Sidetracked by Sea Ducks

I have admitted before to being incorrigible, and so I am. Saturday, with a “to do” list that filled an entire page, I allowed myself between errand 5 and 6 to take a short detour to a nearby beach. I had the dog with me, and due to the long “to-do” list, he hadn’t gotten a walk that morning. After seeing a high-tech, “William Tell”-type archer in the woods with my walking ladies the other day, I have thought twice about where I take the dog during hunting season. This beach in East Sandwich is perfect for it is not a hunting beach, most tourists are gone, cottages are shuttered and dogs are welcome. “It will only take a minute”, I reasoned, and then I will get on with my errands.

Well, as you have also seen, winter ducks are a bit of weakness for me, and there, when I crested the dune, were wonderful floating racks of sea ducks; many kinds of Scoters, Red Breasted Mergansers, Eiders and Loons. What a bonanza! And just as it is fun to look for the aberrant duck on the pond, the possibilities at the ocean are even more tantalizing. So, out with the binoculars and let the scanning begin.

I spent some time sorting out Scoters- Common, White-Winged, and Surf Scoters all present but we have covered them before, so lets move on. Red Breasted Mergansers, now, there is a duck with a wild head of feathers. They are swept back like an application of heavy mousse was available to their stylists, making the “spike- look” popular way before the punk-rock people ever discovered it.
Several large rafts were floating just beyond the waves and watching for one to come up with a fish trapped in its serrated bill ate up more time than I intended. Never saw it happen either. There was a lot of comings and goings among them, and it struck me that the other easy identifying thing about them is that they look like a flying needle with wings, with that long slender bill out in front of them.

Here on the Cape, we have two types of loons that make the coast their winter home. The Common Loon is just that, the one I most commonly see. A heavyset bird, it is the largest of loons, anywhere between 28-36” long and it sits sort of low in the water. We also have Red Throated Loons, which, although I hear everyone saying we have here, I had had a hard time “seeing” because, silly me, I was looking for a bird with a red throat. It turns out to see their throats in their red phase you would have to take a trip to the Arctic during breeding season.
And I don’t know about you, but my “to do” list probably means that isn’t as likely for me. So, on this day, I made a point to look for a loon without a red throat, and, shazam, there they were.
Spread out like the Common loon; one here, one there, and much smaller with a daintier bill that points upward. Ah, this was worth the time that was slipping by.

But what made it really all worthwhile was a Red Banner, write-it-on-my-calendar, sighting of one, just one, Razorbill. But what excitement for me, I have never seen one. It was like looking at a little auk, or a penguin!
And it was right beyond the surf line, near a Common Loon but small and with the crazy bill that lets you know you are seeing something really different. It kept-"ploop", diving down, then thankfully, popping back up again just as close. These are Alcids, cousins to Auks, and probably more often seen along the coast of Maine than here on the Cape, but again, perhaps that Nor’easter, now gone, delivered it here. And they have the cutest, short, little tipped-up tail. Forget the “to do” list, this was the best thing to do after all!

But now, with only one day before I leave, the list is consequently longer than I can probably get to. And what am I doing? Blogging about it! Incorrigible. Oh, and just one more thing. If you were reading this blog last week, I mentioned that first a female Hooded Merganser was at the pond by herself. Then the next day, no female, but a male, then tadaa, on Friday, male and female finally were there together. Perhaps a completely different pair, but it made me feel like social networking was alive and well among our feathered friends. Ok, now go get something done Pat! Happy Thanksgiving again, to you all. Be thankful for detours that show us there is more to life than what we think we have to do!

The Duck "Du Jour"

This is getting to be a very entertaining game for me, each new day, a new duck on the bog pond. Right after I wrote the last blog about the female Hooded Merganser showing up among the Mallards, I took my morning walk with the dog and the female was gone, but there was the male Hooded.
Alone and looking like “a day late and a dollar short”. If she had left a forwarding address I could have passed it on but, alas, no such information was given.

This morning, the male Hooded remains, but the new duck among the throng of Mallards was, once again, a female-a female Bufflehead.
Of course it is so scientifically wrong to be anthropomorphic, but it is so tempting to do so, strictly for the comic angle. So bear with me. But again a female, arriving first, could it be that she was willing to ask for directions and got here sooner? Could it be that she perhaps prefers to travel alone, without having her flying skills criticized along the way? Now we are getting too personal aren’t we Pat, and ridiculous at the same time. Still, it is interesting to wonder if females, not in breeding season, not with young, are fine just travelling with any companionable flock. Ornithologists would have the answer no doubt, but alas, I am not one.

Buffleheads are also here to stay for the winter, coming from the far northern reaches of Canada where they raise their young on lakes. They are hole nesters like Wood Ducks with mom prodding the young out of the tree to flutter, or crash and burn on the ground before following her to the water.
Those lucky Canadians, should they be willing to traipse to the northern most regions of their country, get to see all these incredibly cute antics of young Wood Ducks and Buffleheads. Here’s the other amazing thing, those lakes are free of ice for just about 4 months and that is exactly the time it takes for these ducks to mate and raise their family before heading south again.

Speaking of ornithology, and the fact as I have mentioned many times, that each branch of science has its own “inside” terminology; do you know a “flock” of ducks is only truly a “flock” when it is flying. When they are on the water, they are either a “raft” of ducks, a term we do often see or a “paddle” of ducks which is far more fun but less used perhaps because people would think you were writing for a children’s book. To see a “bunch” of ducks is also correct but a far less impressive word.

Soon, we shall be heading south to be with my daughter’s family in Tennessee, and aberrant ducks will just have to come and go without my noticing. It will be interesting to see if any of the birds that have recently left here get passed along the way down Rte 95. How far have the flocks of Grackles gotten or the Red-wing Blackbirds? New Jersey? Delaware? We shall see.

Consequently, there may be a bit of a No-Blog zone for awhile over Thanksgiving but I hope to find time to resume writing from TN after the holiday. Elena and I shall be enticing birds to her door again and noting the comings and goings of the wrens and whatever else is to be found nearby. Till then I wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving and may we all appreciate how truly blessed we are just to be given eyes to see the beauty around us and a mind to wonder about it all. “In all things give thanks” and we do God, we do.

"One of These Ducks is not Like the Others"

“One of these ducks is not like the other
One of these ducks just isn’t the same.
Can you guess which duck is not like the other
now before I end this game?” (Approximate lyrics, it’s been a long time!)

I find myself singing this old Sesame Street song as I look out over the bog pond that is getting increasingly more covered with Mallards. For what I have found of late, is that IF I scan the flock more carefully, I will be rewarded to find they are NOT all Mallards. Aha! In their midst is in imposter. Or just a lone duck looking for the safety of the flock which is poignantly more likely.

Yesterday the one aberration that caught my eye was a female Hooded Merganser. The sweep of the head feathers is the give away. Although being a female, she is brown and not the startlingly black and white of the male so she blended in pretty easily with the female Mallards. One can only guess what may have happened to her mate, her siblings, or whomever else she would normally be travelling with.

I wrote about Hooded Mergansers when they came this way in the spring.
Male Hoodeds are the ones that do that spectacular summersault in a shower of droplets with a big “tadaa!” in front of the female. Those that have seen it say the female doesn’t seem nearly as impressed with this as the one watching with binoculars from the shore. However, now is not the time for impressive water displays, but time instead for the serious business of getting out of Dodge before the snow flies. I wonder if this female is just ahead of the others, or was perhaps separated from her own flock in that wild three-day Nor’easter. A question that can only be speculated on and never really answered.

Hooded Mergansers do migrate along our coast, where they sport about on the local ponds rather than in the surf as the Red Breasted Merganser does and this pond has hosted them for several years now.
In the past, a few pairs have even lingered here for weeks, lucky me. Lucky me indeed, for as I give a cursory glance to the many small ponds I drive by in a day, I realize they are not all as decked out in ducks as this bog’s pond is. Perhaps it’s wonderful seclusion; no roads going by it, only one house set back from it, is what makes it so desirable or maybe the dining here is better than in other ponds. Whatever the reason, the fall is as promising a time as the spring for new arrivals each day.

But back to the, “One of these ducks is not like the others” theme, about a week ago, it was a Ring Necked duck that was in the midst of all these Mallards.
Again, just one, and a female and although it was in the right place at the right time, it was on its own. I frequently see a pair of Black Ducks hanging out with the Mallards. At a quick glance they look very similar to female Mallards, but they have a dark Mohawk-like streak on their head, a purple wing patch rather than the blue and the patch is not as strikingly bordered in white as the Mallard’s is.
These species frequently are seen together, but where I live, the Mallards generally outnumber them by a considerable amount. It is amazing how many Mallards are gathering at the pond. The numbers seem to increase daily and I wonder what the carrying capacity of this pond is and where they will all head when eventually the pond freezes. The salt water marshes perhaps.

So, if you happen to have a body of water near you and you are on a favored migration route, than keep a keen eye, “for birds of a feather DO flock together,” but on careful inspection, not all “feathers” are the same. See if you can spot some interlopers, or lonely hearts, or those misplaced momentarily from their own kind. And pat yourself on the back when you are observant enough to notice the difference. Feel free to hum the Sesame Street song while doing so!

The Comings and Goings of "Snowbirds"

It’s good to notice such things-comings and goings. For the year is full of small celebrations, numerous “firsts” and they aren’t always marked on the calendar that hangs on your wall. Each of us has another calendar, which is turning its pages right outside our door. The “natural” calendar which is uniquely suited to each individual with special days that mark what that person happened to “see” that day.

My own calendar will claim that I saw the first “snowbird”, Dark-eyed Junco, on Oct 21st. And for me, that is an important date on the march towards winter. I will be providing three squares a day for a small squadron of Juncos that make my yard their winter home and I love the sight of that first arrival. Now this isn’t to say that is THE first day Juncos were on the Cape, it is just the first day I noticed one. That’s the beauty of this personalized calendar. Don’t feel intimidated, it won’t be printed in the Smithsonian, it is just your own awareness of changes going on around you.

And a Junco in my back yard, being on the East Coast is going to be a slate colored bird, almost black tuxedo-like with a white belly. However, if you live out West your Junco would have a rusty colored back with a gray head
and if you are in Oregon, your Junco will have a black head and brown back, and they all are called Dark-eyed Junco’s.
Go figure! And perhaps yours live by you all year.

This is one of the most common birds in North America, some 630 million of them, so no doubt you have one in your neighborhood too. And the nice thing about these seedeaters is that they actually like the millet in those mixed seed bags that so many other birds leave behind. But for my personal calendar, fall is in full swing and winter coming on soon when the “snow birds” arrive.

Coincidentally, their arrival from the North is parallel to the two-legged Snowbirds leaving their Northern home to head further south for the winter. Not searching for insects this group but for days of shuffleboard or golf or Salsa dancing under the stars. I will sadly lose one of my faithful walking ladies as she migrates south this week. The first in a long line of people dodging the wildness of a northern winter. We shall miss them and they make a dent on my personal calendar too.

Because I am insane enough to walk the dog in any weather, I was treated to another calendar event this week. On Nov. 8, the day of our first slushy snow, which pretty quickly turned to a sideways-driving rain, I saw my first Snow Bunting.
This has to be the earliest I have ever seen one. Perhaps this never ending Northeaster scooped it up and tossed it my way ahead of schedule. Poor dear, the weather was so wild, but then that is its element. This is a bird that finds love in the northernmost part of the
Tundra, in the Arctic, that scratches out insects and seeds from the most barren places and usually travels in twittery flocks. It was strange to see one all alone, as this one was. The rain was coming down so hard that it shook its feathers every few seconds to keep the water off. It let me get so close that I wanted to offer it my umbrella, but then off it went I hope to catch up with the rest of the flock that must have been somewhere. First snow, first Snow Bunting, it made it a red-letter day on my calendar.

So, here is your challenge- start noticing. Any firsts, any changes, any new arrivals or maybe departures of your wild neighbors. Listen for crickets, are they still chirping where you live? Have your chipmunks sealed off those round holes of theirs yet? I have been meaning to check mine. And a million other things you might notice. It’s your calendar to highlight as you will, declare your own holidays and celebrate your own list of firsts. And the year can start whenever you are ready to notice it. Now, enjoy!

Ruminations on Brumation

There are a couple of 50-cent words for you. Rumination- to muse upon, to contemplate and, “Brumation”-the technical term for when a reptile or amphibian “hibernates” for the winter. To “hibernate” implies the shutting down of a warm-blooded system to survive the harsh winter climate. Here in New England, bears, bats and woodchucks are our main hibernators. But if you don’t have a warm-blooded system to start with, it’s hard to shut it down.

It seems every area of study has its “insider” lingo. Brumation is a term that herpetologists seem to keep close to the vest, for I hardly see it in print when talking about how frogs, toads, turtles, snakes etc. make it through our New England winter. Brumation- it’s a word I love to teach to young children so they can dazzle their parents with their widening vocabulary. Now you can dazzle someone too.

Brumation is the answer to the question “Where have all the froggies gone?” (Shall we, of a certain age, sing, “Long time passing”?) “Gone to pond muck everyone..” (Sorry, these songs just present themselves.)
Since the beginning of October, the Bullfrogs, that in summer line the rim of the pond at the bog, have been MIA. And wisely so, for the temperature has swung back and forth from near freezing to nice again, then back to raw and cold. A cold-blooded animal, caught in the swing wouldn’t be around to croak out its love again next spring.

So when the days get shorter, the frogs of the pond head to the bottom where they partially cover themselves up with mud, then the heartbeat and breathing slow way down. Turtles are down there too, but they slow their body rates down to such an extent that they can get by on the oxygen found in the mud that they bury themselves in. Bullfrogs, on the other hand, need oxygen-rich water to make it through the winter, so they may be found on top of the mud, or partially buried in it. They say that frogs may even occasionally, take a slow swim around in the winter. Something I will just have to take their word on for I haven’t been scuba diving at the bottom of the pond in winter to see for myself.

What I do know, is that, usually, by May, the frogs that seem to leap out of nowhere in front of him, will once again entertain my dog. And if you remember, in May, look and see how dark the skin of these spring Bullfrogs is, not the Kelly green of summer but an almost black-green.
I have always wondered if that was to help them warm up more quickly in the sun. Nothing like dark colors to absorb the heat. Hmm, more things to ruminate on. Now, that is just what happens to the pond frogs, such as the Bullfrogs, Pickerel Frogs
Green Frogs etc.
Toads, well that’s a whole other story and an equally dazzling one at that, so shall we return to ruminations on brumation another day? I think we shall. Until then, enjoy your own ruminations.

"There Came a Killing Frost"

“And the pony she named Wildfire, busted down its stall”. Somehow I can’t say the title of this essay without singing the next line. A sure sign of how old I am! Last week, we had two days of light frost, the kind that kills the impatiens and morning glories but spares the petunia’s. It is still too dark to tell, but surely everything was finished off last night, for when I let the dog out in the dark of the morning there was an inch or so of slush on my deck.

And so, on this somber, sopping, Monday with another Nor’easter at our door, I would like to share a poem that captures the lament of an insect lover such as I, when the dreaded killing frost is upon us. The book is titled “Joyful Noise- Poems for Two Voices” by Paul Fleischman and I share it with children and teachers whenever I can. You read them in tandem, two readers, reading their lines sometimes alone, sometimes together. It is a wonderfully effective device and classes usually love it.

Let’s read “Requiem” together, followed by a moment of silence for the voices of the summer chorus, now stilled.


REQUIEM

Carolina sphinx moth
Grant them rest eternal Grant them rest eternal
Maple moths
Let light undying Let light undying
shine upon them. shine upon them.

Praying mantises
green darners
rest eternal rest eternal

Black-winged damselflies
brown darners
light undying light undying.

Grasshoppers Grasshoppers
great crested
spur-throated
three-banded
Katydids Katydids
round-headed
northern
gladiator
Cave crickets
mole crickets Cave crickets
tree crickets mole crickets
field crickets tree crickets
Grant them
rest eternal rest eternal
Give them
light undying. light undying.

This past night
we had the fall’s first
killing frost.

Paul Fleischman

Amen.

The Changing Landscape

I am constantly amazed how much the landscape can change, especially at the turning of a season, if I walk somewhere else for just a few days, and then return to the bog. I had to check out some new conservation areas to take my walking group to this week, a wonderfully pleasant task, but when I returned to the bog yesterday, I was struck by how much had altered. It was as if fall, “fell” last weekend. Which I suppose it usually does. We are all glorious color through October, then, if a wild wind and rain event happen right before Halloween, which it did, the color is transferred from trees to ground.

When I walked the bog last week, in one section of the woods, the trail was still surrounded with the bright yellow, practically glowing, leaves of the Wild Sarsaparilla. Now those leaves are curled up and browning and many plants are already lying on the forest floor well on their way to becoming mulch.

The Sweet Pepperbush also was a curtain of yellow. This common shrub from the White Alder family spreads by runners and so it lines the edge of an overgrown bog, and also either side of a small trail I sometimes take. Now, it too, was stripped of leaves making the trail seem no longer hedged-in but more expansive.

On the ground, the white bacteria that spreads over the oak leaves and looks like frost was much in evidence. This will help to break down those tough oak fibers returning nutrients back for the trees to recycle into new growth next spring. See if you notice it on your walks.

On the bog itself, the now harvested and combed looking cranberry plants have changed from that olive drab green of summer into the deep maroon that will remain all the way until next May or June. It has always struck me, and others no doubt, that the fall colors on Cape Cod are more reminiscent of an Oriental rug, than the brilliant splash of day-glow that Vermont trees can be. The combination of the deep red of the cranberry bogs, the green of the pitch pine, the russet and scarlet of the oaks, will be colors that linger for perhaps another month, before one needs to find beauty in shades of gray.

Around the pond, the Tupelos are bare, and now, if you haven’t looked closely at them before, you can see how their branches go at right angles to the tree and tend to be all twisted at the top like a Japanese Bonsai. I love their shape. They were the first to bring on the bright red leaves of fall but they are also the first to go. Red Maples also have shed their leaves, and now the color around the pond is restricted to the High blush blueberry, whose red is still reflected in the water.

But all these bare branches are great at uncovering secrets too. Those sneaky crows that skulked through the trees to their nests, that built fake nests to throw us off, now, those nests are out for all to see. But which one was the real one still is a bit of a mystery. One really large nest is right on that path where the Sarsaparilla grew. By its size I would have to think someone used it, most likely the crows. If it was, I can be pretty embarrassed that I walked under it so often and knew nothing. Chalk another victory up for what is inarguably our smartest bird.

The calendar then has flipped to November- the world alters itself again. Admission is free to this show; you just have to step out your door to take a front row seat. Ok, maybe, if you live in a city, you have to go beyond your front door, but wherever there are plants, the show is on.