lifelist

new life birds in Ontario

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Last weekend’s trip to Ontario turned out to be excellent for seeing both grandparents and new life birds. Although we only had a short time to catch up with family in each location, the need to drive from place to place was well-suited for nipping off the road and catching sight of Ontario’s winter migrants.

Our first birding detour was to Rondeau Provincial Park. As we drove the 401 I was seeing flocks of little brown and white birds flying up and circling around the farm fields. There was something about their flight that was different from sparrows, and my inability to identify them en route was driving me to distraction when, lo and behold, we saw a sign directing us to the park. Just off the 401, I was able to pull over and get a good look at a flock of little-brown-birds. It turned out to be a mixed group of Horned Larks and American Tree Sparrows, neither of which I’d ever seen before and both of which are common in southern Ontario in February (according to the birding list we picked up at Point Pelee last summer).

Buoyed by this early success, we continued on to the park. I suspect we were the only visitors, although there were locals coming and going so we did see other humans during our stay. Following the advice of the person at the front gate, I decided to try the woods behind the visitors’ center in my quest for winter guests. Thankfully someone—no doubt a local—had hiked the trail since the last snowfall, otherwise we might have had the embarrassing experience of becoming lost trying to follow the not-at-all-visible trail. The woods were pretty empty, it being the dead of winter, but we did see a few familiar birds: Downy Woodpeckers, White-Breasted Nuthatches, a Carolina Wren, and Northern Cardinals. Once we got reached the middle of the woods—an area that we guessed would be rather swampy in the summer, as it was criss-crossed with boardwalk-style bridges—we flushed a small group of little chattering birds from the brush. Based on my experience with little chattering birds at our local pond, I figured they were kinglets or vireos or flycatchers of some sort. I was able to pish them to me, which allowed me to identify mostly gray bodies, shortish tails and plump light bellies. Their flightiness, my inexperience, and the gray light of a winter afternoon in Ontario woods combined to make that the best I could do visually. However, all was not lost, as in the course of pishing I successfully noted their call (I’m learning!). Once back at the ranch in the car, we concluded that they were Golden-Crowned Kinglets, with the zeee-zeee-zeee call being the deciding factor. I think this marks the first time that I conclusively identified a bird using sound, which in itself may clinch my rise to intermediate status in this bizarre hobby.

Back at the visitors’ center, we hung around the (mostly empty) feeders and I caught sight of a Common Redpoll, a bird that also doesn’t venture south. There were flocks of little-brown-birds around the center, and a nice Red-Tailed Hawk hunting them, but the light was fading too quickly for me to firmly identify anything new in the sparrows. It’s possible that there were Field Sparrows mixed in with the Tree Sparrows, but nothing sat still long enough or close enough for me to be able to tell for sure. We also weren’t able to see anything interesting on the lake itself, as the edge was frozen to about 30 feet from shore, creating an effective gulf between us and the birds on the water. The person to whom final decisions regarding such questions of judgment as venturing out onto partially frozen lakes in order to get a closer look at seagulls are delegated—a person who is not me, for reasons which should be obvious—voted nay on that plan, so we called it a day.

The next leg of our trip took us to London, where we visited Springbank Park in the hopes of seeing some wintering waterfowl from the far north. The day we chose to explore was bitterly cold, but that did not deter me. The very first birds I saw on the river in among the Canada Geese and Mallards were three female Common Mergansers and a male Hooded Merganser, all of which were new to me. Further down the river we spotted a couple of male Common Mergansers. Seeing them made me realize how few black-and-white birds we get now that we live in the south, and I was glad we made the effort to see the winter waterfowl when we were up north. The only other unusual birds were foursome of what were likely escaped domestic geese: two Greylags and two mottled white crossbreeds, neither with the black tail feathers of Ross’s or Snow Geese. At that point my companion made the judgment call — another of the sort that is not left to me — that it was time to return to the car as he could no longer feel his toes, fingers, or nose. We returned the next day on our way out of town, but saw nothing more besides an escaped Domestic Mallard.

The next new life bird was sighted entirely by chance on the 402 as we drove toward Sarnia. During a break in the rain and clouds we drove right under a hovering Rough-Legged Hawk and got a perfect look at its white underside and black elbow patches. Unless it was an incredibly confused Osprey, there was no doubt about its identification. Our final bird-related stop in Ontario was in Sarnia, where we drove down to the park under the bridge so I could search for birds at the mouth of the lake. I spotted a whole group of Buffleheads, and was able to get good looks at both male and female birds. I’d seen females in Tillamook, OR, but the males were a first. I also saw a small group of Common Goldeneyes, another black-and-white bird that just doesn’t go as far south as we are. With a little patience and the willingness to tromp through slush to a decent vantage point I could watch them quite easily. It’s possible that I also saw a couple of White-Winged Scoters, but the light was fading quickly and they were too far away for me to get a decent look at their beaks. They appeared to be entirely black birds with white wing bars and they flew like ducks, which narrows the choices considerably; with the light as it was, though, any more nuanced changes of color or body markings were lost.

new life birds in Ontario

new life bird in the local woods

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Last week I saw my first new life bird of the year, a Pileated Woodpecker, in the woods on the north side of town. They’re urban woods; stands of old growth trees, but with buildings visible at every point within. They line the creek that divides the north side of town from the University Campus, and were easily explored this time of year. I imagine that ivy, multiflora, and general temperate jungle shrub will make most of the area impassable later in the year.

As with most of the life birds I’ve sighted around town, seeing the woodpecker was pure luck. I had decided to go through the woods rather than up to the pond in the hope of spotting some owl-sized roosting cavities in the trees. We’d heard rumors of owls in town, but had yet to spot any. Not setting the alarm for 2am in order to prowl the streets probably had something to do with that. At any rate, I investigated sheets of bark raining down from a mostly-dead tree and discovered a ginormous woodpecker. To be fair to my burgeoning birding skills, a few minutes before I’d noticed the smattering of round tree holes and said to myself, ‘This would be a good place to come look for Pileated Woodpeckers during the spring migration.’ Which, you know, makes me glad I didn’t say something like, ‘Gee, I hope that rotten limb doesn’t come crashing down onto my head.’

The other fun aspect of the woods was the discovery of a variety of animal tracks along the sandy creek bed. We were able to identify the usual suspects—raccoon, possum—as well as a few mystery tracks. At the opening of what can only be a decent sized den in the creek bank, we discovered a print that could be badger, woodchuck, or striped skunk. We’ve see gray foxes in town, but the print had a distinct fifth toe, so it seems likely that it was something else. Dog-like prints at a few points in the creek bed led to speculation of the presence of coyotes, although it’s (of course) more likely that they’re just someone’s dog. I made the (compelling, no doubt!) case that domestic dogs off-leash usually run up and down creek beds like maniacs so the few prints crossing over were more likely to be a wild animal than not. And, the prints did differ from standard dog prints, but there is so much variation that I wouldn’t bet my own money absent spotting an actual animal. Nonetheless, a walk in the woods is always more fun when imagining being stalked by invisible beasts than not.

I had hoped to return to the woods this week, but the weather has turned from global-warming-mild to positively wintry, and I’ve hunkered down inside like the tender Southern grub that I’m becoming. Wiping out on the sheet of ice that was the entrance to the Metro and bashing the @#$% out of my knee and rear yesterday also didn’t do much for my desire to go tromping around outdoors. Although it did momentarily restore my faith in area youth, as two young men who witnessed the crash very solicitously inquired after my well-being. Of course, the further dozen young men that gathered in the area during the time I was in the store to loudly guffaw at others sharing my earlier plight somewhat dampened my good opinion, or rather restored my general opinion of the moral compasses of teenage boys.

new life bird in the local woods

visiting the southernmost tip of Canada

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But whenever I’m honest, something in me / still looks for fresh water that feels like the sea. — Carrie Newcomer


standing on the southernmost tip of Canada

When I was a kid, I used to go to the beach at Point Pelée nearly every summer with my grandparents. I didn’t swim in the ocean until I was in high school, and to this day I sputter with the saltiness when I first go in. For me, as a kid, large bodies of water were Lake Erie and Lake Michigan. I couldn’t swim to the other side, and there weren’t sharks; that was all I needed to know. Only within the past couple of years have I been in Lake Huron, thanks to the hospitality of a friend with a family home up north, but I hope to eventually swim in all five.

I didn’t realize, until I moved out East, how much my sense of myself was defined by growing up around those lakes. When people out here hear ‘Midwest’ they think Idaho, Nebraska, Kansas. While I’m sure those places are nice, I think Michigan, Indiana, Ohio. Now, when people ask me where I’m from, I say the Great Lakes region.

My trip back to Point Pelée this summer was motivated somewhat by nostalgia, and a desire to share one of the favorite places of my childhood with my partner, and somewhat by an adult understanding of the significance of the park as a wildlife refuge. Along the lines of nostalgia, we went the whole nine yards: changing outside in the doorless spider-laden ‘rooms’, with one of us holding up the towel to block the other from view; dashing into the water to avoid the black flies, which weren’t so bad due to the drought, all the while yelling out ‘ooh! ouch! my feet! the stones! watch out for that dead thing!’; and, finally, bobbing from cold current to warm current back to cold current again, with exclamations of ‘did you pee or is that pollution?’ all the while. Following on the reminiscing I shared with a fellow bed and breakfast guest regarding the prevalence of dead fish on the beach during our youth, and how they never phased us and we just picked them up and threw them at each other, I told my partner we could get out when he saw a dead fish float by. Since that didn’t seem likely to happen anytime soon, we instead got out when we noticed that we were the only ones in the water and I conceded that I had, in fact, neglected to check the water safety posting at the Visitors’ Centre, a revelation that sparked cries of ‘my skin is burning, my skin is burning!’ from my faithful companion. Thankfully, a couple of families arrived as we were leaving, saving me from further castigation. Once we were safely back in the car, muddy feet and all, he turned to me and said, ‘This was your childhood beach-going experience? I’m so sorry.’ People from ocean states just don’t understand, although I did assure him that there are in fact sandy beaches with clean water in the Great Lakes system, we just didn’t happen to be near any of them.

Childhood nostalgia thus dispensed with, as well as could be with only being able to make the smaller loop of the marsh boardwalk, we moved onto the adult attractions of the place. Namely, the walk to the Point and the sighting of bazillions of birds. Most of the birds were ones I’d seen before, but I did add a new lifer, Bonaparte’s Gull. In addition to that treat, we saw several birds I’d only seen a few times before, including a Cuckoo and a clearly identified Swamp Sparrow. I missed the sight of a Red-Headed Woodpecker, flying along the golf course as we drove into the park, which would have been a new life bird for me; my bemoaning of this fact led my partner to say over and over ‘I wish I’d never seen that !@#$% bird!’ Mostly what we saw were barn swallows—in the nests, newly fledged, gathering food for each other—herons, and kingbirds. We also saw a pair of yellow warblers that were annoyingly difficult to identify. Their consistent bright yellowness led us to conclude, with some reliance on the frequency chart purchased at the Visitors’ Centre, that they were likely simply Yellow Warblers, but we were never able to catch sight of any definitive markings, despite our best efforts. It all comes of being novices, I suppose.

The Point itself was fun. I didn’t remember being down there as a kid, and it was pretty thrilling to walk along a narrow strip of land until your feet were surrounded on all three sides by lapping waves. The nerdy aspect of standing on the southernmost tip of Canada was not lost on us either. We stayed to enjoy the sunset of the western side of the Point, and then drove back to Windsor.

visiting the southernmost tip of Canada

cycling expeditions

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Over the past few weeks I’ve been out on Pearl for three longer rides, in the range of 15-18 miles. I’m not my friend Frances, who’s been racking up hundreds of kilometers per week on her bike, Lucky. Nonetheless, after those two years when Pearl languished in the back room looking sad as her tires slowly deflated, I’m feeling pretty good about my efforts.

A few weeks ago I accompanied my friend all the way to the Beltsville Agricultural Research Center, instead of branching off at Lake Artemesia as I’d been doing. The ride was good, along a clear route, with plenty of space on the streets to ride out of the stream of traffic. Except for Pearl’s chain coming off when I downshifted too suddenly—my own fault as it desperately needed to be cleaned—everything went smoothly. There are a few decent hills, and I got a workout, as this was the first ride longer than an hour that I’d been on this year. We paused briefly at Lake Artemesia, and were able to see a mother Wood Duck and her brood of ducklings paddling along through the lilies. On the way back I saw some Baltimore Orioles, as well as several Goldfinches, darting around just at the exit of the research park.

The weekend after that ride, I joined a neighbor and her friend for another two hour ride on a Sunday morning. We first went up to, and around, Lake Artemesia, where we were again lucky to catch sight of two Wood Duck mamas with ducklings. From there we did the loop I’d done last month, down the Northeast Branch to the Northwest Branch and back up to the University Hills pond. Along the Northeast Branch Trail, south of Riverdale Park, we spotted a Belted Kingfisher, a life bird for me! My neighbor has seen it (or one of its relatives) there quite regularly, so I hope to catch another look on a future ride. As we went north again on the Northwest Branch Trail, I learned that my neighbor’s friend is undertaking a river bank study that involves reestablishing native plants in the hope of aiding with flood control. I hadn’t realized that aster, which we’ve planted in our front bed, is a wildflower native to this area, so that was a nice piece of information. Later on in the ride, in the stretch near East-West Highway, we heard what my neighbor’s friend identified by ear as a Yellow-Breasted Chat. I really should take my binoculars and field guide back to that stretch of woods one morning, as we saw a Baltimore Oriole not far from where we heard the Chat.

Most recently, I played hookey from ditch digging weed pulling last Friday and enjoyed the gorgeous afternoon from atop my bike. The day before, I had (finally!) cleaned Pearl’s chain and derailleur, so I was spared the guilt-inducing grinding and scraping I’d been hearing more and more. I rode the Sligo Creek Trail from the Northwest Branch (this is the trailhead that I’ve passed a few times, so I knew how to get on it from this point) to Wayne Avenue, and then back from there. The trail itself is fine, if a little winding with all of the switchbacks over the creek which make it difficult to build up speed. Or rather, make it difficult to build up speed without fearing that I’ll steamroll a dog or small child when I come around a blind turn.

I didn’t go quite early enough in the day to avoid all the dogs and small children, nor to miss the beginning of rush hour traffic. At most street crossings I had a light, but the first two (Riggs Road and East-West Highway) were a little hairy. The path itself was relatively deserted when I headed out, but all of the after-work crowd was out two deep on the way back. I did get a cup of pink lemonade from an enterprising child and her dad in Takoma Park. I hope I didn’t scare her too much with my talk about weathering spills early in life. I meant only to extol the virtues of my trusty helmet, forgetting that words like ‘smash’ and ‘crash’ can loom large in the minds of small children.

Despite not really looking for birds, I saw a Baltimore Oriole on the Northwest Branch, in the same stretch just south of East-West Highway where we’d heard a Yellow-Breasted Chat on my previous ride. I haven’t yet seen so many orioles in my life that it’s not a thrill to catch sight of one, so that was nice. The other high point of the ride was my skill at unwrapping and eating a semi-melted Luna Bar without either getting off my bike or littering. A feat which, sadly, no one was around to appreciate.

cycling expeditions

early morning birding at Lake Artemesia

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Lake Artemesia under early morning mist.

This morning I rode with an acquaintance up to Lake Artemesia for some birding. Once there, we walked our bikes, and just enjoyed being out on the path (nearly) alone. The lake was beautiful, and we spotted a female Wood Duck out in the middle just after we arrived. Our next sighting was of a couple of baby rabbits, and shortly thereafter, of a tree absolutely crawling with Cedar Waxwings. While I’d seen a Waxwing twice before, I hadn’t seen them in the large groups they travel in, nor had I been able to see them so clearly without binoculars.

A short way down the path, we found the place in the sun where the warblers were hanging out and spotted several in quick succession, including two new life birds for me. I found a Yellow Warbler in a treetop, and then, a bit farther along, a Blackpoll Warbler, Common Yellowthroat, young Oriole, and male Wilson’s Warbler all flitting around the same vine-laden tree lakeside. We hung out watching them until the Waxwings descended en masse, and then moved on.

Once my friend continued on to work, I biked slowly around the rest of the lake before heading home. I saw a couple of other familiar birds—Kingbirds and Tree Swallows—and found a Blackpoll Warbler again, after hearing its call in shrubs quite close to the path. I was just thrilled to have seen the warblers, and happy to head home for breakfast at that point.

My trip home was somewhat marred by having to have another ‘f* you, it’s an g-d crosswalk, *hole!’ ‘conversation’ with a driver while crossing Paint Branch Parkway. I don’t mind (that much) when drivers don’t stop to let pedestrians (or cyclists) cross when they’re waiting, but for the love of the baby Jesus, you are required to stop for me when I am already in the road because cars on the other side of the street have stopped to allow me to go. Also, just a thought: how about slowing down a bit and clearing me with no inconvenience? Or, maybe, just don’t speed? I see that you’d rather hit the accelerator and lay on the horn (scaring the bejeezus out of your passenger, I note), but maybe you’re not aware that it’s freaking illegal! One of these days, I am going to be not so blinded by rage that I will actually follow the car and take a photo of the license plate without fearing that it will lead to me instigating an, um, altercation.

Despite that unpleasantness, it was a great morning. I look forward to repeating it, and riding onward to the Patuxent Wildlife Center, on Friday.

early morning birding at Lake Artemesia