Listing Through Life

limnodromus (marsh runner) scolopaceus (snipe)

Friday, October 9, 1998 — 7:50 am

Du Page, County, Illinois — Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory

Finally.  I’m not sure why, but I’ve never paid much attention to this bird.  I was aware that it existed, but I never looked for it and never happened upon it.  Until last fall.  I spotted a large, long-billed shorebird on a mud flat in Baker’s Lake one day on lunch.  Back at work, I did some thinking and decided it was probably a dowitcher. That evening, I did some studying and discovered that Short-billed Dowitchers came through much earlier in the fall, making this bird likely a Long-billed.  I got up early the next morning and stopped before work, but the bird was gone.

This fall I was ready.  About two weeks ago, I found four dowitchers on a mud flat at Baker’s Lake again.  They were almost certainly Long-bills.  But they were just too far out for me to see whether the back and wing feathers had internal markings.  I went back four times, hoping for better lighting or a closer mud flat.  They were there every time.  My last trip was yesterday.  They were closer, and I thought they looked dark, but I couldn’t tell and I didn’t want to assume.

But by then I had a backup plan.  All week, the Fermilab internet site has been reporting them.  They were still there yesterday afternoon.  It was time.  I took the day off work.  I left home at 6:20 and got to Fermilab around 7:30.  I parked on the north end of Lake Law and walked the path around the lake to the mud flats at the south end.  Fog was thick over the water but burning off quickly.  At the south end of the lake, a mud flat of about three acres had been exposed.  Several channels of water split the flats into sections.  I set up my scope just inside the reed border on the edge of the mud.  I immediately saw three dowitchers about 40 yards away.  They were wading in two or three inches of water, probing the bottom with their long, long bills.  The feathers on their backs and wings had very thin rust edges and no internal markings.  They were Long-billed Dowitchers.  Their breasts were gray with just a hint of warm tones.  I briefly saw the tail of one of the birds.  The black and white lines were about equal in width.

After five minutes or so, they took off and joined four others that were wading in another channel about 70 yards away.  They walked around, probing in the mud and occasionally preening a little bit.  Three of them walked out of the water onto the mud for a minute or so.  One took off and flew west out of sight.  A few minutes later, the other six flew off low over the water and disappeared up the lake.  As they flew, they made a chattering call that is hard to describe.  It had a long “E” sound and I finally decided to describe it as “dweet.”

tryngites (from trynga, a sandpiper, and ites, like) subruficollis (from subrufus, somewhat reddish, and collum, neck)

Friday, August 21, 1998 — 4:00 pm

Oneida County, Wisconsin — Rainbow Flowage

I had been birding since early morning, first at Powell Marsh and then at Rainbow Flowage.  I had a fantastic day.  When I got home at 2:00 and told my wife about all I’d seen, she wanted to go back with me  So we went back to the flowage.  The water level was low and a huge mud flat was exposed along the open part of the lake.  The flat was covered with clouds of gnats and flocks of birds, including thousands of shorebirds. (See American Golden-Plover for details.)  A pair of Sandhill Cranes flew through the area from time to time, trumpeting loudly.  An Osprey dove unsuccessfully for a fish not far out in the lake.  We had a great view as it almost disappeared under the surface for a few seconds.  Loons were calling in the distance.  An adult Bald Eagle sat in a tree about 250 yards away.

I pointed out the various shorebirds to my wife, and she got looks through the scope.  The birds were more active than they had been earlier.  Individuals and flocks were flying back and forth, calling, landing, taking off again, often returning to the same area they had just left.

I saw one flock fly past between us and the open part of the lake.  It landed on the sand about ten feet from the water.  I looked through my binoculars and immediately knew I’d found something new.  I said, “Incredible.  I can’t believe it.  They’re Buff-breasted Sandpipers.”  I wasn’t very familiar with this bird.  I can’t remember ever studying it much, and I certainly wasn’t expecting to see it.  But I knew what it was immediately.

My wife was carrying my National Geographic guide, and I checked all the marks.  I saw every one. From throat to mid-belly, they were a rich buff color. From mid-belly to the tail, they were a paler buffy-white. Their backs were scaled- looking with dark brown feathers with buffy edges. The face was plain buff with a white eye ring around the large-looking dark eye. The cap was streaked in dotted-line black streaks. The body was plump, the rather long legs were greenish-yellow. The neck was long looking, probably because the head was small. They had a rather pigeon-like look. The bill was black and not long for a sandpiper.

They scattered on the sand, walking slowly and picking. I never saw one wade. From time to time, the flock took off and flew to another nearby area. In flight, I could easily see their unmarked backs and white underwings. At one point, two or three of them landed on a mud bar in the center of a puddle, not more than 15 yards from where we stood. I had a chance to study them closely and thought they were very pretty birds. They were still in the area when we had our fill of sun, sweat and birds and left.

pluvialis (pertaining to rain) dominicus (of Santo Domingo)

Friday, August 21, 1998 —12:20 pm

Oneida County, Wisconsin — Rainbow Flowage

I got up at 5:30 this morning and drove to Powell Marsh. I stayed there for two-and-a-half hours and saw several American Bitterns, two Merlins, and a bunch of other good birds.  I stopped at the used bookstore in Woodruff for a half hour or so, then went to Rainbow Flowage. It has been a very dry summer and the water level was down as far as I can ever remember seeing it.

I parked and walked to my favorite spot. The Ospreys were on their usual nest platform on the sandbar, but the sandbar wasn’t an island this year. I headed out over the weed-covered flats that are usually under water. As I crossed the sandbar and came out to the main part of the flowage, I saw a mud flat of at least 50 acres. There were puddles throughout the area, and a lot of birds. I counted 52 Great Blue Herons and didn’t even try to count the American Crows or Ring-billed Gulls. I started to walk out on the flats but soon began sinking in the mud. I set up my scope and saw a flock of sandpipers fly over the flats and land in a puddle way out near the lake. I knew it was the peak of migration for shorebirds, so I searched for a way to get closer. I noticed that the flats were different colors and soon learned to read them. The black areas were trouble. The gray areas had a dry crust but were muddy underneath. The brown areas were sandy mud. I’d sink some, but not too much. The green areas were safe. It was there that grass had begun to grow.  There wasn’t much grass, just enough scattered, short spikes to give it a greenish hue from a distance. I could see an extensive green bar that stretched well across the flats near the open water. The trick was to get to it. I had to walk around the flats and make several detours about mud and water-filled bays. I finally arrived after a walk of over a mile at a point about 200 yards from where I started.

As I approached, I started getting excited. I could see shorebirds all over the place. The first ones I identified were Lesser Yellowlegs. They were scattered all about, singly and in groups, wherever there was any water. The most common birds were Pectoral Sandpipers. Flocks of them would take off, fly around a few minutes and land, often in the same area they had just left. There were also Double-crested Cormorants, Sandhill Cranes, Bald Eagle, Killdeers, Semipalmated Plovers, Greater Yellowlegs, Least Sandpipers, Short-billed Dowitchers, Red-necked Phalarope, Ruddy Turnstone, and (later) Buff-breasted Sandpiper in the area.

Then I saw a lone plover. I knew by its size and un-Killdeer-like markings that it had to be a Black-bellied Plover or an American Golden-Plover. Since I hadn’t been expecting this bird, I checked my field guide for marks. I only had Peterson’s with me, and it doesn’t give a lot of details. My bird looked smaller than I remembered the Black-bellies I saw in Waukegan this spring, and the back feathers appeared to have warm tones. I walked slowly toward it, stopping every few yards and looking through my scope. The bird was on the mud, away from the water. (Later, I did occasionally see one along the edge of water, but never wading. Most frequently, they were in the green mud.) As I approached, it acted skittish, more nervous than the Yellowlegs and Pectorals that were nearby.

The plover was about the length of the Lesser Yellowlegs, but stockier in build. The body and bill shape were definitely plover-like. The back was speckled with black, white, and brown. Depending on the light, I could see a lot of brownish, or none. It had a definite white eyebrow that separated its face from its darker cap. The eyebrow stripe extended down its neck and onto the sides of its breast in an “S” but not as definite as the spring-plumage picture in the guide. It was obvious that the bird was an adult in mid-molt. The belly was a checkerboard of black and white splotches. I was pretty certain the bird was a Golden, but I wasn’t positive. The guide said the best marks could be seen in flight. The Black-bellied has a white rump, a light-colored tail and white wing patches. The Golden has the same dark speckled pattern from cap to tail with just indistinct patches on the wings. I had to flush the bird.

I walked closer. The plover ran away along the edge of a puddle with a Lesser Yellowlegs and a Pectoral Sandpiper. When I was still thirty yards away, one of the birds took off. I quick put down my scope and looked. It was the plover. It flew about thirty yards off to my right, landing closer to the open section of the lake. It glided to a landing headed directly away from me. I could clearly see that the rump and wings were unpatterned. I had my bird.

I stayed in the area for another 40 minutes or so, watching the plover and the other shorebirds. In places they were very thick and I soon found out why. In crossing to another area, I walked across some black mud. The surface of this was thick with gnats in a cloud about two inches above the ground. Mixed flocks of shorebirds were zipping past.  In one of these, I spotted three other American Golden-Plovers and again I could see the back. On one of these, the wing patches were more distinct and this got me worried again.

There were birds everywhere. I couldn’t even see to the other end of the flats, but there were shorebirds as far as I could see. I was hoping to find a Stilt Sandpiper, but I wasn’t disappointed that I didn’t. What I was seeing was good enough. There must have been 5,000 birds in the area. And they were providing me with excellent views. There was a thick flock across a lagoon. Most of the birds in this flock were Pectorals, but there were also several peeps (I only identified Least, but I think I might have seen some Semipalmated also), a smattering of Semipalmated Plovers, two Red-necked Phalaropes in winter plumage, and a lone Ruddy Turnstone. When I looked down, there was a Lesser Yellowlegs and a Least Sandpiper within five feet of where I was standing. Four Short-billed Dowitchers were not too much further away. A Greater Yellowlegs was standing on a log about 20 yards away.

I promised my wife that I would be back at the house by 2:00, so I had to leave. When I got home I said to her, “If you ever doubt that I love you, remember this day. I walked away from one of the most incredible birding experiences I’ve ever had.”  I told her what I’d seen and she almost immediately said she wanted to go see it.  I was shocked.  I told her I’d be happy to take her, but I had to warn her. It was very hot, very humid, no shade, and in the middle of a huge mudflat. She still wanted to go. Mom and Dad agreed to keep track of the girls and we took off. We got back to the Flowage around 3:30.

In the meantime, I had looked at the National Geographic guide and saw that the black on the belly of the American Golden-Plover extends all the way to the tail. On the Black-bellied Plover, the chest and front part of the belly is black, but the undertail coverts and back part of the belly is white. I hadn’t noticed this. Although my birds were in mid-molt, I figured I could tell.

We went back to the same spot. The birds were still there, although more scattered and more active. Individuals and flocks were flying back and forth all the time. I was able to show my wife everything I’d seen earlier and something new, a flock of 15 Buff-bellied Sandpipers, another lifer.

I found two plovers standing in black mud along a puddle about 100 yards in from the open part of the lake. One was dozing with its head tucked into its back feathers. The other was preening. Soon, they both began foraging, walking slowly along the edge, picking at the mud. On several occasions, they faced away from me and when they bent to pick I could clearly see their undertail area. The black and white splotches extended all the way to the tip. Confirmation. We stayed for most of an hour, walking around and watching the show.

bucephala islandica

Friday, February 20, 1998 — 9:50 am

Ozaukee County, Wisconsin — Virmond Park — Lake Michigan

The Wisconsin hotlines have been reporting this bird since last November. Indeed, a Barrow’s Goldeneye has been seen at this location just north of the Milwaukee County line each of the last three or four winters. On December 12 of last year, a couple friends and I drove up to look for it. We spent three hours in the morning scoping through the vast flocks of Common Goldeneyes, and another two hours after lunch without success. I figured I’d missed my chance. But the bird kept being reported, and I felt it was calling me.

One of my friends and I got to the park at 8:45 a.m. There’s not a whole lot to the place.  It consists of maybe 10 acres of field and a row of pine trees on top of a 300-foot (I’m guessing) clay bluff that drops into Lake Michigan. On both days, the water below the bluff was full of ducks. In December, they were largely Common Goldeneyes. Today, the most evident bird was the Greater Scaup. A huge raft of them was drifting north and south along the shore.On one occasion they were swimming in a large “V” that my friend said looked like the Star Trek logo. Soon after we arrived, the entire flock took off and turned in unison, giving us a fantastic aerial view of several hundred white wing bars that extended nearly to the tip of the wings. Common Goldeneyes were there too, but not nearly as many as we saw in December. That means that there were only 400 or so in view. And they were more spread out this time, not packed in rafts. We scanned from the bluff near the car, then walked south and scanned at that end of the park. In addition to the birds already mentioned, we saw a male Red-breasted Merganser, several Buffleheads, and a few Redheads. We then walked north to the other end of the park.

We had just arrived when I heard a flock of crows making a lot of racket. We walked away from the lake to the edge of a large field. The crows were gathered about the top of a large deciduous tree in the field. I stopped and looked and immediately saw a Great Horned Owl facing away from us. It was sitting exposed on a branch, with crows all around. It didn’t seem bothered by them at all, but it kept turning it’s head 180 degrees and looking at us. We didn’t want to flush it, so we stayed where we were and looked through my scope. The owl had elongated its body so it looked pretty slender, and its ears stuck straight up at least six inches above the top of its head. It kept an active eye all around, turning to look at the crows on both sides, then looking back at us. Once, I saw it duck a little under a low-flying crow. We both took good looks through the scope then left it to deal with its other problems.

This charged us up a little bit. We scanned the many goldeneyes at the north end, and then headed back south to our original spot by the parking lot. I started on the left and panned across, stopping at every male goldeneye and checking head shape and the degree of black on the back. I was beginning to prepare myself for missing the Barrow’s again, but I wasn’t yet about to quit looking. In just a few minutes, I saw one that looked different. The thing that caught my eye was a row of white spots on each side of the back. The backs of the Commons were solid black in a rather narrow strip between white sides and wings (with a few black streaks).  This bird, however, had a much wider area of black on the back with a distinct row of white spots running along the length where the folded wing curves up onto the back. I checked next for the shape of the white spot on the face. In this duck, it was a crescent that curved from the front part of the cheek under the eye up the face in front of the eye. In no place was it as wide as the round spot behind the bill in the Commons. The duck was swimming about 80 yards out from shore in a loose raft of 25 or so male and female Commons. As soon as I was convinced I was on something, it dove. I said, “I think I’ve got it.”  My friend, who had started to think we were going to miss it again, said, “Really?”  I still didn’t want to get excited, so I said, “I think so.”  I located it again as it came up, and concentrated on the two points I’ve already mentioned. I said, “That’s it,” and handed the scope over. We spent the next twenty minutes watching it and comparing it with the male Commons that were in the immediate vicinity. At first, we didn’t notice the black line that the book says extends from the shoulder down almost to the water line, but when the bird turned and was exactly side-on to us, parallel to the shore, we could see it clearly. We began to look for more subtle clues. On the Commons, the head slopes upward from the bill to the crown and then angles more steeply down toward the back. On the Barrow’s, the head juts up steeply from the base of the bill, then slopes less steeply down toward the back. The Barrow’s also had a shorter, stubbier bill. All these marks were very distinct, but the thing that enabled us to locate it each time it came up in the middle of the flock was the white stripes on the back. It was too overcast for us to see any color in the head sheen. The bird dove repeatedly, staying down for about 30 seconds each time and then swimming about for maybe a minute before diving again.

Many of the Commons were doing their courtship dance, throwing their heads back so the crown rested on the back feathers and opening their bills. I saw the Barrow’s do this once, and my friend said he saw it also, although to him it seemed that it wasn’t as enthusiastic about it. It seemed to be paying fairly close attention to one particular female, but as near as I could tell by bill color and shape and head shape, this was a Common. I also saw the Barrow’s preening its breast feathers as it swam about. During the time we watched, the huge scaup flock drifted through toward the south and they and the goldeneyes were mixed. It was very difficult to find our bird in the mix. The bluff was so high, and the birds were so far out, that it was almost impossible to distinguish the Barrow’s with binoculars unless we knew right where to look. If I hadn’t had a scope, it would have been a daunting task. When we spotted the Barrow’s again, it had drifted south also, although the goldeneyes were further out than the scaup. It passed down to an area that was blocked from our view by some trees along the edge of the bluff. We had both gotten good views and were content. We started home, happy as clams that we had tried again and stuck it out.