A Florida lifer, and one that got away
(published 3-29-11)

A day after the big blizzard in February, I did the sensible thing and flew to Miami. It was a pre-planned trip to visit my parents in Key Largo. There would be some golf, a Super Bowl party and, of course, plenty of amazing birds.

Golf is really just another birding opportunity, especially in Florida. My binoculars were always within reach. At one point I was walking down a fairway with a magnificent frigatebird soaring directly above me, mockingbirds singing from the gumbo limbo trees and a flock of white ibis pecking away in the rough. These were most welcome distractions!

On Super Sunday mom and I took a drive to Everglades National Park. I’d been there at least five times before but it never gets old. And this time I saw something new—nesting American anhingas. A thriving rookery was eye-level and only a few feet off the Anhinga Trail boardwalk at Royal Palm. Alligators lurked in the dark water below the nests. I wondered if the anhinga chicks, some of them with featherless pink heads, perceived the danger just below them. I’m sure the adults did.

Just outside the park is an unmarked woodlot known to birders as Lucky Hammock—a local hotspot akin to the Magic Hedge on the Chicago lakefront. Some photographers with very large lenses were on site when we arrived. Either there’d been a Bigfoot sighting or an interesting bird was present. It was the latter, in the form of a brown-crested flycatcher—a western species that occasionally winters in South Florida. I’d have loved to see the bird but had to settle for just hearing it call from deep inside the hammock.

The best birding, I knew, was yet to come. I’d built in some time at the end of my trip for a visit to central Florida. I’d been to this region twice before on family vacations to Disney World. This time I’d have an afternoon to explore a different magic kingdom: Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge.

Adjacent to the Kennedy Space Center, about 40 miles east of Orlando, Merritt Island is Florida’s top birding destination. It didn’t take long to see why.

My top priority was to locate the preserve’s signature bird, the Florida scrub-jay. This is Florida’s only endemic species—a bird that occurs nowhere else in the world. It is endangered, but fortunately not difficult to observe; like other members of the jay family, it’s not shy. A ranger at the Merritt Island visitor center told me exactly where to go look and within 30 minutes I had my lifer scrub-jay. Yes!

Another must-see at Merritt is Black Point Wildlife Drive, a seven-mile self-guided auto tour through salt and freshwater marshes. Birders (and nature photographers) could easily spend an entire day here. My time was limited so I really had to push myself to keep from stopping at every available parking area. There was one large pond in particular that was absolutely loaded with waterfowl and wading birds. Highlights were reddish egret, American avocet and a nice assortment of ducks including many northern pintail. The skies were full too, with bald eagles, ospreys, herons and vultures.

Another great Merritt moment awaited near the end of Wildlife Drive where a cluster of glossy ibis feeding in shallow water. The late afternoon sun was showing off their iridescent plumage to perfection.

It was painful pointing my car away from Merritt Island but I needed to be in Orlando for a work-related event that evening. The consolation was that I’d have time for more birding the next morning before heading to the airport.

The Orlando area offers many fine birding opportunities. I settled on the Disney Wilderness Preserve, a 12,000-acre property near Kissimmee owned and managed by The Nature Conservancy. It opened in 1992 through an agreement with Walt Disney Company.

The morning of my visit was quiet—I never saw another person on the trail! But I did see lots of birds. My favorite sighting was a family of limpkin, on the edge of the preserve’s Lake Russell. I’d never seen this Florida specialty quite so well, and in such a wild setting. Other interesting birds were loggerhead shrike, tufted titmouse, wood stork and sandhill crane.

With more luck I might have seen my first red-cockaded woodpecker. The Nature Conservancy successfully introduced this highly endangered species at the Disney preserve four years ago.

Another hoped-for species was Bachman’s sparrow, and my desire to see it probably cost me a life bird. I’m a little embarrassed to even tell this story but here goes. I was nearing the end of the walk, coping with an annoying drizzle, when I encountered a mystery bird. It was a sparrow of some kind, perched near the trail and looking very soggy. I studied it for several minutes, trying to memorize its features and markings. Could this be a Bachman’s? I’d check my Sibley guide when I got back to the car. The bird finally flew off and I headed in.

I soon realized the bird was not a Bachman’s sparrow but was almost certainly a vesper sparrow—another species missing from my life list. If only I had watched more carefully when the bird flew! Then I might have seen the white outer tail feathers that are conspicuous on a vesper.

The other mistake I made was not spending a few minutes perusing the preserve’s bird checklist before hitting the trail. If I’d done so I would have known that vesper sparrows are winter residents on the preserve. A valuable clue had been right in my pocket!

Despite flunking the vesper sparrow challenge I left the Disney Wilderness Preserve in high spirits. It was a fun morning at a wonderful birding spot. It’s also the kind of place that feels good to support, especially if you are a fan of The Nature Conservancy like me. Go there if you ever have the chance.

Now it was time to head back to the frozen north. But before surrendering the rental car I needed to satisfy a craving. One exit before Orlando International, there it was, a Waffle House beckoning me to a seat at the counter. My pecan waffle was a sweet ending to a warm and bird-filled week.

Copyright 2011 by Jeff Reiter. All rights reserved.
Florida scrub jay photo by Travis Wilcoxen

Sport or hobby? Birding is anything we choose
(published 2-7-11)

I love ESPN, even though I don’t watch it at home. It’s not part of our bare-basic cable package. But at the YMCA, when I'm using the treadmill, SportsCenter is my best friend. Especially during baseball season.

Of course there is more to ESPN than SportsCenter. On a recent Saturday the network featured a turkey shoot. The clicker was out of reach that morning so I watched.

I’m not a hunter, but I’m not against hunting either. Birding and hunting can easily coexist. In fact, one of America’s best-known birders, Pete Dunne, is also a gunner. I’m sure that he shares my admiration for the way waterfowlers support habitat management through the federal “duck stamp” program. Many birders who never lift a shotgun buy a stamp every year and I count myself among them.

So I wasn’t offended by the turkey shoot, just surprised. First of all, it didn’t seem all that sporting. In segment after segment, hunters would sneak up on a grazing bird and shoot it. Surely there is more skill involved than came across on TV.

The hunters’ reactions after taking down a bird surprised me even more. They laughed and smiled and traded high fives. Being on camera, perhaps they were hamming it up a little. But the scenes reminded me of how birdwatchers sometimes celebrate after spotting a mega-rarity.

As birders, we have more in common with hunters than we might care to admit. We don't kill, but we certainly hunt. We get up early, we go outside, we hike, we carry binoculars, we buy duck stamps and a few of us (not me!) even wear camo clothing. I’ve often thought that birders and fishermen share a few tendencies as well.

Not that it really matters, but maybe, just maybe, the hobby we love is also a sport.

Sports Illustrated once featured birdwatching on its cover. May 16, 1955. The magazine also published cover stories that year about archery, skin diving and hot-air ballooning. Dogs made the cover three times, as did the Princeton University marching band.

Earlier, in 1934, the great Roger Tory Peterson referred to “the sport of birding” in his groundbreaking Field Guide to the Birds. He added: “Field birding as most of us engage in it is a game—a most absorbing game.”

Roger that, RTP! He was talking about listing fever, of course, and the desire many of us have to see as many bird species as possible. It’s a side of birding that truly does approach the realm of sport. Annual tournaments like the World Series of Birding in New Jersey and the Great Texas Birding Classic crown teams that see or hear the most birds in 24 hours. (Such events are not just for fun; they are important fundraisers for bird conservation.)

Examples of the birding “game” needn’t be so extreme. The game, if you prefer, might be as simple as watching bird feeders from your kitchen table, keeping track of what stops by. Or maybe it’s “competing” against an existing list. I record what we see on the monthly bird walks at Cantigny Park and like to compare our results with those from the same month, one year earlier. It provides a benchmark and heightens my awareness of the seasonality of local bird populations.

So, game, sport or hobby? Call it what you wish—birding is a bit of all three. I happen to favor “hobby” because it seems broader and more inclusive. Would this column fit better in the Sports section than in Neighbor? Not in my opinion.

Birding is many things to many people, and that’s a big part of its appeal. It’s a backyard activity for some and a worldwide pursuit for others. It’s personal and social, sedentary and active, indoors and outdoors, casual and highly organized. You can be a competitive lister, a passive lister or choose to keep no lists at all. Whatever you want from birding, it’s out there.

Well, there is one thing missing. Some day I’d like to step on that treadmill and see a birdwatching show on ESPN. I’d even give up SportsCenter for that.

Copyright 2011 by Jeff Reiter. All rights reserved.

Winter dance
(published 1-6-11)

It wasn’t a Christmas Count bird—a few days late for that. It wasn’t a “lifer” either. But it was a bird I’d been waiting to see for a long time. Almost 11 years, in fact.

My last column, you might recall, featured a fine photo of a Northern shrike. I included it on a short list of birds that I’d only observed once and longed to see again. Turns out my wish came true a lot sooner than expected.

Just before Christmas I received a tip from a friend who’d been walking at McDowell Grove Forest Preserve in Naperville. He didn’t see a shrike but he told me about a birder he met on the trail that had just seen two. They were spotted in the open area on the east side of the 515-acre preserve.

Two days later I went to check it out. My hopes were high but tempered by the reality that Northern shrikes can be elusive. The species visits here only in winter and most birders go out of their way for a chance to see one. Those who succeed sometimes perform silly dances to celebrate their luck. It’s that kind of bird.

I wore my dancing shoes just in case. From the McDowell Grove parking lot I walked east to the “prairie”—perfect shrike habitat. A scan of the terrain paid off immediately. In the distance, on top of a tall bare tree, was a bird with a longish tail. Shrikes prefer high, open perches, so my heart beat a little faster. I moved in to get a better view. The bird stayed put just long enough to confirm the ID—my first Northern shrike since January 2000, when I glimpsed one for about 15 seconds at Crabtree Nature Center in Barrington.

I didn’t actually do a jig. A little fist pump maybe. Then I marched on, hoping to see the shrike again. About a half hour later it reappeared, this time on the peak of a small bur oak in the middle of the prairie. This was my best look yet of the black-masked bandit that preys upon small birds and rodents. At that moment I’m certain that Northern shrike was my new favorite bird.

A bit later I savored my good fortune over a bracing cup of joe at McDonald’s. Maybe there was something in my coffee but I found myself getting sentimental about winter birding. I thought about how some of my best memories from this hobby were born on cold mornings and afternoons when a birder’s only reasonable expectation would be a few cardinals, chickadees and juncos. I recalled the snowy owls on the Chicago lakefront, the Lapland longspurs in Kane County, and once, just once, the common redpolls that visited my backyard thistle feeder.

And then there’s Morton Arboretum, the best winter gift giver of all. I owe the Arb for my first ever saw-whet owl, Townsend’s solitaire and white-winged crossbill. And I owe my fellow birders who guided me to those birds.

Winter is indeed full of surprising avian gifts. Just a few days before my shrike hike I dropped hand warmers into my gloves and joined the Fermilab Christmas Bird Count (CBC) team covering Cantigny in Wheaton. Despite bitter conditions we found two red-headed woodpeckers—a species we never expected on December 18. Only three were seen that day in the designated 15-mile diameter count circle centered at Fermilab in Batavia.

Our Cantigny search of the park and golf course yielded 27 species. Included were eight Eastern bluebirds, five yellow-rumped warblers and one purple finch. (No partridge in a pear tree but we did tack on two wild turkeys.)

Nearly 100 other Christmas Counters were out working the trails and they too had some good stories for the evening buffet. Would you believe 20 bald eagles? Four sapsuckers? Two hooded mergansers? Three Carolina wrens? Oh, and five chipping sparrows—the first “chippies” for the Fermilab CBC since 1977!

I was surprised as well by the 33 red-winged blackbirds that were counted. Who knew they were even here in the winter? Not me.

When reviewing CBC data—all of which are turned over to the National Audubon Society—I always look for species with a “1” next to their names. These tend to be premium, hard-to-find birds. The Fermilab CBC featured seven one-timers: tufted titmouse, Eastern meadowlark, rusty blackbird, red crossbill, black-crowned night heron, sharp-shinned hawk and, yes, one Northern shrike.

Such exciting discoveries keep the thrill factor high in winter birding. Staying warm can be a challenge, and finding uncommon or rare birds is seldom easy, but the potential rewards are great. The first step is getting out there.

I posted my McDowell Grove shrike sighting on IBET, the region’s birding list-serve, which in turn motivated at least three other birders to conduct their own searches at McDowell. All three succeeded on their first try, which happened to be Christmas Eve morning. I suspect they were dancing like elves.

Copyright 2011 by Jeff Reiter. All rights reserved.
Yellow-rumped warbler photo by Greg Hull

Notes from another interesting year of birds and birding
(published 12-7-10)

As I like to say every December, it was a good year to be a birder! Allow me to reflect a little bit on 2010 and share a few random thoughts and observations.

It seemed like a banner year for blue jays and cedar waxwings—two of the best-dressed birds in the neighborhood . . .

My favorite backyard regular, the red-breasted nuthatch, is at the bottom of the pecking order. When one is on the peanut feeder, and a red-bellied woodpecker swoops in, it’s like a Matchbox giving way to a Tonka. But the little guy always comes back . . .

Chickadees are always checking out my hummingbird feeder. Are they too attracted to the color red? I think they are just curious . . .

My all-time yard list grew by three this year: red-headed woodpecker, blue-winged warbler and golden-winged warbler. Yes, the birding gods were properly thanked . . .

While I’m skirting the “anything is possible” category, did you hear about the American anhinga that was sighted over DuPage County on November 18? Or what about that summer tanager that showed up in Gurnee on Veterans Day? Reports like these always make my day . . .

I’ve heard great-horned owls hooting in my neighborhood 11 times so far in 2010. I’m a birder. I take notes. I keep lists . . .

Twitter. It sounds so birdy and yet I just can’t make myself use it . . .

My favorite field trip in 2010 was to Horicon Marsh in Wisconsin. It’s our closest National Wildlife Refuge and the birding is superb. Be sure to take the pontoon boat tour . . .

Dang, I totally missed International Vulture Awareness Day on September 4th . . .

The Illinois Young Birders Club was founded in March. What a great idea and kudos to the Illinois Ornithological Society for getting it off the ground . . .

Five Christmas gift ideas: peanut feeder, heated bird bath, better binoculars, 365 Birds calendar and a copy of the awesome new Stokes field guide—the one with the painted bunting on the cover . . .

Speaking of Don and Lillian Stokes, mark your calendar: The DuPage Birding Club is bringing them here to speak and sign books on May 12. Watch the club’s website for time and location. Non-members are welcome . . .

Something I learned: Bald eagles and golden eagles are not closely related. Picked that up in an article by Kenn Kaufman . . .

The sandwich tern that visited the Chicago lakeshore in September was only the second one ever recorded in Illinois. It even made the news on WBBM Radio 780. Love it when birding gets a little mainstream attention like that . . .

Best license plate I saw in 2010: “Screech.” Below it, a bumper sticker: “So Many Species, So Little Time.” The driver, from Michigan, was a member of the Washtenaw Wingnuts. That’s either a birding club or a minor league baseball team . . .

I feel bad for Hedwig . . .

Sorry, but you need to adjust your Life List: the whip-poor-will is now officially the eastern whip-poor-will. The American Ornithological Union says so . . .

When did you see your first junco this fall? For me it was October 7 . . .

Amazing bargain sighting: 50 pounds of black-oil sunflower seed for $11.98, at Menards. Not an everyday price, but still . . .

Favorite headline in 2010, from Bird Watcher’s Digest: “In Praise of Sewage Lagoons: Smelly but Birdy!” . . .

I also enjoyed this line, from an online posting by the Evanston North Shore Bird Club: “Our leaders have found some great manure piles, so get ready to tour fields and dairy farms for horned larks, Lapland longspurs, snow buntings, and maybe even a rough-legged hawk!” . . .

This might be a good winter for the winter finches like pine siskins and common redpolls. Keep a close eye on your thistle feeder . . .

Place your bids for an original copy of John James Audubon’s “Birds of America.” The book will be auctioned this month by Sotheby’s and is expected to bring at least $6 million. Check your attic, too . . .

Three birds I’ve only seen once and can’t wait to see again: least bittern, cerulean warbler and northern shrike . . .

Pack the car: Eagle Watch Weekend at Starved Rock State Park is January 22-23 . . .

Julie Zickefoose simply has a great blog. I’m addicted. Give her a Google . . .

If I see only one movie in 2011, it will be “The Big Year,” with Steve Martin, Owen Wilson and Jack Black . . .

And if I read only one book, “The Biggest Twitch: Around the World in 4,000 Birds” . . .

“Bird Feathers,” another new book, is on my want-list too. It’s an ID guide . . .

My New Year’s resolutions: 1) become a regular eBird user 2) join American Bird Conservancy and 3) see a Kentucky warbler . . .

I want that Kentucky so bad that I’m offering a bounty. Show me the bird and I’ll write a $25 check to the nature charity of your choice . . .

Oh, and I never did see that black-throated gray warbler at Elsen’s Hill in West Chicago. Sort of pathetic considering it stayed for well over a month and I work only two miles away . . .

Come to think of it, I didn’t get a single “lifer” in 2010. Guess I need to get out more. Let’s all make that a goal for 2011, shall we? Best wishes for a happy new year of birding.

Copyright 2010 by Jeff Reiter. All rights reserved.
Northern shrike photo by Mike Daley

Watch for migrating sandhill cranes this month
(published 11-15-10)

The first sandhill crane I ever saw was through a rental car window just outside of Grand Island, Neb. The huge bird was flying low, silhouetted in a soft evening sky. It was one of those “wow” moments in birding that you never forget.

I was in central Nebraska to witness one of the birding world’s great spectacles—the annual gathering of up to 500,000 sandhill cranes along the Platte River, the key stopover along their northerly spring migration. “Sandies” were everywhere, roosting on the Platte’s sandbars at dusk and foraging in surrounding corn fields by day. There was even a rare whooping crane mixed in among them, an exciting bonus for the hundreds of visiting birders like me.

That was 1998, when I barely knew a kinglet from a kingfisher. Only later did I realize that going to Nebraska in March to see my first sandhill crane was like somebody going to the Super Bowl to see his first football game. And frankly, I had no idea back then how easy it is to see sandhill cranes right here at home. November, in particular, offers prime viewing opportunities as the birds migrate south. You may not see a crane on the ground, but with a little patience you’re almost certain to see one of their noisy flocks passing over—maybe from your own backyard.

Cranes are indeed conspicuous in the late autumn sky. Extra-long windpipes serve to amplify their distinctive bugle call, so even high-flying flocks are easily heard.

One of my favorite nature writers, Scott Weidensaul, described the sandhill crane’s call as “pure magic, guaranteed to raise gooseflesh on someone hearing it for the first time.” Such reverent words are commonly associated with cranes, which are among the world’s oldest living bird species. They have an almost mythical quality about them.

I learned a few things about cranes in October when Joan Garland from the International Crane Foundation (Baraboo, Wis.) spoke at a DuPage Birding Club meeting. There are 15 species of cranes in the world, and only two occur in the United States: the whooping crane and the sandhill. Of the 15 species, 11 are endangered, the whooping crane being the most endangered of all. The sandhill is the most abundant crane and is not endangered. In fact, the species is legally hunted in the Central U.S. states. I still find that hard to believe.

With seven-foot wingspans, sandies are slightly larger than great blue herons. Unlike herons, however, cranes fly with their long necks stretched straight out. They usually travel in loose V formations, like geese, but on Indian summer days you may see them soaring in a spiral pattern. In those cases they’re riding updrafts of warm air, called thermals, just like hawks and turkey vultures do.

The sandhill cranes passing over DuPage and Kane counties this fall likely spent their summers on breeding grounds in Minnesota, Wisconsin or southern Canada. Most of them will now assemble at Jasper-Pulaski Fish and Wildlife Area in northwest Indiana before journeying on to Florida and southern Georgia for the winter.

To see cranes in great numbers, Jasper-Pulaski is the place to be from mid-October through early December. It’s the Midwest version of the Platte River spectacle, and it’s a whole lot closer than Nebraska—about 110 miles from DuPage.

I’ve only been to Jasper-Pulaski once, and it wasn’t just to watch sandhill cranes. A common crane, a Eurasian species that’s anything but common here, visited the preserve in 1999. Like a few hundred other obsessed birders, some of them self-described “craniacs,” I had to go see. Upon arrival, I’d never seen so many spotting scopes in one place. Some of the people peering through them had traveled great distances. I remember talking to a guy who had just flown in from Baltimore. Yup, just for a bird.

Whooping cranes sometimes stop at Jasper-Pulaski, too. They are all white and taller than sandhills so they really stand out. But the mass gathering of sandhill cranes (up to 10,000 birds) is reason enough to make the trip to J-P. You’ll want to be there about an hour before sunset, on the observation tower, to watch the cranes coming in to roost. Enjoy the show!

Copyright 2010 by Jeff Reiter. All rights reserved.
Sandhill crane photo by Jim Frazier

Night of the black-throated warblers
(published 10-26-10)

On weekdays I’m usually anxious to get out the door and off to work. But sometimes a “good bird” gets in the way. This occurs most often during the spring and fall migration seasons, and it happened most recently on a Monday in September.

It was a backyard brown thrasher that first caught my eye, surely the same one that was hanging around the day before. It was nice to have another look.

Of course, my distraction didn’t end with the thrasher. Sorry boss, I’m gonna be a little late. Over there was a ruby-crowned kinglet, in the same tree as a magnolia warbler. And look, a female rose-breasted grosbeak on the feeder! Don’t see that every day. The male was up in a neighbor’s tree, sounding his trademark metallic call note. Chink!

A young ruby-throated hummingbird stopped by the nectar feeder. I watched and wondered if this was the last hummer I’d see in 2010. It was September 20, after all. Drink up little fella, you have a long journey ahead.

After a half-hour I pulled myself away and left for work. But four hours later my mind was back on birds. I just had to take a little lunchtime walk. Even at noon there might be some birds around.

I’m fortunate to work in a park environment, where at certain times of the year there is very good birding less than 100 yards from my office. I’d seen not one but two golden-winged warblers during a noon walk the week before. But on this day all was quiet. Too warm, I guess. It felt like July.

The next temptation occurred around 5:20. I was about to shut down my computer and go home but decided to first check the local online birding network. There on the screen was a fresh posting about a black-throated gray warbler, a rare visitor from the western United States. The bird was discovered a few days earlier at the Elsen’s Hill unit of the West DuPage Woods Forest Preserve in West Chicago. Now it had been found again, in the same place, less than two hours ago.

So, for the third time on a Monday, I went birding.

I’d seen a black-throated gray warbler twice before, each time in Arizona. To see one here would be pretty special. A species that few people will ever see in Illinois was less than two miles from my office!

Pulling into the lot off of Gary’s Mill Drive, I was surprised to see only two cars. I parked and set off down the trail, looking for people. I needed an update on the bird and some advice on where to look. Ideally, I would find somebody watching the bird. Darkness was just over an hour away.

Up ahead I saw Marilyn and Pete. This was lucky. Both are skilled birders who really know their way around Elsen’s Hill. Pete practically lives there.

Elsen’s is not a huge preserve but it might as well be Yellowstone if you’re looking for a tiny gray and white bird. Then again, we had Pete. He’d seen the bird at 4:00 pm and several times in previous days. His knack for finding it was uncanny.

Marilyn, like me, had just arrived. Both of us were hopeful but calm. Seeing the bird would be great but just participating in the search was fun, too.

We split up temporarily to cover more ground. I stayed with Pete, and within moments we were watching a male black-throated blue warbler. If I saw nothing else this evening it was already worth the trip. The “BTBW” is an uncommon beauty.

Marilyn rejoined us about 10 minutes later and just in time to hear a singing gray-cheeked thrush, identified by Pete. It was an unusual song that I’d never heard before.

Pete’s “birding by ear” skills are incredible and they greatly aided our search efforts. He knew the chip note of the black-throated gray warbler, and he knew that it sounded just like that of the black-throated green warbler, a common species.

Indeed, there were now three kinds of “black-throated” warblers in play on this night at Elsen’s HIll. Blue, green and gray.

We heard and observed several black-throated greens. But the featured bird was eluding us. Pete was trying hard—way too hard for an unpaid guide. He really wanted Marilyn and me to see the black-throated gray.

Granted, I had no right to expect success in less than 90 minutes of searching. Bird chases like this require patience and often more than one site visit. Besides, Elsen’s Hill owed me nothing. A few Aprils ago it produced my second-ever Connecticut warbler and an olive-sided flycatcher—a very good day.

The magic of Elsen’s Hill is well documented. It’s a well-known hotspot for migrating warblers in the spring. I asked Pete and Marilyn about birds that they or others have seen at Elsen’s and the list is astounding. Northern goshawk, Kirtland’s warbler, pileated woodpecker, blue grosbeak, varied thrush, Mississippi kite… Each of these sightings caused a stir among local birders.

Now the black-throated gray warbler has joined this elite list of Elsen’s Hill rarities. An estimated 100 birders from all over the region came looking for the bird, and many found it thanks to Pete. Day after day he found a needle in a haystack. The warbler was still being seen the first weekend in October.

We didn’t find the bird on that balmy Monday evening. Marilyn would have a nice look at it nine days later after 13 hours of cumulative searching. I made several more short visits to Elsen’s without luck. Pete felt worse about this than me, I’m sure of it.

Sometimes you get the bird and sometimes you don’t. But the searching is always fun, and the consolation prizes along the way are pretty good, too.

Copyright 2010 by Jeff Reiter. All rights reserved.
Black-throated blue warbler photo by Mike Daley

Remembering Martha and her kin
(published 9-28-10)

Advice to highly endangered bird species: Stay clear of Cincinnati. Fly around it. Don’t land. In particular, avoid the Cincinnati Zoo, my choice for the saddest place in our country’s ornithological history.

Two very special birds died at the zoo almost 100 years ago, and each had names. “Martha” was the world’s last known passenger pigeon; “Incas” was the last Carolina parakeet.

The birds were quite famous in their day, especially Martha. There was no doubt she was the last of her kind; all the wild pigeons had disappeared. So extinction was inevitable, and Martha’s final years were a death watch. When she passed in 1914, it was the end of what had been the most abundant bird species on Earth.

It was a beautiful species too, not to be confused with the urban rock pigeons we all know or the “carrier pigeons” once used to deliver messages.

Passenger pigeons resembled mourning doves only larger and more colorful. Their breast was muted orange, the head and back feathers bluish. They lived in deciduous forests throughout eastern North America.

Journals from pre-colonial times through the mid-1800s mention flocks of migrating pigeons that “blackened the skies” for hours on end. Aerial streams of more than a million birds were common. Witnesses, including John James Audubon, surely never imagined that the species would soon be just a memory.

Habitat destruction, disturbance of nesting colonies and excessive hunting and trapping are the common explanations for the passenger pigeon’s demise. There was demand for the meat, and the birds were an easy mark.

Barrels of salted pigeons were loaded onto railroad cars and shipped to market. People also killed them for sport, leaving the carcasses on the ground. The supply of pigeons seemed infinite.

But by the 1890s, the skies had emptied.

Benjamin Gault, for whom a bird sanctuary on N. Main St. in Glen Ellyn is named, wrote: “During the late years, the Passenger Pigeon has become extremely rare in Northeastern Illinois, at least as far as the neighborhood of Chicago is concerned. My latest record was made at Glen Ellyn on Sunday, September 4, 1892. It was a young of the year, very tame, and unsuspicious. It was discovered in the company of some jays and feeding about the piles of dirt recently made in excavating for the foundation of a house, well within the limits of the town, and was also observed picking the grain from some fresh horsedroppings, in which occupation it was harassed somewhat by the jays.”

Ever the collector, Gault thought about making the bird his own.

“But the day, location and circumstances under which my observation was made precluded the possibility of the capture of the specimen,” he wrote.

Eight years later, a bird in Pike County, Ohio, wasn’t so lucky. A young boy shot it, ending the life of the last wild passenger pigeon ever recorded.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that bird, about Martha and about passenger pigeons in general ever since June. During a Midwestern “baseball road trip” with my son, I crossed paths with a historic marker and later a full-scale monument, each dedicated to the passenger pigeon. It was pleasing to see the pigeon’s story remembered.

We found the marker at a rest area near Tomah, Wis. I’d been wondering how the species got its name and the tablet answered my question: it derives from an Indian word meaning “wanderer.” Passenger pigeons apparently traveled up to 100 miles a day during nesting season searching for food. Acorns and chestnuts were preferred.

There is a good reason for the sign’s location. The largest nesting colony of passenger pigeons ever recorded occurred in the area, in 1871—an estimated 136 million pigeons covering 850 square miles!

A few days later I was birding at Wyalusing State Park, a beautiful spot along the Mississippi River in the dairy state’s southwest corner. My search for a Kentucky warbler failed, but I felt richly compensated by a visit to the passenger pigeon monument on Sentinel Ridge. It recalls the last known pigeon ever shot in Wisconsin, in Babcock, in September 1899.

Conservationist Aldo Leopold, who attended the dedication in 1947, said: “The monument, perched like a duckhawk on this cliff, will scan the wide valley, watching through the days and years. But no pigeons will pass, because there are no pigeons, save only this flightless one, grave in bronze on this rock.”

There are other flightless ones, of course, of the stuffed variety. You can see passenger pigeons on display at the Field Museum in Chicago and also the Jurica-Suchy Nature Museum at Benedictine University in Lisle.

You can even visit Martha. She’s mounted in a glass case at the Smithsonian in Washington.

At least there is an upside to all of this. Martha’s death brought national attention to the tragic story of her species. In turn, early bird conservation efforts in America received a jump start, leading to the landmark Migratory Bird Treaty, enacted in 1918.

The law was too late to save the passenger pigeon, but it delivered vital protection for other persecuted species.

Copyright 2010 by Jeff Reiter. All rights reserved.

Purple martins thrive thanks to the human touch
(published 8-29-10)

I’m pretty sure that a purple martin could poop on Ray Feld’s head and he’d just smile. Then he’d calmly wipe off his silvery scalp. That’s how much he loves these birds.

Feld, as a hobby that he admits borders on obsession, watches over three thriving purple martin colonies. The largest and oldest is at Armstrong Park in Carol Stream. The second is at the BP Naperville Complex, where Feld is employed. The third, and the one I know best, is located at Cantigny Golf off Mack Road in Wheaton.

Saying Feld watches over the birds is a big understatement. Caring for a martin colony is a lot of work. I know this better than ever having attended a presentation Feld gave at the Cantigny site in July. About 40 other birders and I listened and learned about these fascinating birds, and what it takes to maintain and grow a colony.

Purple martins are the largest swallow species in North America. The adult males are dark and glossy with a purple sheen. Young birds and females are brownish with light-colored bellies.

What really sets martins apart is their preference for man-made housing and for being around people. In a sense they are like wild pets, highly dependent on humans for their existence and preservation. To thrive, purple martins actually need “martineers” like Ray Feld.

Like bluebirds, they need specific habitat, too. Martins feed exclusively on flying insects, so nesting sites must offer plenty of open space. All the better if a pond or lake is nearby.

Still, even with the right habitat, attracting martins can take a lot of patience. This year, after 23 years of waiting, purple martins finally took up residence on Feld’s own property in Winfield. He’s still gushing about it, and rightly so.

Three years ago Feld erected a martin house at the Morton Arboretum in Lisle. Despite excellent conditions at the site, martins have yet to move in.

Success, however, was relatively instant at Cantigny Golf, a habitat Feld calls “just about perfect.” Working with golf course superintendent Scott Witte, Feld installed a martin “castle” in fall 2004. A pair of martins moved in the very next spring. “That’s almost unheard of,” Feld says.

Cantigny was thrilled too, since hosting a purple martin colony further supports the golf course’s status as a Certified Audubon Cooperative Sanctuary, a designation held since 1993. Some 55 bluebird nesting boxes are also on the Cantigny estate, monitored by Feld, his wife Cecilia, and Mike Nizetic, another Cantigny volunteer.

The martins alone require many hours of Feld’s attention from April through July. He’s one of Cantigny’s most devoted volunteers, and knows that keeping the birds healthy and safe is essential to growing the colony. That’s good for Cantigny and good for the species in general, throughout the region.

Martins are site loyal, traveling from their wintering grounds in South America to the same nesting location every spring—sometimes to the very same house compartment they used the previous year.

When the birds reappear in early April, Feld has everything ready. He’s the ideal landlord. Nest compartments are lined with pine needles to protect the birds in case of extreme cold. Baffles are mounted to the poles to guard against raccoons. Wire perch towers are positioned near the houses. And very importantly, unwanted non-native birds like house sparrows and starlings are quickly evicted.

Martins raise one brood per season, with three to seven eggs per clutch. Soon after the eggs hatch, Feld replaces the original nest with a Styrofoam insert. This reduces nestling mortality by protecting the young birds from blood-sucking parasites. The adult martins are not bothered by the nest swap or by Feld handling their babies.

Clearly Feld’s efforts are paying off. Fifteen pairs of purple martins are living at Cantigny this summer, up from 11 in 2009 and 8 in 2008. Feld keeps careful records of nesting success, too. This year, 80 eggs were laid, 59 hatched and 55 of the babies fledged. This is nearly double the number of fledglings in 2009.

A second housing unit was installed at Cantigny in 2008 to accommodate the baby boom. Feld says he may hang a cluster of hollowed gourds to provide even more nesting space for the 2011 season.

Martins begin their long southern migration this month. A few birds may hang around DuPage until late August, but your best chance to observe them is next spring. Birders are welcome to visit the Cantigny Golf colony, located across from the main parking lot. Look for the green street sign that says Purple Martin Place.

Copyright 2010 by Jeff Reiter. All rights reserved.
Purple martin photo by Jack Bannister

Marsh Magic at Wisconsin’s Horicon
(published 7-25-10)

In a recent column I suggested a trip to the Horicon Marsh Birding Festival in Wisconsin. I didn’t make it to that May event, but I did visit the marsh a few weeks later, on an overnight field trip with Kane County Audubon. It was a 24-hour birdathon that I won’t soon forget.

Horicon is in farm country, about an hour northwest of Milwaukee. I’d been there just once before, by myself in 2002. This time I’d see more of the 32,000-acre marsh, and experience a bit of the small-town life that surrounds it.

It was nice to be with like-minded souls. Our group was small, just seven birders, but we had large ambitions. How many species could we find? What rarities might we see? The possibilities were exciting. And of course we looked forward to resident Horicon specialties like black tern, Forster’s tern, yellow-headed blackbird, sandhill crane, bald eagle and American white pelican.

Our party set off from Elgin, early on a Saturday morning. We reassembled about three hours later in downtown Horicon, a city of 4,000. After much-needed coffee and a late breakfast at Mother’s Day Restaurant, we headed to an observation deck and trailhead just outside of town. This spot (go north on Palmatory Street from Route 33) is a great place to start. The panoramic view from the deck introduces the massive scale of this designated “wetland of international importance.” Horicon is the largest freshwater cattail marsh in the United States.

An active purple martin colony is adjacent to the deck and parking lot, and from here we began a long, slow hike through a mix of habitats. Horicon supports far more than ducks, geese and marsh birds. It’s a haven for grassland and woodland species, too. Birds we’d see or hear included black-billed cuckoo, red-headed woodpecker, wood thrush, great-crested flycatcher and six out of six possible swallow species.

Horicon can also be a fabulous place for warbler watching in May, but we were about a week too late to catch the wave. The only warbler species we observed were the local nesters—American redstart, common yellowthroat and yellow warbler. The latter two are marsh-loving birds and proved to be constant companions throughout the weekend. Yellow warblers were positively abundant.

The same goes for marsh wrens. Their bubbly chatter was the background music for our visit, punctuated every so often by the unmistakable whinny of a calling sora. These are the sounds of a thriving wetland, and the better ears among us were able to identify another Horicon denizen, the Virginia rail. We only made eye contact with two rails all weekend, one sora and one Virginia, a testament to their stealthy lifestyles.

Eventually our post-breakfast hike led us to the new Horicon Marsh International Education Center, another good spot to enjoy an elevated view of the landscape. Completed in 2009, the center (horiconmarsh.org) offers exhibits and free maps, bird checklists and other Horicon literature. A short film in the theater gives an overview about the marsh, which has a fascinating history involving man vs. nature.

In general, nature has been winning since the late 1920s, when efforts to drain the marsh and convert it to farmland were finally abandoned. In 1927, Wisconsin established the Horicon Marsh State Wildlife Area. This occupies the southern third of the marsh and is managed by the state’s Department of Natural Resources.

In 1941, the federal government purchased the rest of the marsh, creating Horicon National Wildlife Refuge. This was our group’s next destination as we headed for the marsh’s northern boundary along Highway 49, just east of Waupun. Passing traffic aside, the roadside birding here is terrific; pullover space is more than adequate. Redhead ducks, ruddy ducks and black terns were plentiful on the north side of the road, with a few yellow-headed blackbirds in the cattails beyond the open water.

More treasures awaited on the south side on some exposed mudflats. A male ruddy turnstone in full breeding plumage was a nice discovery, and this is where we enjoyed a glimpse of that Virginia rail. We also found a black-crowned night heron and common moorhen. Here and everywhere during our visit, herons, egrets and white pelicans were never out of view.

At 6 p.m. we reported back to the village of Horicon to board a pontoon boat at Blue Heron Landing. The two-hour “birding adventure” at sunset would be a highlight of the trip, thanks in large part to professional guide Marc Zuelsdorf. Marc’s been running the tours for many years but brings a fresh enthusiasm to his work. He clearly loves Horicon Marsh and enjoys showing off its birds.

And there is always something interesting to share. Marc noted that 301 species have been documented at Horicon, and his personal Horicon life list stands at 240-plus.
Perhaps the most conspicuous Horicon resident and a favorite of many birders is the American white pelican. Marc said the first pelicans arrived at Horicon just 13 years ago, a day he recalls as if it were yesterday. Now, with up to 700 nesting pairs, this is Wisconsin’s largest nesting colony.

The return of bald eagles to Horicon is another great story. Two pairs are now nesting on the refuge. Ospreys are present, too—a nesting platform was installed just this year and is already in use.

We saw lots of birds and a dazzling sunset as Marc guided us through a main channel that’s part of the Rock River system. Everyone in our group felt the $18 ticket was a bargain. Canoe and kayak rentals are available at Blue Heron Landing as well.

A late dinner at the Rock River Tap in downtown Horicon proved that bikers and birders can easily share the same space. The service was slow, the food was just fair and the beer was cold. In other words, we were delighted. We left the joint satisfied and ready for a good night’s sleep at the Mayville Inn up the road.

Our Sunday morning birding was more targeted. We’d heard that a white-faced ibis, a western species rarely seen at Horicon, was present near Main Dike Road in the marsh’s interior. This would be a great find. The only white-faced ibis I’d ever seen was in Henderson, Nevada, at a sewage treatment plant. (Yes, we birders visit all the best places.)

Other cars on the dusty Dike Road signaled that we were not the only birders on a mission. A driver heading east as we headed west told us the ibis was up ahead and not far from the road. So too were a pair of black-necked stilts, another uncommon species.

Within minutes we were “on” the ibis, enjoying excellent close-range views as the bird foraged in some old cattail stalks. This was too easy! The stilts were in the same general area, also feeding close to the road.

With the temperature approaching 90 and no shade in sight, we decided to head back to the north end of the marsh and try the floating boardwalk trail. Parts of it pass through a woodland and it felt good to be out of the hot sun. We found a rose-breasted grosbeak and some bobolinks in a neighboring field, but our best sighting was a yellow-throated vireo at its nest.

Driving back to Glen Ellyn that afternoon, I had plenty of time to think about all the birds we saw (and a few we didn’t see) at Horicon Marsh and surrounding Dodge County. Our weekend tally was 92 species—a good outcome considering the scarcity of warbler and sparrow species. We’d have liked to see a few more rarities given that sightings of glossy ibis, American avocet and a lone whooping crane had been reported in recent days.

Horicon seems to be a magnet for special birds, like the white-faced ibis we encountered. My favorite sighting, however, was a close-range view of a male northern harrier, hunting low over a grassy field. Known to birders as the “gray ghost,” this raptor can leave a big impression on those lucky enough to see it.

Horicon itself has that effect. Go explore it for yourself, and spend a whole weekend there if you can. This is one of the Midwest’s top birding destinations, and we’re fortunate to live less than 175 miles from its boundaries.

Copyright 2010 by Jeff Reiter. All rights reserved.
White-faced Ibis photo by Norm Kopp

Does it count? Sometimes it’s a tough call
(published 6-7-10)

If you’ve read this column before, you know about my precious yard list. Next to my life list, it’s my favorite diary. In early May, however, it became a little less pure. Or maybe not. I’m still pondering what happened.

First, a little background. Many yard list species have never physically entered my space. That’s not a problem. Most people count birds they can see from their yard, so a bird perched in a tree two houses away “counts,” as does a bird flying over. The rule of thumb is that the observer must be stationed on his or her property when the sighting occurs.

Usually that is the case, such as on May 3 when, from my back patio, I spotted a red-headed woodpecker high in a neighbor’s tree. This was an exciting find—one of my favorite birds, and No. 109 on a yard list that began the day we moved to Glen Ellyn in 1997.

These days, growing the list is a big challenge. It takes a lot of watching and luck to add one or two new species per year. So there I was, not expecting much, the day after the red-headed woodpecker sighting.

It started with a buzzy sound from the yard next door. I knew it was a bird but that’s all. My view was blocked by a hedge, and this bird seemed to be low and staying put. The unusual song kept repeating, so after a couple of minutes that seemed like 10 I decided to go around the hedge and try for a visual. This worked out well, because in a moment I was eye-to-eye with a blue-winged warbler! Another new species for the yard list!

Wait a minute boy, not so fast.

It was a blue-winged warbler all right, no doubt about that. I’ve seen a few of them before. But when I spotted this one I was standing on my neighbor’s property, six feet south of my own. After making the ID I scurried back into my own yard, hoping to see or hear the bird. Nothing. The bird was gone.

So, does it count? Or put another way, do I deny myself yard bird No. 110 due to a technicality? Am I nuts to even be worrying about this? Absolutely!

The bottom line is that I counted the bird: blue-winged warbler, No. 110. I did hear and see the bird, after all, and this wasn’t just any bird. It was a premium, out-of-place migrating species that I’ll likely never see again outside my back door. It deserved to be documented.

So you see, I did this for the bird.

In the end, those of us who keep lists make our own rules. It’s a highly personal matter. A few birders, very few, will add a bird to their life list if they just see it fly, relying on the field trip leader for the identification. Most are lot more scrupulous, applying a code of honor that ensures the highest level of list integrity. It helps us sleep at night.

It also keeps the birding police at bay. Nobody wants a visit from the Federal Bureau of Bird List Investigations. If the bureau comes to my place, I’ll calmly tell my story just like I’ve told it here. Then, if they insist, I will remove blue-winged warbler from my yard list. But as soon as their white van with black letters on the door is out of sight, I’ll put it back on. House rules!

Copyright 2010 by Jeff Reiter. All rights reserved.
Blue-winged Warbler photo by Jerry Goldner, profilesofnature.com