthur, or Art, for short. He had a two hour drive and had also spent time thinking about the right apparel for what promised to be a windy raw day. Jeff McCoy and Ken Brock arrived soon thereafter. Eventually. Michael Topp and John Kendall appeared as well. Great minds think alike (or great masochists throb alike). Yep, some really good birders assembled with visions of alcids, pomarine jaegers, and eiders dancing in their heads.
Let us start with the positives. Hypothermia was never an issue, as the temperature was not as low as predicted nor was the wind as strong. As for the birds, I would not call the day a total flop, although Ken did not deem the results worthy of posting. We had 50 common loons and 11 red-throated loons, of which there was 1 adult, 3 juves, and 7 not aged. (At one point I swore I heard someone yell, “Jew.” In response, I yelled “Missouri Synod Lutheran.” It sounded that way to Art as well, but he concluded correctly that the word being shouted was “juv.”).
Red-throated loons on the Indiana lakefront have increased substantially over the last 23 years as illustrated by a graph provided by Ken Brock (but which I seem unable to transport into this post). From 1986 to 1995 there were never more than 20 and in some years none. Over the next five years the annual count jumped to around 50 birds, except that in 1999 there were 75. Since then, the increase has been in steps from around 100, to over 175, to this past year when red-throated loons reached an amazing high of 425.
I asked Ken why he thinks the red-throated loons have become more common here. He has thought about it a good bit but has arrived at no satisfactory conclusion: “As this pattern slowly developed (over the years) we thought it was simply more birder experience (i.e., being able to identify the loons in flight), more birders on the lakefront, and/or better optics. Although these factors might well have contributed to the increase, I am convinced there are more loons today than in previous years. However, I cannot explain where they came from. Red-throateds might have altered their migration path (or wintering grounds, as we get lots in December) or perhaps the population has actually increased.”
The best bird of the day was red-necked grebe. Jeff spotted one close in to shore flying to the west and an hour or so later someone else found a bird flying in the opposite direction. Ken treated the sightings as having involved the same individual. Other noteworthy totals were 114 redheads, 82 greater scaup, 124 lesser scaup, 7 dark-winged scoters, and 11 horned grebes. By eleven am, the birding group began to break-up, knowing in their hearts that the birds were still to the north somewhere.
Post script: And they were correct. The first severe winter storm of the season hit on Wednesday December 9. Ken, Jeff, and another birder did venture out and were treated to a massive movement of waterfowl estimated at over 10,000 ducks. Ken posted what they saw on IN-BIRD: “The morning temperature was 11 degrees F with west winds at 20-25 knots. The lake was decorated by rising steam, the local equivalent of Arctic sea smoke, which limited visibility. However, hoards of ducks were migrating through the steam. We counted almost 2000 ducks, but able to identify only about 20 percent of the passing birds.” Unfortunately, among the birds they did identify, there was nothing particularly noteworthy.
Late summer scene at McGinnis Slough (Cook County) by Wes Serafin.
Usually at least one good bird shows up over the Thanksgiving weekend, due, I suppose, to the large number of birders loose over what is for many a four day holiday. This year a dovekie was found dead in Van Buren County Michigan, the county just north of where the ancient murrelt tarried. Birders were trying to figure out if there was any pattern in the presence of the two alcids. But given that one species is from the Pacific and other predominantly from the Atlantic ( a very small number of dovekies do breed in Alaska), it is hard to come up with anything. My own personal theory is that as the ancient murrelet was flying east it collided with the dovekie headed west, causing fatal injuries to the latter. I predict that a necropsy of the dovekie will reveal massive trauma to the head, while it is likely the murrelet suffered but a glancing blow. (Well, prove me wrong)
But a bird corpse in Michigan hardly satisfies one’s need to go birding so Cindy and I headed out on Sunday morning to the Palos region. This is an area of moraines, lakes, and waterways in southwestern Cook County. Fifteen thousand acres of it is public land held by the Cook County Forest Preserve District. The district was created in 1913 and the Palos area was targeted early, for its scenic value was undeniable. During the period of most recent glaciation, the region was an island (named Mt. Forest Island, by geologists), surrounded by the Des Plaines River and old Lake Chicago, referring to Lake Michigan when it bulged to the south and west due to ice in its upper basin. The rugged topography is heavily forested, with lakes, artificial and natural, scattered about.
Focusing on waterbirds, we headed to Saganashkee Slough and McGinnis Slough. The light was awful at Saganashkee but we could make out lots of ducks at the far end. When we moved to a more advantageous spot we identified rafts of mostly hooded mergansers. With their white crests outlined in black, the drakes are among t he most handsome of ducks. Although not as colorful, the hens have a ragged hood that makes her distinctive as well. There is often a bald eagle perched on the line of trees along the least accessible portion, but nothing that particularly morning.
McGinnis Slough offered many more species of waterbirds, including several flocks of cranes that greeted us upon our arrival. Many of the birds were quite distant but it was possible to pick out more hoodies, black duck, canvasback, redheads, ring-necked duck, and black duck. Three horned grebes dove actively, making them somewhat of a challenge to show Cindy.
On the way back to the car, I looked down and spotted a garter snake, just inches from where I had stepped. It was a chilly morning, and the snake was not moving very quickly. Indeed, it looked almost frozen. With the exceedingly mild fall, it might be possible for a Homo sapien to forget that winter was not too far off, but the snake knew. And it was a strong reminder to us.
Hooded merganser (male) photographed by John Cassady.
Sandhill cranes at Jasper-Pulaski Stae Game Area (IN), November 2009 (photographed by Tim Wallace).
The bird of Thanksgiving this year was sandhill crane. Thousands of birds migrated south over from the Tuesday before to Thanksgiving. Did I learn this by being out in the field? Nope, I heard them as I sat in my little space organizing ppigeon material. While there are certain stimuli I can ignore when engrossed in work (even hunger on occasion, although I guess you will just have to take my word for that as all the empirical evidence suggests otherwise), crane music is not among them. And apart from the sheer majesty of their utterances, I am moved by two other considerations.
When I started birding in the late 1960’s, there were precisely two pairs of sandhil cranes nesting in the 19 counties of the Chicago region and that was at the Tichigan refuge in northwestern Racine County (WI). The number then stopping at Jasper Pulaski were in the low hundreds. Over the ensuing years we have learned that these large conspicuous birds whose voices once serenaded mammoths can share territory with millions of people. This knowledge provides a small defense against what could otherwise be a devastatingly bleak prospect. Of course, the resiliency of cranes was noted years ago by the Lawrence Walkinshaw whose book on the species is a classic. He noted that they could get by quite well with small marshes and that what they really needed was to be left along- the most important conservation measure that could be taken was to merely stop killing them.
The second consideration is that on those days when the cranes are moving and their magisterial song settles over the desolate landscapes created by urban sprawl, they imbue the common place with wildness that not even the most andocentric can ignore. We have residing across the street and a house over a couple of young men whose passion seems to be drinking and sharing the loud obscenity- laced noise they call music (I am showing my age). Even they were forced outside one October day a few years ago, staring into the sky wondering what the strange sounds were as the flocks flew particularly low. I can think only of periodic cicadas, which emerge by the many millions to animate what otherwise seemed like thoroughly domesticated backyards. Even the most obtuse among us can not help but notice these touches of the wild as they intrude on our inner sanctums.
Ancient murrelet photographed on November 14, 2009 at St. Joseph, MI by John Kendall.
Arriving home from the sandhill cranes at Jasper-Pulaski, I went on line and checked out the Ancient murrelet reports. People spent hours watching the bird as it fed on fish at the mouth of the St. Joseph River. A placid lake with flat waters allowed great views of the bird. John Kendall’s almost unbelievable photo of the bird screamed: you should have gone to look for it! John and others had provided excellent directions. There was not much else I could do. I called Tim and he was gung ho to give it a try. I also called Andy Sigler, Jon Wuepper, and Darlene Freidman (an ex-Chicago birder who now lives near Detroit and who chases rarities) but I could find no one at home.
The mouth of the St. Joe is lined on either side by a pier. We opted for the wider of the two which is on the south side of the channel. Unlike the preceding day, however, Sunday was windy and the lake was heavily roiled. A red-throated loon flew by and several lines of tundra swans flapped heavily across the horizon. Birds were certainly moving. Unfortunately, one of the birds that seemed to have moved was the little alcid. At one point, a bird arose from just out of view next to the north pier and someone shouted “Ancient murrelet.” I glimpsed it and thought it was a long-tailed duck but as the bird had disappeared again who knew for sure. A birder on the north pier seemed to have given up and was walking to shore- we felt bad that she might be walking right by the murrelet. But then the bird arose again to where we could see it at leisure and we understood why the birder kept walking- it was indeed a long-tailed duck. But the excitement warmed us up a bit.
Jon Wuepper appeared, having called my house earlier to learn that I had headed for St. Joseph. He had watched it for seven hours on Saturday. Then I saw Andy on the north pier heading back. The lake became rougher and rougher so that even if a murrelet were somehow spotted by someone it would be damnably hard to relocate in the deep troughs. Tim, Jon, and I stopped for breakfast and retreated for home.
The murrelet remained undetected for several days, by which time birders figured it had gone elsewhere (for an oceanic bird stuck in the middle of an oligotrophic lake, alcid heaven was not a bad guess for its destination). But the small guy proved its resilience when it was relocated on Wednesday as the lake had again flattened out. The bird was feeding on the little fish (probably alewives) that concentrated at the river’s mouth. And it had exciting company, for two adult little gulls put in appearances as well.
This was too much for Andy who, along with Mike Madson, decided to try again. They arrived early in the mourning to discover the lake had once again become choppy. But they were rewarded by the presence of the little gulls, which by then had been joined by a parasitic jaeger. Their main target still eluded them, however, and after a few hours they threw in the towel, stopping for an early lunch. As they crossed the state line and entered Indiana, they received a call from local birder Craig Taylor saying he was watching the bird. So the two turned around and zoomed back. The lake had calmed only a bit so it was still a challenge, but finally at 3:15 central time Mike spotted the bird.
Every day its presence is confirmed establishes a record for an individual of this species surviving in the lake. It was seen over the weekend and at least as late as Tuesday, November 24. Tim, by the way, did manage to get it on Monday, a fine birthday present! Your blogger, unable to get away (ok, I was in Bloomington, IN with mistress and Don Gorney, in what was a fruitless search through the correspondence of Amos Butler, the father of Indiana ornithology), takes the bird’s continued presence to be a personal affront. Quit mocking me, and leave for goodness sakes! (If you want to hang out on this side of the lake, though, all will be forgiven.)
Birders with Tim and Joel on a day when the murrelet did not appear (photo by Tim Wallace).
Have a great “Day They Kill the Broad-breasted Whites” (the breed that comprises over 90% of the country’s turkey supply)!
Tags: ancient murrelet, St. Joseph MI
Sandhill cranes at sunset at Jasper-Pulaski Fish and Game Area (photo by Tim Wallace)
The premier ornithological spectacle of this region is the sandhill cranes at Jasper Pulaski State Fish and Game Area near North Judson, Indiana. Specifically there is a large field that is overlooked by a capacious wooden viewing area. This field is a staging area where cranes gather late in the day as they return from the fields in which they have been foraging. As the darkness takes over, the birds ascend again to spend the night in a marsh nearby. The same process is repeated in spring, but the cranes numbers, swelled by the young of the year and a greater propensity to linger, rise to their maximum in the late fall, when up to 35,000 birds have appeared. Unlike hawk flights or lake watches, the success of which is dictated by weather conditions, the cranes at Jasper Pulaski will be on display throughout November. I have been there when a light snow covered all, and I have been there when it has been raining. Once in a while, as it was last Saturday, it was mild and windless. So in addition to a field full of cranes, there was a viewing stand full of people.
White-tailed deer making for land after being almost two miles offshore at Miller, IN (photo by Tim Wallace).
I was there leading an Evanston North Shore Bird Club field trip. In the morning we started at Miller, where we knew that winds were not favorable. We met Michael Topp and watched snow buntings and horned grebes. Then, Tim spotted a most remarkable thing that none of us had quite seen before: just barely discernable in the scopes was the head of a deer over a mile offshore. It swam rapidly from the east to west, and only as it approached the US Steel Pier to our west did it begin to come to shore. From where we first caught sight of the animal we could not quite tell whether it had antlers or not, but as it approached the beach we could see it was a doe. Eventually it reached water shallow enough to stand in, but it seemed wobbly and reluctant to actually leave the lake. Eventually, however, it bounded into the low foredunes. The energy such a swim would have consumed suggests that only a compelling reason would have forced it to engage in such behavior. Bill Eyring, one member of our group, suggested it had been chased into the water to avoid dogs or some other predator. I don’t have any better ideas.
About then Michael received a call on his cell and learned that there was ancient murrelet in St. Joseph Michigan, about an hour away. It would be a lifer for me, as I have obtained unsatisfactory views on the Pacific coast and missed one by a day at Evanston, Illinois back in 1982. (I went looking for the bird, couldn’t find it, and then went out of town for a few days. In my absence, the murrelet became very easy to locate: my friend Dave Johnson picked up my late parents and showed it to them. It was the only species my mom and dad ever saw that I have not.). I knew that of the folks present, only Tim would want to chase the bird and we could have probably arranged something but we decided to stay with the plan, and headed south towards the Kankakee River basin where the cranes were waiting.
Our principal stop before reaching the cranes was Kankakee Fish and Game Area, near where the Yellow River joins the Kankakee. Up until about 1900, the Kankakee River was a vast swamp from South Bend to Momence, IL, three miles west of the state line. People estimate that it was anywhere from 400,000 to million acres in extent. What remains of it in Indiana is a series of refuges that never stayed dry, despite early efforts to drain the whole province. Most of the refuges are largely closed in the fall due to hunting, but there is one part of Kankakee Fish and Game, near the headquarters that usually holds a high variety. So indeed, we were treated to numerous ducks (gadwall, pintail, wigeon, ring-necked,) and three species of geese, including the uncommon greater white-fronted. By then we had been joined by another group of birders, and a good many of our comrades were enjoying species they had not seen before.
We headed to the cranes and they were flocking in the thousands. The last official count, taken earlier the preceding week, found over ten thousand. The people present are a mix of those who are professional naturalists leading groups to those who otherwise have no interest in nature. If any bird can engage the human consciousness, it is cranes. The great Aldo Leopold wrote this: “Our ability to perceive quality in nature begins, as in art, with the pretty. It expands through successive stages of the beautiful to values as yet uncaptured by language. The quality of cranes, lies, I think, in this higher gamut, as yet beyond the reach of words (Sand County Almanac, “Elegy for a Crane Marsh.”) It is unfortunate, though, that the state of Indiana provides no interpreters to present information or otherwise maximize this wonderful learning opportunity.
I can stare at these magnificent creatures seemingly forever, or at least until dark (whichever comes first). And that is what we pretty much did, before heading off to dinner at North Judson. But tugging at my brain were regrets that we did not go chasing after the murrelet . . .
Sandhill cranes with landing gear extended (by Tim Wallace).
Tags: Jasper-Pulaski State Fish and Game Area, sandhill cranes, snow bunting, white-tailed deer
Two passenger pigeons by John James Audubon superimposed over map of Chicago.
Her name is Martha, or at least the most famous one was named Martha. My current obsession is passenger pigeons, the last one of whom, Martha, died in the Cincinnati Zoo on September 1, 1914. I am madly researching all that I can find about this remarkable species for a book I am hoping can come out by early 2014. What Homo sapiens did to this bird is unique in the annals of human history: an estimated population of 3 to 5 billion in 1800 was reduced to virtually zero by 1900, and absolutely zero fourteen years later.
The internet and some very supportive librarians have enabled me to amass a large amount of information without having to leave the house. But as I am visualizing how this book is going to look, I have had to travel to various places in the Midwest to fill in gaps of the story that I want to emphasize. The center for ppigeon research has to be Madison, WI where A.W. Schorger lived and did much of his work in producing what has been the definitive work on the species. He spent decades combing the newspapers of WI and examining other narratives throughout the country. When he started his project, in the 1930s, there were people alive who knew the bird first hand, and he interviewed many of them. I have made two trips so far to Madison (where I was able to stay with my friends Tom and Mariah, whose house on Lake Mendota enables them to see both the sun rise and set from their bed) where I have gone through Schorger’s correspondence and now am working my way through his notebooks that include his ppigeon notes. Prof. Stan Temple has introduced me to a few people who knew Schorger and we had some interesting interviews (except my darn recorder wasn’t working very well- dare I buy a digital recorder? Dare I leave the 20th century even further behind? Eek!)
Last week I ventured deep into MI to Saginaw. Saginaw is important to the ppigeon story because it was the home of both William Butts Mershon and Henry B. Roney. Mershon was a timber baron and fanatic hunter who changed his ways a bit to support the nascent conservation movement of the late 1800s. He also was the ppigeons first historian, and his 1907 “The Passenger Pigeon” is one of four book length accounts on the species. Roney was an organist who later became famous for his boys choir that performed across the country. But in the spring of 1878 he did something never done before: during the last great nesting of the bird in Petoskey, MI where millions were killed, he and three others tried to stop the slaughter. By then MI had a few laws that limited how close you could be to the nests before you shot or trapped them. Roney enlisted the authorities to arrest and convict people for violating the law (it turns out that the local sheriff who cooperated with Roney, himself was pinched for breaking the law). Mershon was one of Saginaw’s wealthiest citizens and even served as mayor so there was plenty of information on him (his papers even include a note from Grover Cleveland declining an offer to go on a fishing trip). Roney, though, stayed in town for only a few years, employed as the musical director of the First Congregational Church.
Jon Wuepper, a nature historian of the first order, joined me on this adventure. We spent most of our time at the Hoyt Public Library in downtown Saginaw, where librarians Leo and Kelly went out of their way to accommodate my every wish. I also had a delightful time meeting Jeri and Jean of the First Congregational Church. Everyone offered to help in every way they could. And when I told them how touched I was with their generosity they said that it makes them feel good that the materials they so carefully maintain are of interest to outside researchers.
The trip ended with some real birding, not just imaginary. My friend Jeanette Jaskula was staying with her two young boys at her parents’ house in Hobart, IN while her husband Mike was at a conference in Montreal. I rarely see her any more as the youngsters prevent her from getting out in the field much. And if Mike gets a job somewhere (he is just finishing his doctorate), they may well be forced to settle in Timbuktu. So this was a chance for us to do some birding together and so I spent the night at her parents’ house.
Saturday morning dawned warm and calm. (In fact, both Saturday and Sunday topped 70 degrees, the first time in fifty years that back to back November days reached that high a temperature.) Conditions proved way too nice for a great flight but we headed out to Miller undaunted.. Even without winds to prod the birds southward, this is late enough in the fall for lake birds to be present. A mass of 60 snow geese (50 of which were blue) provided our first highlight, followed by an adult great black-backed gull. A flock of redheads bobbed in the lake just offshore and a few gadwall headed west. We walked down to the beach and spied Michael Topp at the end of Lake Street to the west, so we drove over to join him on top the artificial dune. Snow buntings appeared in several flocks that would coalesce and then separate. They would feed briefly on the beach and then erupt into the air, some heading inland and some over the lake.
Michael received a phone call from Jeff McCoy who had just located a red-necked grebe at Beverly Shores, quite a bit to the east of us. Jeanette had to return and so Michael and I headed east to meet Jeff, Ken Brock, and the rest of the Hoosier Gang. I never saw the grebe, but there were white-winged scoters, more snow geese, common loons (Ken had a day’s total of 730 in two large rafts), horned grebes (35 for the day), and red-throated loon, a species that has definitely increased over the years.
Having been away and feeling a bit tired, I bid the group adieu and drove back to Miller to pick up a slab at Porky’s barbeque where Tom, a true artist of the pit produces the best ribs I know. On my way an immature bald eagle flew over Long Lake, adding a dash of sauce to the forthcoming ribs. A weekend of ppigeons, friends (new and long-standing), comfortable birding in November that actually produced birds, and a culinary delight- not bad at all.
Jeanette Jaskula and blogger at Miller Beach (photo by Michael Topp).
Tags: extinction, passenger pigeon, Saginaw, snow buntings
Earlier in the fall, I made a quick visit to McGinnis Slough, a large shallow lake surrounded by woods and marsh. It is the closest spot to me that provides first rate habitat for ducks, herons, shorebirds, and other waterbirds. On that particular day, I did not see anything out of the ordinary in the way of birds. But I a mink ran across the trail in front of me. Mink are by far the most common Mustelid (now that the skunks are in their own family) and I usually see a couple a year.
A few weeks after that, I was looking on the Illinois Birders Forum (a great site maintained by Greg Neice) and saw some remarkable photos taken by Brian Tang, who has given me permission to post them here. He was birding at the 126th St. marsh in the Calumet area (southeast side of Chicago) with the hope of finding shorebirds. As he tells it: “This egret was standing in the middle of the water. I glanced back at the egret and noticed he caught something. He waved it around a few times and then gulped it down in an instant. My first instinct was mink but it seemed so strange.”
It is rare enough to see this kind of animal interaction, but to capture it on film is really special. Who needs to go to the Serengeti to watch cheetahs take gazelles? The same thing is happening in your neighborhood.