Birdwatching is not a “fast food” sport. The menu is a long one, for sure, but the offerings are not always served hot and most of the items are not even available most of the time (I’m talking about a bird list, by the way). There are some places where you can go and find more offerings than usual, however. These special spots offer what is the closest thing to a McBirding experience – where the menu is flush with current offerings and the service is fast. One of these special spring Mcbirding spots is at Tawas Point, MI.

I was honored with an invitation to the “Point” last weekend. The Michigan Audubon Society invited me to be a speaker at their annual Tawas Point Birding Festival.  This three day event gathered some 300 or so birders from across the state for an orgy of bird watching trips, speaker sessions, and food. My role was to conduct two sessions on beginning hawkwatching (which I called “Hawkwatching for Dummies”). You could say that my simple approach to this subject was as a Mcbirder. I do not work hard as a birder – never have – so I presented my lazy man’s way to watch hawks.  My approach was less than technical. Fortunately the society members did not throw me out after I referred to the white rump patch on the Northern Harrier as “plumber’s butt” and explained the finer points of projectile vomiting by Turkey Vultures.

Of course, I was not THE main speaker on the docket. It just so happened that field guide authors Donald & Lillian Stokes where there to promote their latest field guide to Birds of North America. So, I suppose a few folks came to the conference to hear them as well.  (I also made sure to get my hand-signed copy of their book while I was there). These seasoned birders were delighted by their first day of birding at the point. Lillian’s comment at the signing banquet pretty well summed it up by saying “Oh My God – the trees were literally dripping with birds!”  Unfortunately rain and high winds swept into the area on the second day and the pair decided to fly the coop and head to Chicago for their next event.

One thing that fascinated me about the weekend was how the community welcomed the birders in such a big way. Many of the local businesses posted “welcome birders” signs and offered special deals etc.   The locals frequently referred to “those bird people” but did so in a positive way – appreciating the business during an otherwise slow time of year. The birders were not hard to spot around town. My wife (who is not a birder) summed up her view of the situation by noting their characteristic plumage which consisted of safari vests and khaki pant legs tucked into boot tops. I would add the presence of binoculars and/or a camera to that list of traits.

I don’t tuck and I don’t own a pocketed vest, but I will admit to being one of those khaki wearing camera toting bird watchers on that weekend. Unfortunately, I didn’t have many opportunities to actually “bird” due to my time constraints and the crappy weather. I did sneak in a very productive hour while waiting for my first presentation. The place served up one of those rare menu selections, as a matter of fact.

There is a small spit of land striking out into the waters of Lake Huron behind the conference center. I took a short stroll on this old pier and was greeted with a flyover by a fish-totting bald eagle, the passage of a flock of black terns, a gaggle of common mergansers, and a solitary Spotted Sandpiper on the beach (see below).

The sandpiper is a common Michigan species which I shall have to return to at some time in the future. They are a female dominated species which tell their males what to do and where to do it. But, on this short foray my prize sighting was a Lapland Longspur.  Because I am a lazy birder, I had never seen one before – this due to the fact I never actually went searching for them.

The Longspurs are residents of the High Arctic which winter in the lower 48. They can be quite common down here, but they seek out wide open spaces that mirror their high northern tastes. Along with flocks of Snow Buntings and Horned Larks, they can be found out on bitter wind-swept ice fields from December through March. Needless to say, I tend to avoid bitter wind swept ice fields during the winter. Imagine my surprise, then, at coming upon a Longspur at Tawas in the month of May after only walking 100 feet from my car.

I will share this trophy picture with you as proof of my story. This bird was a male who happened to be in his best breeding finery (something you will not see in mid-winter).  He scurried among the rocks for a few minutes before launching back into the migratory stream. There is no other sparrow-like bird that matches the white-bordered black face and rich rufous head pattern found on this species. The long back toe-nails (apparent on this view) are the “Longspurs” in question.

In case you are wondering, this handsome little bird is actually found in Lapland as well as on the North American Tundra. They are found around the entire northern half of the globe. Now I can definitely say that at least one graced the birding festival as well. No doubt it felt comfortable amongst all that khaki.  As a matter of fact, so did I!

When sitting in the green room between acts, Killdeer display a somber tawny brown back. The long wing tips cover the red-brown color of the rump when the bird is at rest.  Although legendary for their acting prowess, they are relatively plain looking (and acting) by choice. As residents of open ground this color combination serves well as camouflage on exposed gravelly surfaces. When their nest is threatened, the birds instantly fan out their tails and launch into their famous “broken wing” act in order to lure away potential robbers.  Sir Lawrence Olivier could do no better in this regard.

One feature that attains prominence during the defensive act are the black and white neck bands (see above). The birds crane their necks to expose the broad white patch located between the upper and lower dark neck bands. Take a good look at one of these famous Killdeer performances, however, and you’ll see how they make the most out of their bright orange-red butts (see beginning photo). This is the feature put on prominent display whenever one of these birds is compelled to defend a nest location.  Even though the overall theme of the act is to call attention to the alleged broken flapper, the rump colors are meant to call attention to this fact. They act as playbills announcing “horribly broken wing now showing – come and get an easy meal.”

A bird in full performance will flop from side to side with its wing upturned at an awkward angle. It will drop to the ground as if lame and flash that orange butt by  fanning the tail from side to side.  When approached, they manage to recover from this mortal injury just long enough to run a few dozen yards further away from the nest – at which point they become re-afflicted.  They will keep this up until luring the danger well out of the vicinity of the eggs. For a fox or coyote, the act is very convincing.

I came upon the Killdeer pictured here in a marina parking lot. But, instead of leading me away from the nest, the bird’s performance actually led me to it (am I smarter than a fox? Well, maybe). One can judge the proximity of the eggs by watching the intensity of the act. Like a game of “hot & cold” the well-intentioned display often serves as a means of nest betrayal. When I took the video, shown here, I was nearly on top of the nest and the bird was going ballistic. I never suspected the location until the bird “doth protested too much.”

The actual nest – a shallow scrape really – was located under a boat trailer and contained four neatly speckled eggs (see here). Although there are occasionally five eggs in such a nest, four is the typical number. The narrow ends always face inward in a tight shamrock pattern.

This bird returned to incubate the clutch only after I walked well away from the site. Both the male and female birds participate in both incubation and nest defense, so I am not sure whether the individual pictured here was a he or a she.  With a dedication that would drive most birds insane, Killdeer will keep up this routine for 24-28 days until the fluffy chicks finally hatch out (and work on their own method acting skills). Unlike human actors, each and every acting performance is as good as that performed on opening day. Bravo, your Shakespearean orange rumpus does you proud my ‘deer.

If you are reading this blog and it is still light out, then I implore ye to stop and get thee to the wood.  In short, the warblers are moving through and theirs is not a show to be missed. You can come back and read this later. If thee is in a darkened lair and the sun has already set beyond yonder crested hill, then make plans to get thee into the wood upon the ‘morrow.

If ye are a Quaker, please forgive me for speaking in such simple tongue, but I do often get into Quaker mode around this time of year. I guess it’s because the abundance of bird life gets me to thinking of John James Audubon -the dean of American birders.  The French speaking Audubon first learned his English from the Quakers of Pennsylvania and he spoke and wrote in their manner throughout the rest of his storied life. And, if there is any time to wax poetic about birds in Audubonesque style, it is noweth.

Early to mid-May is the time when a majority of the warblers pass through our neck of the wood (and the entire stretch of northern wood). There are dozens of species of these so-called “butterfly birds” and their migration is nothing short of a feathered Tsunami (albeit a gentle one). All of them are in full color as well and each species displays a clear set of field marks. Don’t expect the same success when they pass back through in the fall, however. Many of the bird guides have a section dedicated to “Confusing Fall Warblers” and that about sums up the art of autumn warbling. No, now is the time to strike the warbling iron when their color palette is hot.

Nearly all of these tiny migrants are working their way back from the tropics and will eventually end up in the northern forests of Northern Michigan and into Canada.  Their time here is short and their placement usually high. You’ll find them probing through the newly erupted tree leaf & flower buds seeking insects – they need these high protein snacks to keep up their energy reserves. You, therefore, will need to be prepared to look up for long periods of time. Your neck will crackle with pain, but ye needeth some pain in life for it too be considered good (although, you can learn some of the songs and lessen to need to look up for identification).

On a given day you’ll have the opportunity to see 10-20 species, which means that the neck pain thing will be easy to ignore.  I’ve been to the wood recently and had the opportunity to see a bunch of these little dynamos. I’ve only a few to show you, but that is because “seeing” warblers is not necessarily equivalent to “getting good pictures of them.” That is my excuse anyway.

One of the nicer finds was a small group of Palm Warblers (see above and beginning photo). These chestnut-capped birds, in spite of their name, don’t necessarily spend an inordinate amount of time around palm trees. They winter along the gulf coast and the Caribbean, to be sure, but they actually nest further north than most warblers. Their breeding range extends well up into the high taiga forests and boggy areas near the Arctic Circle. They are ground nesters and they also spend quite a bit of time on the ground foraging as well. Their nervous habit of tail wagging will give them away from a distance (you could say that it is not difficult to read a Palm Warbler!).

I’ve introduced the Yellow-rumped Warbler to you many times in the past (see below). This species tends to over-winter here as drab-colored berry eaters. Spring brings about a magical transformation of these butter-butts. Their contrasting yellow highlights and blue-gray features are now a sight to behold. Needless to say, their name is very diagnostic (although I have just needlessly said it). Most the birds seen now are actual migrants passing through from the southern U.S. and Mexico. This season, in particular, happens to be a benchmark year for these birds and they are literally everywhere.

Yellow Warblers are also common in these parts – both as migrants and summer residents (see below). They are one of the few warblers that nest in the willow thickets of S.E. Michigan. They are not permanent residents, however. They spend most of their year in the tropics of Central America and Columbia. Like most warblers, Yellows are actually tropical birds that happen to pay us a visit each year. Better thought of as flying dandelions, these birds are unmistakable in color and distinctive in call. Their whispy “Sweet sweet sweet oh so Sweet” call is a regular part of our summer landscape.

Last, but not least, is the secretive Black & White Warbler (see below). Well named, their bold pattern consists of alternating stripes of black on white (or is it white on black?). These warblers seek their insect food amongst the nooks and crannies offered by tree and vine bark. They sneak about in close proximity to the trunk in the manner of a nuthatch or a brown creeper. Another deep tropical bird from southern Mexico through to Venezuela, they look very much at home in the thick viney tangles of southern Michigan.

I will confess to a bit of confusion about this last bird. Both of the pictures I took of the Black & White Warbler were in color but the bird turned out to be black & white in both! I converted one of the shots (see below) into a straight black & white picture and, for some reason, the bird looks more comfortable in it’s surroundings. I invite you to taketh your color pictures of these birds and see if yours too come out in strict Quaker black & white.

The spillway at Crosswinds Marsh was a hub of activity the other day. The running waters – tumbling over the rocky bottom – were bubbling with life. That life came in two forms. Millions of Black Flies were hatching from the moving water and dozens of birds were there to eat them.  It was a pretty simple bird-eat-bug scenario and one in which the Black Flies played a positive role for a change.

It might seem odd to mention Black Flies as a good thing. For residents of Northern Michigan, these blood-thirsty little demons are not a cause for celebration. The spring hatch means clouds of misery as these tiny flies seek out all patches of unprotected skin in numbers akin to the biblical Egyptian plagues. No, they are a reason to avoid Northern Michigan at certain times of the year. All of this ignores the simple fact that Black flies are found in these places because they can only breed in unpolluted streams and waterways. In other words, they are indicators of good water quality.   Should the Pure Michigan campaign get a hold of this idea they might want to do an ad touting Black Flies as symbols of the pure crystalline waters of our state. “Get bitten by the spirit of the north – come to Michigan.” Well, maybe this wouldn’t go over so well but nothing ventured nothing gained, right?

Fortunately (or is it unfortunately?) Black Flies are not a regular feature of southern Michigan life. It was, therefore, both a surprise and a delight to see them at Crosswinds in such huge numbers. The larvae not only require clean water but they require moving water as well. Attached to the bottom rocks, the bowling pin shaped larvae filter food out of the current. The only moving water at this marsh complex is at the spillway where there is a consistent flow that drains off into a canal.

After a brief pupation, the insects emerge from the water as winged adults (see above). Due to their dark color they are easily identified as Black Flies, but their hump-backed appearance is equally diagnostic. Upon emergence, the adults participate in a mass orgy where males and females pile up in shameless mounds of sexuality. Clumps of flies drift along on the moving water surface. Individuals scampered about like fleas and clambered onto the streamside vegetation and spillway walls (see below).  Their nervous energy certainly charged the air on the day I came upon them and I was not the only one affected.

Dozens of green and white Tree Swallows were feeding on the masses of living chow. There were a few Barn Swallows in the mix, but most were of the Tree persuasion. The birds were swirling about like wind-whipped leaves over the insect studded waters. Their motions were almost mesmerizing – maybe even Zen-like (whatever that means). Watch this little video short here and see what I mean. They were plucking the floating insects off the surface without leaving as much as a ripple in their path.

After a bout of feeding, the birds would perch on a nearby fence to preen and meditate. Their iridescent blue-green backs glittered in the mid-day sun. It was, I’m sure, a banner day to be a swallow. When a bird called a swallow is given the opportunity to do nothing but swallow that is swell thing.

A half dozen Yellow-rumped Warblers also joined in the Black Fly feast. As opposed to the swirling flight tactics of the swallows, the warblers chose to hunt and peck for their daily bread. These brightly colored little birds were driven to near mental collapse by the sheer mass of moving life about them.  I videoed one fellow attempting to make sense of the situation (see here and photo below). It would have made human sense to just sit in one place and peck away as the insect horde moved toward you, but to a bird brain it made better sense to jump about and select at random. I watched them literally gorge themselves on the Black Flies and have little doubt that they’ll be pooping out wings and legs for quite some time.

Considering that I was in the midst of a million Black Flies, I came away from the situation relatively unscathed. I did find a nasty little bite on my hand afterward, but only one. I guess being in the center of the target was the safest place to be – under the diligent protection of the swallows and warblers.

There is life on the rugged looking Osprey nest at Estral Beach once again. Although this pair actually built the nest last year, they were unable to complete their breeding cycle. A monster late spring windstorm might have had something to do with it – disturbing the nest and eggs and forcing the pair to write the 2010 breeding season off. Fortunately, they are back this season and now appear to be making another go of it.

Arriving the week before Easter, or thereabouts, the pair wasted no time in starting new construction on the old homestead. I tried to check in with them as much as possible throughout the process, but my visits were brief. Weeks of rainy weather, steel gray skies, and high winds made osprey watching difficult to say the least. Each and every time, however, I was able to witness one of the birds either in the act of delivering or positioning a new nest stick.

On Easter morning, during one of the few recent rainless periods, my son and I watched as the birds “hunted” for nest material. There is a woodlot about a half mile away, and they would fly straight to this location to seek their wooden prey.  Once on site, they would dive down on a selected branch and grasp it with their talons. By the force of momentum and sheer body weight (the birds weight about 4 pounds soaking wet), the dead wood would snap off under pressure and the liberated stick would be carried back to the nest. Each was then carefully placed into proper position. Much of this work appeared to be done by the female, but it was difficult to tell them apart.

Female ospreys tend to be larger (15%-20%) and slightly darker than the males, but this is a relative statement. The gals tend to have a bib of dark speckling across the upper breast as well, but, then again this is not an absolute thing. Both birds in this pair have neck bibs, but one has a distinctly darker band. It is reasonable to peg this darker bird as the female. I am too much the gentleman to tell her that she looks fatter than the male, so this will have to do for the present.

In between nest construction, the birds paused to feast on freshly caught fish. This is their forte after all – they are superbly adapted to the task with extremely long talons, rough foot pads, and wickedly long bill hooks. It takes but a short time for them to render a whole fish into a memory as they rip off bite sized chunks (see here). In the manner of parrot, ospreys hold and deftly manipulate their food using one foot at a time. In the shot below, you can see that the bird just plucked the last chunk out of his raised left foot .

Probably no other bird of prey, save for owls, have such large forward facing eyes (see here). These big bright beautiful orbs are yet another key to their fishing prowess. They are able to pin point their targets with the aide of precise binocular vision. It might not be too forward to suggest that they could be better called Opt-preys in honor of their optical abilities (the “Os” in Osprey, by the way, refers to “bone” – they are bone crushers). Yes, I know that is a stupid suggestion but I thought I’d just throw that one out there.

The piscatorial delights of Sandy Creek and Lake Erie are only a short distance away from this couple’s nest location which is why they built the thing where they did. Just like human real estate, nesting is all about location, location, location. When those kids and their hungry mouths arrive, the super market needs to be close by.

The female (the “bigger” one) started incubating late last week. The pair has settled down to a regular routine as they now wait out the 32-40 day process. On one of the recent warm days (the only warm day last week) I even caught a bird napping (see below) in the late afternoon sunlight. I would not call this cat-napping because, well, it is a bird and that particular word might offend feathered types. Let’s just call it a Sushi sleep.

I will keep you updated on the future events as they unfold but there is one more thing worth mentioning in this case. Because the nest structure is so large, there are actually several bird pairs producing young in that tangle of sticks. A set of House Sparrows have taken up residence in the lower apartment space and a Starling couple were seriously looking into the east room. The tenants will not need to fear their fish-eating landlords. At any rate, there are going to be a lot of hungry little mouths chirping in that pile of sticks within a few weeks.

In the world of birding, there is always an informal competition to be the “first” to report an unusual bird. It really means nothing, but still there is that small (very small) satisfaction gained from being a re-discoverer of something. I do not consider myself a birder, nor am I a lister, nor do I keep tabs on the rare bird alert or the internet/e-mail/blackberry/twitter bird announcements. I have been known to saunter to a reported rare bird location as long as it is a) close, b) convenient, c) the weather is good, and d) I do not have to wash my hair.  Call me lazy or call me practical (or call me on the telephone and I might pick up).

You can also call me hypocritical.  This month I actually scored a “first” and now have the audacity of trumpeting it here. Actually, the real credit goes to Chad (whose last name I will withhold) who reported the bird to me. I must note, however, that I was the first to properly identify the bird in question. I believe that counts for something doesn’t it? Chad was close, however, and if he really wants to claim the big money and trophy that comes from such a thing then he is more than welcome to it. He reported seeing a Snow Goose in amongst a flock of Canada Geese down by the Lake Erie shore.

I sauntered down to the lakeshore in order to see this bird since the situation satisfied all my rare bird requirements. Elsewhere on the planet Snow Geese are one of the most abundant fowl known to modern man, but again –it’s all about location. They are rare enough in our neck of the woods to be worthy of a glance (I blogged about one two years ago as a matter of fact).  Upon reaching the location, I did not have to search very long before spotting it. The white bird stood out like a sore thumb.

For a moment my heart sank because I initially believed it to be nothing more than a domestic duck. It was a very small bird. Next to the surrounding Canada Geese it looked even smaller. Was this a duck? I peered through the high magnification of my camera viewer to see it. Even framed in 80X it still looked like a duck. The bird was resting on the ground with its head tucked over its back. Finally, it raised a very un-ducklike head and displayed a very goosey triangular bill. By golly it was a goose after all, but not your standard Snow Goose. It was a diminutive relative of the Snow Goose called a Ross’s Goose.

I verbally reported the creature to certain songbirds and the sighting hit the web.  There were birders looking for it within hours and, oddly enough, I felt kinda sorta almost proud. Don’t ask me why.

Ross’s Geese, like Snow Geese, are white birds with black primary wing feathers. They are easily separated from the latter species by their small size, rounder head, shorter neck, and squat pinkish bill lacking the black “sneer” patch (a mark that looks more like poorly applied black lipstick). Like the Snows, they nest in the high Arctic and winter in the western U.S.  Ross’s are far less common than Snow Geese as well, but are still extremely abundant.

My little Ross’s  has continued to stick with his adopted gang of Canadians. Like a Chihuahua among Great Danes he has been grazing, resting, and swimming with them for the past few days.  It is an added bonus that this particular little lost goose was a pure blood as well – a thing that makes it a little more “specialer.”  There apparently are some hybrid Ross’s/Snow Geese out there that exhibit  a confusing combination of traits. These birds don’t count for either species on the birder lists or are, at least, assigned an asterisk on that list.

But, in the long run, I realize that it is unfair for me or any other contemporary to claim this bird. This species was named in honor of the Hudson’s Bay Factor Bernard Ross (1824-1874).  Ross, apart from sporting the largest mutton-chop sideburns in all the Northwest Territories, was an amateur naturalist of note. The goose that ended up with his name was known to fur traders since the late 1700’s. They called them “Horned Waveys” for some reason (where that name came from can only be chalked up to long lonely liquor-filled nights).  Ross himself never described the bird officially, but it was dubbed Chen rossii by naturalist John Cassin in 1861. So, you see, this bird has belonged to Mr. Ross for 150 years.

I will not spend a whole lot of time on this subject. It deals with something that you either “get” or “don’t get.” No amount of explanation will sway you if you are not willing to be swayed. So, I will simply re-print an e-mail I recently sent to a friend on this subject. We’ll call this friend  Ralph (which is good because his name is Ralph). The rest I leave for self explanation.

Ralph:

I know this will be hard to believe, but I was visited by the Easter Muskrat this year. He left me a chocolate “Francois” ‘rat complete with his festive Easter sash and toque (see attached). I was, as you could well imagine, speechless (perhaps you couldn’t imagine me speechless, but please try).  I know you could imagine my sheer delight upon finding a note next to the confectionous creation. Executed in a crudely scribbled hand – likely the result of the writer only having only four functioning toes – the writing appeared to be the words to a poem or song. Unfortunately it was in French. Upon crude translation, it hit me that it was indeed a song meant to be sung to the tune of “Here Comes Peter Cottontail.”  My translation abilities are nil when compared to yours, but I believe this is the gist of what it says:

“Here comes Francois Musky-rat

Swimming cross the marshy flat.

Spishity splashity Easter’s on its way!”

Incredible, eh?  I thought you’d be impressed. Since there are still those out there who don’t believe, I thought I’d share this with you first before going public.

Sincerely,

Gerry

If this were a mere photography blog, then I would not dare to post the images shown below. But, since Naturespeak is better described as a “photo-enhanced” nature blog – containing verbal tales, of varying quality, about natural events and illustrated by images, also of varying quality – I can proceed without any apology. It is a harsh reality of nature that her events do not always occur on bluebird days. Even my bluebird sightings are not always on bluebird days!  So, I shoot what I see using the camera that I have at the time allowed. The rest I record with my eyes and try to translate through my keyboard.

While undertaking an early morning trip (in the company of one of my sons) to check on the status of a local Osprey nest, we encountered a gang of Red-breasted Mergansers swimming in the vicinity of the bridge over Stony Creek. I quickly turned the car around in order to get a better look at these birds. The ospreys would have to wait. Ospreys are incredible beasts and all, but quite frankly, I see them all the time. These mergansers are a much scarcer commodity. As migrants, they only pass through our region while in transit to & from their North Country breeding grounds. Unlike their Common Merganser friends, Red-breasted Mergansers rarely, if ever, overwinter.  Not only are they spectacular looking waterfowl, but these particular early morning fowl were engaging in their equally impressive courtship ritual. The only problem was that the day was gray and overcast with intermittent showers.

First, a description of the bird itself.  I did manage to snap off a decent image of a set of male and female birds (see above), but the light does them an injustice (you know how certain pictures make you look fat or pale or old or a combination of the three). The females are quite pale to begin with. They have a reddish-brown head, a white neck, and a grayish body. They blend in quite well – especially when framed by the rushing gray-green waters of a rain-choked creek.

In typical waterfowl fashion, the male birds are brightly patterned with glossy green heads, white necks, rust-colored breasts, and starkly contrasting black and white back and side patterns.  The male’s head sports a hairy two-pointed crown. Both sexes have long slender bills equipped with pseudo teeth, but the male’s version is brilliantly shaded a bright red. The male’s feet are also red in color. The reason for all this male brightness is explained during the course of their courtship ritual.

There were six birds in the Stony Creek flotilla, being three nicely matched salt & pepper pairs of males and females. Red-breasted Mergansers start their pair bonding before leaving their coastal wintering grounds and they work on maintaining it all the way up. They do so with a series of ritualized movements. You could call it a dance but, in this case, it is more like a synchronized swimming routine. One of the males in this six-pack was in a swim danc’n mood on this morning. Take a look at this video sequence and you’ll definitely pick out the individual I am referring to (see here).

This routine is hard-wired. From the female’s perspective there are no points for creativity. She demands of the male a perfect repetition of the time-honored style with no variation on the theme. Take a look at the still shots below (from the R.B. Merg’s Style Handbook) and I’ll break it down for you.

The dance begins with a dramatic upward extension of his neck and head. He lifts his breast out of the water and points that bright reddish bill at a high angle like some Art deco hood ornament. He lowers his crown and accentuates the neck sweep by starting it with the bill tip pointing straight down (see first and second images above).  Next, keeping his head in position, he opens his mouth and stiffly rocks forward until his breast and lower neck are completely submerged (see third and forth images below). As part of the effort to attain this pose, he kicks up a backwards spray of water with his feet. Rump high in the air, tail down, and red feet exposed, he completes his act and settles back into normal swimming mode.

It’s all over in a few moments, but it is clear that over the course of each sequence the bird made the best of all his color traits. If you have it – flaunt it! You’ll note that this male performed the move twice over the short time of the video. He had completed a dozen more moves before shooting and no doubt continued on as the current took them out of view down the creek.

There is a sound associated with the routine, but it is a close personal type of noise.  We could not hear it from the distance we observed this fandango (a very loud cardinal was hogging all the auditory space). According to the literature, however, the male emits a soft “dorr dorr” call as he turns his head slightly toward the object of his affection.

As for the female’s part of the interaction, I can definitely say that she was acting frisky. Dunking in and out of the water, she seemed to echo his enthusiasm. I certainly felt his enthusiasm and, by reading this mid-quality description and viewing these low-quality images, I trust you can to?

I was pouring some Plaster of Paris the other day and made a discovery. I happened to be making some fake cupcakes, but that fact is neither here nor there as it relates to this discovery (other than the fact that cupcakes made out of Plaster of Paris are quite chalky). The point is that I was pouring a cup of freshly mixed plaster into a “mold.”  Part of the procedure, when pouring P of P, is to jiggle the container or rattle it with a spoon. This keeps it liquidy and pourable, but this again is not crucial to the story (nor is the fact that liquidy is not a real word). I opted to rattle the inside of the plastic container with the spoon – an act which created a hollow “brrrrrr” sound. Instantly, our captive Leopard Frog started calling in response. “Brrrrrrrr” he croaked several times in succession before ending with a series of staccato “bup bup bups.” There was no doubt in his mind that I was a rival male.

I rattled the spoon again, and again our vociferous male responded in kind. He became suspicious after the third round of give and take and only managed a few indignant “bups” in return. He quit entirely after my fourth attempt at mimicry. My feeble efforts were no longer worthy of his consideration.

This particular frog, a lone dark male who has been with us for many years, has a reputation for answering all manner of challenges. He has responded to the sound of the refrigerator, the microwave, wet balloons, the sound of low voices, the recorded calls of other frogs, the sound of silence, and occasionally to the recorded calls of his own species! Unfortunately he is not entirely reliable in that last category. I have had a 50% success rate with my school programs when trying to get him to call by using a recorded Leopard Frog call. “Oh well kids, Spotty is not feeling up to talking today. Let’s turn on the microwave and mumble Gregorian chants to see if that works.” Now, at least I can pull out the Plaster of Paris cup and try the spoon trick.

Out in the wild, Spotty’s relatives are in the middle of their breeding season. They started calling in March, and will continue through to June, but April is the peak month for the “rut” (so to speak). Of all the calling frogs of spring, Leopard Frogs have the most understated approach. Chorus Frogs chirp, Peepers peep, and Wood Frogs cluck their way through the season with intensity and volume. Leopards, on the other hand, are minimalists. They snore their way through the love-making months with a subtle call that is barely audible to the human ear in an outdoor situation. It is one thing to have a love-sick frog calling from the inside of a reverberating aquarium, but quite another when that call is in competition with the wind and rustling grasses. The sound does not carry well.

I recently recorded a group of serenading Leopard Frogs in the shallow grassy floodwater next to a seasonal ditch. Not having my Plaster of Paris cup with me, I relied on chance to come up with some calling males. I was not disappointed. Well, actually I was a bit disappointed because I could not locate the actual callers. This species is known to sing while underwater, so watching them is like going to the submarine races. Listen here to a portion of the sonata (you won’t see any frogs here, but you will hear them – ignore the single creeking Chorus Frog ).

Yes, there were a few very cold individuals hopping about the shore, but these frogs were either non-calling females (like above) or just plain not calling (see below). Cold frogs are very easy to photograph because they are essentially non-responsive garden sculptures. If I had a video of a male leopard frog in the act of calling, you would notice that they are two baggers. In other words, they have two vocal sacs – one on each side that inflates over the shoulder. Being that I began this blog with a description of something unseen, I will not bore you with the details of yet another un-seen thing. Discussion of the egg-laying behavior will also have to wait for another time.

Before we leave this topic, however, it is worth taking a nice close look at the frogs I did manage to photograph. They are things of beauty. The two pictured frogs shown here are two different frogs. Take alternate looks at one then the other. Now the other then the first. Now the first and….stop. As you can see, the spot pattern is more hyena-like than leopard-like, but does that really matter? Given the growling nature of their call I can certainly see the leopard analogy. Leopard frogs don’t laugh.

Meadow Voles skulls on Parade

The shrubby thickets of Lake Erie Metropark are host to an annual influx wintering Long-eared Owls. The birds gather together into daytime roosts numbering anywhere from 2 to 15 individuals. Every year is different – different roost locations, different number of owls, and different degrees of frustrations in trying to find them. I have frequently talked about these intense-looking owls and posted photos (in good years, anyway). The last few winters were not a good Long-eared Owl years. There were only a few about and they were exceedingly skittish. This past winter made up for all that. It was a good year with upwards of a dozen birds congregating into one roost.

You may ask why I am posting an entry about wintering owls at this stage. After all, it is Spring now and, even though there is a brand new cover of snow on the ground as I write this, we need to talk about baby animals, flowers, frogs, and the like. Our winter owls did finally flee the coop only a short time ago. They lingered well into April as if knowing that spring would be slow in coming, but the real reason was probably due to the good food. You see, this past winter was also a good year for mouse-like rodents. Or, perhaps I should re-phrase that and say that it was actually a bad year for mouse-like rodents because Long-eared Owls eat lots of mouse-like rodents.

The departure of the owls provided a golden opportunity to go through the pile of pellets left on the ground under the roost trees. You can imagine how many pellets would accumulate from 12 barfing birds over the course of a winter (“on the 12^th day of Christmas my true love gave to me, 12 barfing birds, 11 hooters staring, etc, etc, …. 5 golden mice, 4 dropping turds, 3 mouse heads…). You could also imagine how much crap accumulates as well. Fortunately, the crap (euphemistically referred to as white-wash) washes away. The pellets, which are composed of undigested bone and hair, remain fairly intact.

The ground beneath the main Long-eared Owl roost – the killing field – was carpeted with winter meal remains. Many of the earlier pellets had disintegrated into a gray hair carpet finely peppered with bones. Hundreds of intact pellets lay on top of that layer. In all, about 290 whole specimens were collected. Long-eared Owl products are about 3 inches in length and about the diameter of small dog poo. Apart from a communal roost it would be hard to peg the owl species to the pellet, but in this location there can be little doubt regarding origin. There were no small dogs roosting in this grove of trees.

These pellets were carefully picked apart and the boney remains were extracted. Even though there were all manner of skeletal bones present in the hairy milieu, the skulls and lower jaws were the primary targets. It is difficult to define species level based on phalanges, ribs, and femurs. Skulls are much more diagnostic. The final tally was: 293 Meadow Voles, 11 Short-tailed Shrews, 9 White-footed Mice, and one lone bird (not a partridge in a pear tree, however – probably a White-throated Sparrow). In other words there was, on average, about one Meadow Vole per pellet (see below and detail here – note that the shrew skulls are on the top left row, the White footed Mice on the top row center, the bird skull on the top row right. All the rest are Meadow Voles)

What are we to draw from this little exercise? Well, for starters, there are no surprises here. Long-eared Owls are known to favor marshy lowlands adjacent to marshes for their hunting grounds. Such places are the favorite haunts of Meadow Voles – short-tailed, cigar-shaped mice that make runways through the grasses – and thus the joining of this flesh to these owl innards. Secondly, the Shrews and White-footed mice are signs of opportunistic feeding. If a shrew is bold enough to present itself on a moonless night then it will eaten. The bird remains are a bit more unusual, but they probably represent an early riser that got up a bit too early or a party bird that stayed up too late. Perhaps there is a lesson, or a fable, here for all little birds to heed.  At any rate, White-throated Sparrows spend a lot of time on the ground and often scramble about on the ground like mice. If any bird is asking for an owling, this one is it.

Finally, there is a single strong message evident from this study. If you are a Meadow Vole living at Lake Erie Metropark, there is a neon target on your back. It is no wonder that Meadow Voles are nervous and constantly upset.

Now that the Long-eared Owls have departed the roost and returned to their spring/summer breeding areas, our local voles now have one less predator to angst over.  The voles will spend the rest of the season making little mice which in turn will provide the hair, bones, and teeth for next year’s winter owl pellets.

Thinking about next year