Dog Days of Summer

We call this season the “dog days of summer”. Whoever coined that phrase must not have liked dogs. It’s been hot and humid for days. The grass has burned brown, except over the septic field, and just recently revived to a touch of green by the afternoon monsoons. When Captain John Smith first sailed into the Chesapeake Bay in 1608 he declared it “a country that may have the prerogative over the most pleasant places known…heaven and earth never agreed better to frame a place for man’s habitation”. He must not have arrived in August.

Herring Gull, Larus argentatus

Actually “dog days” is an astronomical reference to our Sun’s August location in the zodiac, projected within the constellation Canis Major, the Greater Dog. The constellation and its brightest star, Sirius, the Dog Star, won’t be visible in the night sky, however, until winter.

Orchard Oriole, Icterus galbula

The bird behavior is also noticeably changed around my home patch. Yesterday, in the late day heat, there was an eerie silence. Even the Mockingbird and Osprey were hushed by the heat. I’ve been trying to keep the baths free of algae, but recently gave up the fight. The rains are creating enough puddles to quench the birds’ thirst.

Northern Mockingbird, Mimus polyglottos

Birds, as you know, do not sweat–they have no sweat glands. They can’t control their body temperature by the evaporation of sweat, as we can. When you see them frolicking in the bath or puddle they are both cleaning their feathers and wetting themselves to promote evaporation. Evaporation is an endothermic event, extracting heat from the feathers.

Indigo Bunting, Passerine cyanea

Nesting must be nearing its seasonal completion here, and some early migrants have already left. I’m seeing fewer terns on the dock and the gulls, which have been absent all summer, are regrettably back, bringing their mess of mangled fish, crabs, and guano. I surmise that the gulls work of nesting is complete and they are flocking to my dock in anticipation of the fall migration. That can’t come soon enough for me. The Osprey still have another month here, before heading south.

Forster’s Tern, Sterna forsteri
The flocking Ring-billed Gulls, Larus delawarensis

This month, for me has been very slow on the birding front. Much of it has been done from the hammock, or through the windows of the air-conditioned office. It’s a good time to catch up on some reading and preparation for fall, which is a glorious season on the Chesapeake.

Red-tailed Hawk, Buteo jamaicensis

My reading list includes two new purchases; A Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leopold, and How to be an Urban Birder by David Lindo. The first was recommended by a birder friend and does look interesting. It’s a naturalist’s classic, written in 1949, but somehow missed by me all these years. The latter is also destined to become a classic, written primarily for the urban-trapped birder, but is also full of suggestions for us country folk who occasionally venture into the concrete jungles.

Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, Sphyrapicus varius

Leopold’s book is a collection of his essays and begins with this declaration; “there are some who can live without wild things, and some who cannot. These essays are the delights and dilemmas of one who cannot.” Lind, on the other hand, is a thoroughly modern, urbanized resident of downtown London, who despite that became an avid birder. His book is full of tips for urban birding, and sprinkled with wonderful photos documenting his success, even in that environment.

Green Heron, Butorides virescens

So, my routine in these waning days of summer will be to read these books in the hammock, between rain showers. I’ll have the binoculars ready, just in case, and occasionally turn on the Merlin APP on my cell phone to check on any strange birdsongs. Yesterday it identified the Chimney Swifts and a distant call of a Red-tailed Hawk. Life is sweet, even in the dog days.

The Crimes and Violence of Birds

Reddish Egret, Egretta rufescens

It’s a fairy tale or fake news to believe all is sweet and peaceful in the world of birds. We are enchanted by their melodious tweets and beautiful plumage, and are often found among them in seemingly peaceful natural settings, but don’t be fooled. Their world is one without constables or arbiters of justice. There are no rules, other than “might makes right”, “survival of the fittest”, and “it’s okay if you can get away with it”.

Blue Jay, Cyanocitta cristata

Their crimes range from petty theft to rape and murder. We birders are onlookers into this world which is similar to our old Wild West, and are grateful for our, albeit fragile, institutions of justice. As we bird we are witnesses to many of these crimes and often wonder what it would be like living in their world. Occasionally I’m even tempted to intervene on behalf of a victimized bird, but usually hold back and let nature take its course and toll.

American Wigeon, Anas americana

Many of their crimes are mere misdemeanors. This would include the holes the Red-bellied Woodpecker is making in my sister-in-law’s cedar siding. The crows, jays, and gulls are perfecters of the art of petty theft. The former two are attracted to shiny objects, while the latter steals food, literally from the mouths of their careless victims. This usually results in a chase, sometimes resulting in a maimed fish dropped back into the ocean with no party getting any satisfaction.

Red-bellied Woodpecker, Melanerpes carolinus

A somewhat more onerous and significant crime is the practice of brood parasitism as I’ve discussed in prior posts. This disgusts our human sense of fairness and personal responsibility, but evolution has apparently blessed it as a successful tactic among many bird species. The initial crime is the stealthy planting of the itinerant egg in the nest of the unsuspecting parent-to-be, but the atrocity is magnified when the robust hatchling pushes the other weaker step-sibling out of the nest.

Brown-headed Cowbird, Molothrus ater

Many avian disputes are over territory and nesting rights, somewhat similar to those issues which crowd our human court dockets. The Red-winged Blackbird claims his territory with a beautiful song, but don’t let that fool you. He’ll attack any other bird, even a larger foe, that dares interlope into his nesting sphere of influence.

Bald Eagle, Haliaeetus leucocephalus

My friends Andy and Sam were accidental witnesses to a spectacular avian air battle between an adult Bald Eagle and Osprey. Andy was even dexterous enough to grab a camera and snap off a shot or two to document the event. Unfortunately, in cases such as that one shoots the pictures first, and checks camera settings later. It seemed like the smaller Osprey got the better of that fight. It was probably a territorial spat with the eagle getting too close to the Osprey’s nest. As you know, Bald Eagles are opportunistic scavengers, often feasting on the killings of others.

Red-shouldered Hawk, Buteo lineatus

Hawks and owls, on the other hand, are merciless killers, always on the prowl to feed themselves and their offspring. Often their victims are other birds, but small mammals are also unsafe around a hungry bird-of-prey. In my yard Accipiters have become good at patrolling the bird feeders, flying in fast and low to take an innocent, unsuspecting passerine. We can take some comfort in that such killings are a necessity of life for the raptor.

Tundra Swan, Cygnus columbianus

In my last post I reported the rape of a Muscovy Duck. I will hazard a completely uninformed guess and venture that most sex among birds is consensual. I may be completely wrong about this, but do point out that many birds do mate for life. That lasting bond would be hard to imagine if it began with a rape, but admittedly I’m anthropomorphizing. Those ducks, however, did seem to cross a line, with no avian justice in sight.

Reddish Egret, Egretta rufescens

I was recently chasing a rarity Iceland Gull on Fort Myers beach, unsuccessfully, when I snuck up on a Reddish Egret and was rewarded with my closest shots ever of the great bird. Suddenly a second egret swooped in and I witnessed a prolonged battle; or was it courtship and copulation? I find it hard to differentiate these with the birds.

So with all the violence, what is the mortality rate among birds? In this year of the pandemic our human death rates are plastered on the headlines daily. A few things are clear in the avian world. Larger birds live longer than smaller birds, but why is this so? Perhaps it’s because the larger birds are near the top of the food chain and less often preyed upon. Banding data has reported some longevity record life spans: Red-tailed Hawks and Brown Pelicans, 28 years; American Robin, 14 years; Eastern Bluebird, 10 years; and Ruby-throated Hummingbird, 9 years. Most birds, however have much shorter lives.

Ring-billed Gull, Larus delawarensis

It’s estimated that 80-90% of birds do not live to maturity. This is a striking number, but when one remembers the numerous eggs laid and multiple broods per year created by a mating pair, it makes perfect sense. If they all survived we would be inundated with birds, just like an Alfred Hitchcock film. It’s also said that the mortality rate of birds is six times higher during spring and fall migrations. Travel is risky, as we all know.

Anna’s Hummingbird, Calypte anna

It’s difficult to determine how many birds die at the hands or feet of other birds, or from avian diseases. Data regarding bird deaths caused by us humans is more readily available. Collisions with buildings and glass claim an astounding 600 million birds a year; collisions with vehicles, 200 million, and electric wires, 25 million. Six million birds succumb to electrocution each year and one such case was chronicled in my post of 17 November 2019. Our pesticides claim another 72 million per year, and who knows how many die from their loss of habitat. But all these numbers pale next to the 2.4 billion birds killed yearly by domestic and feral cats. That shocking number is hard to believe.

Great Blue Heron, Ardea herodias

How can I conclude such a morbid post of avian crime and death? Perhaps by showing you two Great Blue Herons in love, or by simply stating that these are observations of life on our planet as it is, and not as we wish it to be. It’s merely a description of both the beautiful and fair, right along with the ugly and unjust.

Trash Birds

Herring Gull, Larus argentatus

 

These are the birds no one loves.  They’re numerous, obnoxious, and ubiquitous.  We often do not even tick them off on our eBird lists; why bother?  Most do not migrate; we’re stuck with them all year long.  Monthly the National Audubon Society scares us with a growing list of near-extinctions, but these birds never make the list.  Despite our efforts to pollute and destroy habitats, these birds thrive.

House Sparrow, Passer domesticus

But, “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure”.  If you don’t believe this just watch a couple episodes of the Antique Roadshow on PBS.  A little research can reveal beauty, wonder, and maybe even some monetary reward in even the most unlikely of candidates.  With this in mind this post tries to uncover a few redeeming qualities in my list of trash birds, at least in the beauty and wonder departments.

Eurasian Tree Sparrow, Passer montanus

Take the House Sparrow, please.  Previously known as the English Sparrow, it was introduced to New York in 1851, and we are still wondering why.  This aggressive Old World sparrow is a native of Eurasia and northern Africa and has enjoyed phenomenal success in North America.  The lookalike cousin across the pond is the Eurasian Tree Sparrow.  Its strategy has been to seek out urban centers, crowded sidewalk cafes, and virtually any man-made structure.  You can’t say the male is ugly with its gray head, black beard, and brown and white highlights.  The female is just another difficult to identify LBJ, (little brown job).

Rock Dove, Columba livia

Speaking of urban-loving birds transplanted to us from Europe, Africa, and India, you can count the feral Pigeon.  In more polite circles they are known as Rock Doves.  We are partly to blame for their success, domesticating them for their homing tendencies.  As we all know they have taken over our park benches, school yards, and sky scraper ledges.  A few have attempted to return to their rural roots, nesting on coastal cliffs and mountainsides, but the vast majority still cling to us humans and our cities.  Their redeeming feature is the great variety of iridescent feathers and that striking red eye.

Boat-tailed Grackle, Quiscalus major

Next there are the Grackles.  Just the name reminds one of their irritating call that mimics a rusty gate desperately in need of oil.  They often travel in wolf-like packs, swarming the feeder and driving off the shier passerines.  They have single handedly caused me to shut down the feeders in the warm weather.  One can only afford so many bags of sunflower seeds on a fixed retirement income.  You have to look closely to reveal their beauty, also found in the iridescent plumage and piercing golden eye of the male Common Grackle.  The less common cousins, the Boat-tailed and Great-tailed, share similar assets and  liabilities.

Ring-billed Gulls, Larus delawarensis

Sea Gulls have lost the “sea” in their name and have moved inland following our human trash, dumps, waste water treatment plants, and McDonalds parking lots.  For a birder to become an expert observer of this confusing family of lookalikes, he or she must become gullible.  They’ll take you to some of the most acrid and non-picturesque places on the planet and your reward will be a squabbling colony of black, white, and shades of gray.  You’ll have to hope for the chills and thrills of finding a rarity amidst that flock of a thousand scavengers.

European Starling, Sturnus vulgaris

We could drop the “European” from the name of our only Starling in North America, but keep it as a reminder of where this “gift” came from in 1890.  It has taken over the continent with vast flocks forming in the fall and winter.  It crowds out other birds in both the urban centers and rural farmlands, competing with other more welcome cavity nesters.  They are persistent.  I’ve now removed their nest from my boat-lift motor six times this spring, the last time despite a new protective screen.  They pecked right through it.  On a sunny day, when I’m feeling upbeat, I can appreciate the metallic hues given off by their feathers, decorated with a sprinkle of dots.  The yellow bill of the summertime male adds a nice contrast.  I’m trying to be kind.

Brown-headed Cowbird, Molothrus ater

Remember the phrase, “a face only a mother could love”?  The maternal Brown-headed Cowbird must have forgotten it.  She just clandestinely deposits her eggs in another innocent passerine’s nest and moves on, without even gazing upon the face of her offspring.  These brood parasites have developed a successful policy of avoiding the hard work of parenthood.  You have to admire their audacity or perhaps find some pleasure in their contrasting brown and black coloration, but its hard to find anything good to say about them.

American Crow, Corvus brachyrhynchos

We’re frequently told that Crows are among the smartest of all birds, but intelligence is no excuse and protector from being on my trash list.  There is a reason that a flock of these birds is called a “murder” of crows.  When’s the last time you saw a crow sitting innocently on a wire, just enjoying life.  They’re always chasing or being chased, raising a raucous, or attacking a poor songbird.  Perhaps you can admire their energy, but they are a constant reminder that intelligence does not always breed contentment.

Herring Gull, Larus argentatus

So there you have it, my list of trash birds.  I suspect this post will find disfavor among my birding friends who find beauty in all the creation.  On a good day I am among their ranks, but lately my tolerance level has been tested.  Here’s to better days ahead.

Book Review: Gulls Simplified

published by Princeton University Press, copyright 2019, 208 pages

 

Most birders have a nemesis group of difficult birds, or two, or three.  Flycatchers, sparrows, and winter warblers all come to mind.  But I suspect the gulls are the leaders of the flock of baffling bird identifications.  I’m even hesitant to label some of my pictures in this post and may end up with egg on my face.  It’s not just their similar plumages; it’s hard to admire birds that frequent the dump, crave McDonalds french fries, and steal your hot dog right out of your hand at a Super Bowl tailgate party.

Ring-billed Gull, Larus delawarensis        (non-breeding adult)

They’re all black, white, and shades of gray.  The only color breaking the monotony is the occasional red spot on the bills of some, the pink you see inside their mouths when open (which is often), the shades of yellow, pink, or green on their legs, and the drab brown feathers of the immatures.  And these young birds take their own sweet time maturing, some requiring up to four years to don the adult monotones.  Add to this the different breeding and non-breeding plumages and you have an identification nightmare.  Give me a Cardinal or Blue Jay, thank you very much.

Laughing Gull, Larus atricilla        (adult, non-breeding)

But then I ran across Pete Dunne’s and Kevin Karlson’s new book and decided to give them and the gulls another shot.  My first impression was positive; this book is short, only 200 pages.  I don’t need another encyclopedic guide to all the variations in first-summer or second-winter plumages, or the subtle field marks of some hybrid gull.  Their goal in writing this shorter guide seemed to be KISS (keep it simple stupid), one of my favorite life axioms.

Lesser & Greater Black-backed Gulls, Larus fuscus & marinus

The introduction grabbed my attention.  The authors don’t claim to be gull specialists, but rather birding generalists who seek to apply the popular GISS technique (general impression, size, and shape) to the confusing gulls.  This strategy features the grosser physical characteristics and behavior over specific field marks, and has been successfully used with raptors and in the popular Crossley guide books.  Luckily the gulls are frequently in mixed flocks that allow a direct comparison between the species.

Herring Gull, Larus argentatus                         (immature)

Right off the bat the authors dispel my impression of the gulls being the junkyard dogs of the avian world.  They extoll the virtues of the 22 species of regularly occurring gulls in North America as “intelligent, inquisitive, socially complex, and acrobatic aerialists,” well worth our scrutiny.  No other birds are so adept “at foraging on land, air, and sea”.  Seagulls however, with the exception of the Sabine Gull and kittiwakes, are not real sea birds or pelagics.  They are littoral, preferring the margins of rivers, lakes, and the seashore, rather than the open ocean.

Heermann’s Gull, Larus heermanni

The layout of this book is simple and effective.  The initial pages are profile shots and silhouettes of the 22 gulls and the introduction and first chapter explain the authors’ GISS approach to the gulls.  They caution us to relax and accept that we will not get a definite ID for every bird.  Learning the common ones in your area first will make the ID of the less common easier, later on.  And forget about all the plumage designations of 2nd and 3rd winter, etc.  Dunne and Karlson greatly simplify this to just three:  immature, sub-adult, and adult, the latter with breeding and non-breeding varieties unfortunately.  I like this “Readers Digest” approach.

Herring Gulls, (non-breeding adult & immature)

Each subsequent chapter is devoted to one gull with many good comparison pictures of the bird in mixed flocks of gulls and other shorebirds.  There are 35 quizzes scattered throughout the book but don’t panic.  The answers are all given in the back and no one will know if you peek.

Western Gull, Larus occidentalis

There are many advantageous aspects of gull ID.  The birds are abundant and worldwide, found on virtually every lake, river, and seashore, as well as on freshly plowed fields, landfills, and McDonald’s parking lots.  They are large and generally allow you a close approach to observe their feeding, fighting, and other comical antics.  Photography, however does offer some challenges due to their white and dark plumage.  I’ll leave that discussion for a later post.

Ring-billed Gulls (with Herring Gull in background)

I don’t generally chase rarities, but unusual gulls do turn up, not infrequently.  On two occasions I jumped into the car on short notice and was pleasantly surprised to find both birds, just as advertised.  The first was a Glaucous Gull reported on an isolated creek off the Chesapeake, about 40 miles south of me on Hooper’s Island, Maryland.  This pale, large gull (larger than a Herring Gull) is not a rarity, but still somewhat unusual and a lifer for me.  I waited alone at a parking lot of a seafood packing plant for several hours and was just getting ready to leave when it flew in and splashed down within 30 feet.  What a surprise and thrill.

Glaucous Gull, Larus hyperboreus

The second chase was to Delaware Bay, about 60 miles to the east.  A Sabine Gull was reported to be buzzing the Dupont Nature Center several Mays ago.  This small, hooded, and fork tailed gull winters in the tropics off South America and Africa and was likely blown ashore as it migrated north over the Atlantic, bound for its breeding site in Greenland or the Canadian Arctic.  As opposed to my solitary Glaucous Gull experience, the Sabine drew a large throng of birding paparazzi.  This actually was fortunate as I needed help in locating the bird amidst the vast flock of its more common and less famous cousins.

Herring Gull, (breeding adult)

Back to the book.  I do recommend it and believe Dunne and Karlson were successful in presenting this new approach to gull ID.  I note, however, that even they reverted to the more traditional plumage designations in some of their captions.  It will be hard to completely abandon that nomenclature, especially for the hard core gullers.  Also the GISS identification process is not really that simple.  It takes experience, years of experience, and many hours of observation to get good at it.  But I’m gullible and willing to give it a shot.  Wish me luck.

Cape May Hawkwatch Platform

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If you had to rate birding hotspots or favorite destinations for the eastern United States, Cape May would likely be at the top of the list.  This southern-most tip of the New Jersey peninsula was named for Captain Cornelius Jacobese Mey who explored the region in 1623.  The generations of fishermen, mariners and whalers have slowly given way to vacationers enjoying the beautiful beaches and myriad Victorian gingerbread houses gracing quaint tree-lined avenues.  But I went to Cape May for the birds, who are not there to admire the architecture.

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Merlin (Falco columbarius)

In a relatively small area you’ll find a variety of habitats including woodlands, grassy fields, salt marshes, freshwater ponds, low scrubland, and sandy beaches attracting a large variety of resident and migrating birds.  Almost anything is possible during fall migration in Cape May as the northwest winds push the vast Atlantic flyway eastward toward the coast and the birds are funneled southward until they arrive at land’s end and the formidable Delaware Bay and ocean.  The smart ones rest and feed for a few days, enjoy the scenery, and create a show to remember for us birders before continuing over the water.

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Laughing Gull (Larus atricilla); the area boasts the largest breeding population of this gull–no joke.

Cape May is one of the only places I know where the birder, dressed in our weird outfits and draped with our equipment, does not draw that quizzical apprehensive stare.  You’ll see many birders and guided tour groups daily throughout the town, and may even run into the celebrities, authors, and gurus of our hobby.  There are far too many birding sites in the area to discuss here, but one of my favorites is the Hawkwatch platform near the lighthouse at Cape May Point State Park.

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Red-tailed Hawk (Buteo jamaicensis)

Hawks have been watched and counted there for years but the counter became a formal paid position of the New Jersey Audubon in 1976 when they hired 24 year-old Pete Dunne.  The stump of an old telephone pole was the first platform, soon replaced by a plywood table built by Dunne himself.  Despite these humble beginning he, of course, is now one of our most accomplished birders and authors.  The platform itself has also grown to become a large, multi-tiered edifice and famous destination for birders, hosting 20,000 visitors in 2015.  It’s in a perfect location halfway between the dunes and beaches to the south, the tree line to the north, and directly faces a shallow saltmarsh to the east.  Curiously the migrating kestrels tend to hug the shoreline while the hawks pass east to west over the tree line.  Just to the west is the famous lighthouse, restrooms, visitor center, and plenty of free parking.

Hawk-Watch platform and counter

Hawk-Watch platform and counter

Think of a sports bar on a Sunday afternoon in autumn.  There are different football games playing on multiple large screen TV’s while “experts” multitask, keeping one eye on one game and the other eye elsewhere; at the same time debating over a cold beer on the wisdom of the last play call and the preferred strategy for the next.  That’s the hawk-watch platform during autumn migration; just substitute birds for the TV pigskin and bottled water for the beer.

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Herring Gull (Larus argentatus)

On the top tier of the platform and far to the right you’ll find the official counter.  He or she is the one constantly scanning the sky and often calling out the birds while they are still specks in the distance. “Merlin heading to the right between the two fluffy clouds, one binocular field-of-view to the left of the lighthouse!”  They amaze with their knowledge of characteristic flight patterns, wing flapping, and silhouettes, but you soon begin to learn their techniques and try your luck.  If you’re brave you may even call out a bird sighting yourself, but be prepared to be politely corrected if you blunder.

American Kestrel

American Kestrel (Falco sparverius)

As in the sports bar you can choose to just sit quietly and enjoy the birding banter.  Someone on the right is reliving an amazing count total from the past while someone on the left is describing recent trips to birding hotspots in Arizona and Maine.  Another expert is holding forth on the best camera, lens, or field guide while on the lower tier the Swarovski Optik representative (they are the corporate sponsor of the count) is hawking their wonderful scopes and binos.  While just sitting there I learned about the distinguishing dark carpal bands on the Common Tern and how to recognize the aggressive flapping flight of a Merlin, the “falcon with attitude”.  One made a low flyover right in front of us unsuccessfully chasing a fleeing sandpiper across the pond.

Greater Black-backed Gull

Great Black-backed Gull (Larus marines); look carefully to see his songbird prey

They count more than hawks from the platform with plenty of songbirds, waders, gulls, and shorebirds also called out.  My days at the platform were relatively quiet with a warm southern wind blowing in from the bay.  However, the day before I arrived they counted 91 American Kestrels and two days earlier had 325 Bobolinks coming in on more favorable NW winds.  The most common bird of prey which I saw was the Merlin, coming in seemingly every 10 minutes one mid-morning.  Extremely “big days” are possible.  Pete Dunne counted 11,096 Sharp-shinned Hawks and 9400 Broad-winged Hawks on 10/4/1977!  Oh, to have seen that!

Peregrine Falcon (Falco peregrinus)

Peregrine Falcon (Falco peregrinus)

There is no such thing as a bad birding day at Cape May.  And if the birds seem scarce just check out the “Hawkwatch Sports Bar” and you’re sure to pick up some tips or meet a celebrity birder.  There’s a counter there everyday from dawn to 5PM,  September 1 till November 30.

Interventional Birding

Tree Swallow, Tachycineta bicolor

Tree Swallow, Tachycineta bicolor

My day job is a radiologist.  We sit in dark rooms all day and observe, sorting out normal anatomy from pathology, and create reports of our findings.  It’s something like a birder who observes and tabulates birds, and submits findings to eBird for all to see.  But some of my professional colleagues get tired of the passive observing and want to intervene–biopsy, drain, de-clot, expand, and reroute, thus becoming interventional radiologists.  Similarly I’ve caught myself becoming a interventional birder–let me explain.

Barn Swallow, Hirundo rustica

Barn Swallow, Hirundo rustica

One obvious example is the low level intervention of setting out bird feeders and houses.  I’m up to 6 or 8 houses and 4 feeders spread around the yard, positioned so one can easily observe the action from a window and a comfortable chair.  The birds don’t really need these, but it brings them closer for our viewing pleasure.  Normally I just let mother nature do its thing regarding squirrels, black snakes, and hawks which all occasionally disrupt the normal flow and utopia of yard-life, but this week I had to intervene.

Tree Swallows, Tachycineta bicolor

Tree Swallows, Tachycineta bicolor

One of my Bluebird houses is home to a family of Tree Swallows this year.  I can live with that.  They are interesting birds, great fliers, eat a lot of bugs, and at least they are not House Sparrows.  The eggs have recently hatched and we have observed an incessant parade of responsible parents bringing food to their young–I mean a visit every couple minutes–not those feedings every 4 or 5 hours that we lived through with our children.

American Crow, Corvus brachyrhynchos

American Crow, Corvus brachyrhynchos

But all the commotion caught the attention of 4 hungry Fish Crows who frequent the riverside trees near the bird house.  These crows are smart–some say our smartest birds.  As we were eating our dinner and watching, one crow would make a pass at the birdhouse and be chased off by the small, brave swallow, leaving the other parent to chase off crow #2.  But that left the house and contents vulnerable to crows #3 and #4 who landed on the roof and stuck their heads and beaks through the hole as far as possible, probing for the tasty chicks.  It was hard for me to take–clearly the swallows were losing this unfair fight, so I lept up from the table leaving a hot supper, put on my Superman’s cape and chased the crows away.  I think the underdog swallows were actually grateful, the crows stayed away, and I felt good.  That’s interventional birding.

Forster's Terns, Sterna forsteri, along with Laughing Gulls and Snowy Egrets on my dock

Forster’s Terns, Sterna forsteri, along with Laughing Gulls and Snowy Egrets on my dock

I have other examples where I’m not the quite the same hero.  My dock and boats are the most popular place in the neighborhood for birds to nest, eat, defecate, and just hang out. I have dismantled the starling’s nest in the boat-lift motor housing 5 times so far this year–they just don’t get the message.  At least the Barn Swallows nest under the dock.  The guano accumulation from all the gulls, terns, and Osprey had become unbearable.  I spend more time cleaning the boats then using them. My goal is to make the birds uncomfortable on my dock so they will move to the neighbors.  Let me enumerate my some of my failed interventional strategies.

Laughing Gull, Larus atricilla

Laughing Gull, Larus atricilla

Forget plastic owls–they don’t work.  Gulls mocked me by sitting on the owl’s head.  I’m going broke buying wind socks–they’re pretty and patriotic but don’t affect the birds.  A “Gull Sweep” is a wind-vane device that I’ve mounted on my motor boat console.  It rotates over a 6 foot diameter, and I must admit it keeps that small circle clean when the wind’s blowing. The rest of the boat is a mess.  A few years ago I engineered an elaborate system of hoses and sprinklers on timers, randomly coming on around the clock, successfully shooing the birds away and washing the dock, until I realized that the constant moisture was rotting the dock.  Last year I spent big bucks to have a custom cover made to protect the sailboat, stem to stern.  It works, but takes a long time to remove and apply, making me think twice before going for a sail.  I’ve bought a spike this year for the top of the mast, a favorite landing and toilet location for Osprey, but the jury is still out regarding its longevity.  Yesterday I noticed that it was bent.

Great Black-backed Gull, Larus marinus

Great Black-backed Gull, Larus marinus

So now I’m beginning to rethink my approach to all this.  How about making lemonade out of lemons (guano)?  It finally occurred to me that I have more terns, gulls, and Osprey to observe and photograph, up close and personal, then anyone else on my river.  I should just become the world’s expert on these birds.  I purchased the Peterson Reference Guide, “Gulls of the Americas”, by Steve Howell and Jon Dunn.  Talk about difficult.  There are 22 species of gulls that breed in North America, with only a few expected on my dock–seems easy enough.  But just try to understand their plumage.  Gulls undergo periods of molt that can last up to 6 months and are continuously in transition from one plumage to the next for much of their lives.  Add to this the breeding and non-breeding modifiers, and first, second, third, and fourth year cycles describing the maturing patterns, and you have ID work cut out for you.  Luckily the sexes appear alike.

Osprey, Pandion haliaetus

Osprey, Pandion haliaetus

The Osprey is much easier and only present here from March to September.  There are 3 nests visible from the dock and thus I enjoy constant diving for fish and flyovers making for great observing and photography.  Besides the mating pairs there are many others just hanging out and practicing nest building and stick selection.  These must be the juvenile first and second year birds getting ready for the upcoming responsibilities of parenthood–perhaps next year.  Have you noticed that you often see these birds flying over with a headless fish in their talons?  Why do they eat the head first?  This week I got to observe the decapitation process up close.  The Osprey landed on my light at the end of the dock with a struggling perch in its grasp.  Slowly, bite by bite it picked at the fish head until it stopped flopping, then slowly completed the meal and took the headless leftovers to the nest, leaving me the cleanup chores on the dock.

Osprey, Pandion haliaetus

Osprey, Pandion haliaetus, with headless fish

I think the birds have won.  So much for this intervention, and maybe that’s fitting.  They were here long before us and our docks, and will probably be here long after we are gone.