Alarming Trend

As many of our bird species decline from year to year, so do the number of blog posts on Cerulean Sky. In looking at the stats on how many posts I've made per year, there has been a steady decrease.

I'm sure part of the reason for this is that when you first start a blog, there is the initial excitement of making it interesting, of getting as many posts out there as possible, to try hard to promote readership. I would like to think my writing has improved over the course of Cerulean Sky but to improve one's writing, one should write more, la?

So, when I see that in 2007, I had 68 posts, then 48 in 2008, then a lowly 29 in 2009, and a measly 13 so far in 2010, I feel rotten.

And what's up with the lack of features on blogger.com anyway? I mean, it's been alright...but a friend tells me that with Wordpress you can get stats of how many people visited, what posts were most popular, what country the reader was from, etc. Man, that's enticing. Like, I know a personal blog on birding is going to have limited readership and I'm perfectly ok with that but who knows. If I scaled up a bit and put more effort into it, maybe I could make Cerulean Sky something more.

and.....well, the fire alarm in the building I'm in is going off so I guess I better sign off?!

Update

After a conversation on Twitter through direct messages with limits of 140 characters, I ended up scoring a great contract to do species at risk research at the Six Nations Community of the Grand River. It's hard to believe really as it all happened so quickly. I'm also doing reptile studies on the side through another contract with the Long Point Basin Land Trust.

Living near Turkey Point in Norfolk County and birdwatching at Six Nations has simply been a pleasure. In a short period (I started this work in June), I feel I have improved my birding skills fairly significantly, my passion is flared up more than it's been in some time, and I've seen a number of species in juvenile form that I had no previous experience with. Norfolk County is VERY different from Essex County. Whereas Essex County is farmland, farmland, farmland, Norfolk has a significant percentage of Carolinian Forest still remaining. It's amazing what a difference it makes in the bird life.

My trip to Scotland at the end of August will mark the ending to the research at Six Nations and it will be a sad farewell but what a trip to look forward to. I went ahead and bought a couple more guides to study beforehand: Pocket Guide to the Birds of Britain and North-West Europe (fairly beginner but it's great for carrying in the field) and Collins Scottish Birds, the first field guide I've found for the specific birds of Scotland.

It's been an amazing year for me when it comes to birding. From leading hikes at Pelee in the spring to doing field work for species at risk to a trip to a new country where many lifers await me, it's all been fantastic.

Pelee Days in T-minus 2 Days

This will not be a long post. This will not be a humorous post, or a well-thought out post, or even a very entertaining post. It is simply a post to say that I will be in Point Pelee National Park this Tuesday. I can't wait to see the people, the birds, to feel the energy.

Last year at this time I had hit the halfway point of my trip to Pelee. Two wonderful weeks. This year, I only get 3 days off to experience the Festival of Birds. I'll be leading my first-ever hikes for the Friends of Point Pelee, which I'm elated about. It will be a whirlwind, a brief stopover before I head back to the city. Of course, there are great places to bird here...Thommy Thompson (had a great day of birding there yesterday), High Park, Colonel Sam Smith's, Humber Bay, Thickson's Wood, Second Marsh...the list is staggering really) but none of these places will ever have the same effect on me as Pelee. My home away from home.

And of course, Happy Mother's Day.

The Bird Detective - The Inspiring Stutchbury

Just got back from Bridget Stutchbury's book launch for her second book on birds, this one titled The Bird Detective: Investigating the Secret Life of Birds. Of course, a highlight was getting my copy signed along with Silence of the Songbirds but aside from her celebrity in the birding community, Bridget is a wonderful, passionate woman who is making great contributions to the study of birds, and to bird conservation.

She has once again opened my eyes to bird-friendly coffee, which I need to start making happen in my life. I've quickly fallen into the trend of a coffee a day and I've gotta start being more aware of my choices and how they affect our North American migrants.

After watching her presentation, I hope beyond hope that she soon writes a third book on bird migration. It is unbelievably fascinating how far birds fly in such short time spans, filling the forests and skies as they travel between the north and the south. Bridget has a way of choosing a few perfect examples of how birds seem to defy what is possible for these animals to accomplish and I think it would make for a great read (after further research of course...her research in migration still seems to be in its infancy).

I highly recommend picking up a copy of her book. She's an inspiration. Really. Not only is she passionate about her work but she walks the talk. I can guarantee her ecological footprint is pint-sized. An inspiring night.

eBird - a few observations

As I increase my use of eBird, I am starting to appreciate what the site has to offer and its importance (I do think there is a bright future for this method of recording bird sightings). Of course, there's nothing like having regional coordinators and Alan Wormington of the Pelee Birding Circle and Roy Smith of the GTA are amazing at keeping records and helping with data collection. This is obviously the best way to submit sightings as it's more personal and you can get a dialogue going around your personal records, often with great feedback like whether the bird you saw was reported around the same time, whether your sighting is record early or of significant note for the number of birds you saw, etc. And, every once in a while, they'll tell you you were probably wrong. That's often a good lesson, too.

However, eBird is a great tool. It can feel pretty impersonal but at the same time, there's just so much potential when more people use the site. Instant graphs, trends, sharing your sightings with members of your group, a place to keep your lists while also contributing to a larger database, and a much faster way of getting your list saved without having to type out every species in a word document (which I've been doing for years). I feel I need to spend a bit more time really experimenting with some of the features to get a better grasp on what the site is capable of.

Another incredible benefit of eBird is that it gets you to pay more attention when you're out there. I'm a bit of a lister at heart so I love the feeling of having not only a list for the day, but a number of lists for each location you've visited in that given day. I notice that I pay more attention to every bird I see now, and make a mental note of which species I've seen where, sometimes how many. Maybe a bit obsessive but it sure keeps me more focused (and often makes me stay out longer).

Eventually, I plan to input every list I have stored away in my records. I have lists from countless trips home in the spring, trips to Florida, to the east coast, Long Point, and countless others. Lists that all exist in hard copy as ticks on a regional checklist booklet. It'll be a long undertaking but I plan to get all of my lists I've ever kept onto the site.

Unfortunately, there are many additional features I wish eBird had. However, the site likely will have them given time and donations. One such feature for example...can I see the total number of species I reported on a given day? If I can, I don't know how to do it easily.

For now, I realized you can download your lists in an excel file, easy for copying and pasting right into Cerulean Sky. Great for posting day lists.

My lists for Sunday, April 18, 2010.

Ashbridges Bay

Species Number reported

Canada Goose X
Mute Swan 4
Gadwall X
Mallard X
Ring-necked Duck 2
Lesser Scaup X
Greater/Lesser Scaup X
Long-tailed Duck X
Bufflehead X
Red-breasted Merganser 8
Double-crested CormorantX
Ring-billed Gull X
Herring Gull X
Iceland Gull 4
Common Tern X
Rock Pigeon X
Mourning Dove 1
Belted Kingfisher X
Northern Flicker (Yellow-shafted) X
Eastern Phoebe 1
American Crow 2
Tree Swallow X
Black-capped Chickadee X
Brown Creeper 3
Golden-crowned Kinglet X
Ruby-crowned Kinglet X
American Robin X
European Starling X
Chipping Sparrow 1
Field Sparrow 1
Song Sparrow X
White-crowned Sparrow 1
Dark-eyed Junco X
Northern Cardinal X
Red-winged Blackbird X
Common Grackle X
Brown-headed Cowbird X
House Finch 2
American Goldfinch X

Total: 38

Lakeshore Blvd E & Leslie Street

Red-tailed Hawk (Eastern) 1
Ring-billed Gull x
Rock Pigeon x

Leslie Street Spit (Tommy Thompson Park)

Canada Goose X
Gadwall X
Mallard X
Greater/Lesser Scaup X
Long-tailed Duck X
Bufflehead X
Red-breasted Merganser X
Double-crested CormorantX
Killdeer X
Ring-billed Gull X
Mourning Dove X
Belted Kingfisher 1
Yellow-bellied Sapsucker1
Northern Flicker (Yellow-shafted) X
American Crow X
Tree Swallow X
Black-capped Chickadee X
Ruby-crowned Kinglet X
Hermit Thrush 1
American Robin X
European Starling X
Song Sparrow X
Swamp Sparrow X
Dark-eyed Junco X
Northern Cardinal X
Red-winged Blackbird X
Common Grackle X
Brown-headed Cowbird X
House Sparrow X

Total: 28

Colonel Sam Smith Park

Mute Swan X
Gadwall X
Mallard X
Blue-winged Teal 1
Green-winged Teal (American) 1
Bufflehead X
Red-breasted Merganser X
Red-necked Grebe 9
Western Grebe 1
Double-crested CormorantX
American Kestrel 1
Killdeer X
Ring-billed Gull X
Mourning Dove X
Tree Swallow X
Northern Rough-winged Swallow X
Barn Swallow X
American Robin X
European Starling X
Red-winged Blackbird X
Common Grackle X

Total: 21

While Driving

Canada Goose X
Ring-billed Gull X
Rock Pigeon X
American Robin X
European Starling X
Common Grackle X
House Sparrow X

Total: 7

Lifer! Western Grebe

With its sinister red eyes, horn-like protrusions on either side of its head, emotionless expression, and razor sharp bill, the Western Grebe is the devil incarnate; an evil creation dredged up from the fiery wastelands of Hell, spreading its malice eastward out of its natural western North American range.

For three years, this malevolent foe has managed to avoid my many searches, each more desperate than the last. Three times in one year I took the hour-long commute to Ash Bridges Bay and the Leslie Street Spit to locate my nemesis, and each time I came back more miserable. Then this year, another bird showed up at Saddington Park, a stone's throw outside of the GTA, too far for transit, too expensive to travel the distance by cab. Every birdwatcher in Toronto had seen this species a billion times by now so asking for a ride was useless. "Immaterial!" they scoffed, "I've seen that species 473 times this year. No better than a Starling. I couldn't stand to look at it again."

My desire to see the Western Grebe sent me into a spiral of demented decision-making. Every Ontbirds post reported that the bird was impossible to see without a scope. So what did I do? I went to every location without a scope, once in a heavy downpour to Ash Bridges Bay for what felt like the 26th time. As I stood in the pounding deluge, tears streaming down my pathetic facade, I could sense the bird-demon's presence, sneering at me from the exact distance I couldn't identify it, bobbing behind the waves, its head thrown back in a wild cackle, knowingly driving me to the edge of reason.

I contemplated a solemn walk into the crashing waves, never to be seen again but a single thought kept me going that day. I dreamed a glorious dream of smashing my binoculars into the grebe's head, hearing its skull crush on the pavement, white fragments of chipped bone flying, the blunt object splattering its brains open on the rough ground, the rest of its body writhing and twitching in agony, its lobate-webbed feet scrabbling across the stones as I pick it up and sink my teeth into its flesh, steaming hot blood spurting wildly from my mouth, down my chin, and across my tongue, reveling in the coppery taste as I rip out its feathers and throw them over my head, a grisly confetti falling down on my nihilistic celebration.

Well, I have likely lost a few readers at this point. For those who were brave enough to continue on, I will simply end anti-climatically. I saw my first Western Grebe today at 1p.m. at Colonel Samuel Smith Park, ending a three year battle. I truly believe it was the same bird every time, tormenting my every waking hour.

And as much as I'd like to leave this post with a sappy ending describing the excited drive with Mark across the city after seeing the posting on Ontbirds, a description of how beautiful the bird was, and how it was only 50 metres away and actively feeding amongst Red-necked Grebes, and that the sun beamed down and birds sang and dropped rose petals in front of our steps as we left the park, I just don't have the energy. All that matters is that it's over. Three years of agonizing pain I put up with searching for my nemesis. Now I can put a tick next to this awful bird in my field guide and move on.

I won. End of story. Who's next?

When a House Finch Sings

On my walk to work, I pass a stand of large evergreens abutting an abandoned lot, a former Kodak factory my colleague tells me. The lot is surrounded by a chain-link fence wearing a barbed-wire crown, a jail of twisted metal. He says that there are poisonous chemicals in the land now that will take years to clean up properly, toxic leftovers from manufacturing film. There is little sign of any cleaning being done. Mountains of steel, cement, and rubble on brown dirt; on a rainy day, tears falling on mud. All of it a lonely wasteland, somehow beautiful, an empty lot left orphaned by the digital age.

However, inside are signs of returning life. Green grasses press through gray cement, saplings tremble skyward, shaking like a newborn lamb, a squirrel finds shelter in a broken, rusty pipe. And birds sing.

In the evergreen stand, a male House Finch, deep red splashed over dull brown, alights onto an open branch, testosterone boiling, a single-minded purpose of a mate and offspring. He opens his conical bill, head back, throat vibrating, and emits a stunning series of warbles and whistles, steady tempo descending. His drab counterpart appears, male and female together, a promise of new life.

On this empty street, the song releases a cascade of childhood memories, a soundtrack to my reminiscence. Other avian music has a similar effect. The song of the Horned Lark takes me back to my farm, heat bathing fields of wheat and hay, desperate roots sucking dry dirt, dust twisters, shimmering haze on the horizon. The hoot of the Great Horned Owl moves me back into my childhood bedroom, lights out, crickets chirping, moonlight through the screened window reflected on a Jurassic Park poster, stacks of books, a baseball glove, and muted noise from the television down the hall.

The House Finch takes me to another place. A private gasp, I stop, my eyes closed, and let the nostalgia wash over me, my mind now back in Wheatley in the early 90's, my grandpa's backyard in a small suburb, mid-July, big hot sun beaming in a large blue sky, parents at the picnic table drinking coffee, discussing town gossip, church sermons, hard times; us kids running through a sprinkler, wet grass between our toes, lemonade on our laughing tongues, carefree.

The memory of my grandpa is so vivid. For a brief moment I forget his passing, the three years of his body failing, the dementia and the pain. Instead I remember Saturday mornings, feeling tiny in his big navy GM Pontiac as he drove us past the four corners where Talbot and Erie Street intersect, Chimney Swifts twittering overhead, electrical wires black with starlings, a right turn to the Car Barn for breakfast. Him and I would sit at the same table every week, he smiling at the waitress and conversing with his friends from the Odd Follows Lodge or the Wheatley Legion, me a child clasping a perspiring glass of cold orange juice surrounded by old age, getting lost in the deep voices of proud men and the smell of coffee, eggs and bacon, boisterous talks of unions and pensions, taxes, crop sales, sports, doctors appointments, wives and grandchildren, politics, and changing times.

After a drive down the old #3 highway along Lake Erie, we'd head back to Leroy Street and I'd spend the afternoon with my grandma, cleaning the house and watching the melodrama unfold in afternoon soap operas or television judges presiding over small-claims court, a breeze steadily breathing into the living room window past billowing white curtains, the distant sound of a lawnmower. I was always mesmerized by my grandparents' bird feeder outside their back door, a palette of primary colour: Blue Jays, cardinals, and goldfinches. Sometimes an Indigo Bunting or a Ruby-throated Hummingbird would fly in and I'd yell excitedly for my grandma to come look; she never once missed the bird.

In the backyard, away from the little shed I always found mysterious where my grandpa kept his tools, avoided for fear of a hornet sting, I watched the martin house he cleaned every year to stop the House Sparrows from moving in. Above, Purple Martins, true aerial acrobats, streaks of violet zipping here and there over the lawn, catching insects and darting back into their nest box; below, an American Robin hopping through the grass, a sudden lunge, a tug-of-war with an earthworm, a juicy morsel, the bird's brick-red breast feathers concealing the muscle, straining; and in the evergreen stand abutting the yard, a male House Finch singing and singing.

Then, a truck drives by and just like that, I'm torn from my memories, now fading; a pile of discarded McDonald's cups at my feet. I continue my walk to work and I'm happy for my childhood and simpler times. In the distance, I see skyscrapers, the CN Tower, a labyrinth of streets and highways, corporations, small business, diverse communities, and those crucial little pieces of protected natural land. Dizzying opportunities in a great city, I can't help but appreciate it all, this vastness that surrounds us, our constant struggle to leave a lasting impression, to better ourselves and our city, and the experiences that make us who we are, that connect us. I smile.

A day of blunders

No force in heaven or on earth could have brought anyone out into the monstrous weather of Saturday, March 13th in Toronto. A sensible (sane) human being would have taken one look at the weather forecast and hid in fear under warm covers, sanctuary, subsequent comfort and a content smile under a mountain of warm sheets, hours passing dreaming of a summer afternoon, green meadows, rainbow flowers, wet footprints evaporating on poolside flagstones, birdsong and cicadas.

Instead, Mark Field and I (for his sake, I will conceal his identity and call him Jeb from now on to protect him from mockery, and perhaps shame, from his family and friends) stumbled out into the morning grayness, two dopes with high hopes, the thought of new spring migrants tugging at the centre of their bodies, moving them forward against reason's will. Environment Canada predicted 30% chance of showers until 10a.m., then onto 90% by 10:01a.m., and then the y axis of the graph just wasn't high enough, percentages only going to 100, you see. We tried other weather stations to see if perhaps the dependable EC could be wrong, but all other reports just told readers to not be stupid and stay inside.

Our morning began with a missed bus. Heavy with gear, we ran toward the bus screaming out to the driver who, in seeing a fumbling pile of binoculars and galoshes approaching, looked back from his rear-view, eyes wide with horror, foot to the pedal, tires of the bus squealing sending exhaust and sharp stones into our faces as it peeled out of High Park station. Perhaps I exaggerate slightly but that's certainly how it felt. We trudged around High Park, waiting for the next bus that would eventually take us to our destination...or past our destination rather, as we missed our stop. We had arrived, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at Lambton Woods.

From a large bridge overlooking the park, we could see a trail next to the Humber River, which on any other day innocently winds through the park with calm, clear water where folks take peaceful canoe rides and Mallards rest on its surface, raising cups of tea to their beaks and discussing poetry. Today, the river looked like something out of a disaster film, brown raging waters filled with dead things and debris. I looked for destroyed homes floating by. Daring to overthrow science's studies of human intelligence, we decided, since we could see no other trails, to descend down a muddy rock-slide that seemed to connect to the river-abutting trail at its base. Our boots now weighed down by mud clumps and slashed by razor-sharp rocks, we finally were able to start birdwatching. Not even a starling was present.

Dedicated, we persisted. Eventually we found signs of life: a robin, a few chickadees and juncos, and 2 White-breasted Nuthatches. Our spirits rose infinitesimally. We saw Mallards and pigeons. We got colder. The sky grew more ominous. We grumbled. I felt something moving around in my rubber boot and figured one of my toes must have fallen off. I started to look in my pockets for paper and a pen to scribble down my will. Jeb searched his bag for a flare gun and rescue.

And then, we arrived at a spot that made the day at least somewhat worth the battle. A little oasis out of the wind where I immediately saw my first grackle of the year (second actually, but Jeb missed the first one I saw so I'll just pretend this was our shared first). House Sparrows and Mourning Doves abounded, both Hairy and Downy Woodpeckers popped out, giving a great size comparison, a Red-tailed Hawk flew over, my first Red-winged Blackbirds made an appearance, some Blue Jays flew through, and a Song Sparrow, bringing light to an otherwise dark day, lived up to its name and sang its heart out. The despondent dirge of the morning lifted for a time. A short time.

The weather decided to test us even more. After picking up a couple of American Black Ducks for our day list at a small pond at the park's north entrance (small pleasures), we took a break to have a coffee, a bite to eat, and to count our day list. The day list tally taking perhaps 3 seconds to complete, we took off for Humber Bay Park, a bizarre decision that only a deranged lunatic could possibly make. Rain falling in horizontal sheets, we dashed to the subway to catch another bus. The driver muttered something at us as we slopped off the bus, two wet rats on a death march toward the unforgiving swells and waves crashing against the lakeshore. Not a bird could be seen except a few mangled gulls struggling against fierce winds, sending bloody feathers in all directions.

Freezing rain like shards of broken glass pierced our faces and punctured our eyes, the salt of our tears burning raw skin. Rushing water raged at our ankles, a car was lifted off its tires and sucked into the maelstrom. I expected a cow to fly past in the wind but didn't see any. I may have heard a distant, terrified moo though. Still we fought onward. It may be that with these strong east winds, the ducks are taking shelter in the western bay, I suggested. I looked over my shoulder to see if the grim reaper was looming behind me. Then we reached the breaking point. That time where you finally realize what you're doing and where you are. Reality sets in and even the birds can't keep you going. You think to yourself, alright even I think this is crazy.

Standing between us and the next section of the park was a wide expanse of brown muck. Already sopping wet, we decided to try to cross it rather than swing back all the way around the trail we had just came from. Always the gentleman, I let Jeb cross first. Then, thinking my brain had finally snapped, Jeb started shrinking before my very eyes! Wait, not shrinking...sinking. I looked down and saw wet mud oozing over his boots. I pushed forward to try to lend a hand and found myself now sinking into the mud as well, a mad image entering my mind of a dog-walker sauntering through the park in the spring, tripping over the rib of one of our half-buried corpses, decaying faces still stuck in grotesque sneers, the dog beginning to chew at the fleshy remains of my skull. I took out my cell with plans of calling my mom to tell her I loved her before the mud went over my head, my hand still grasping the phone above the ground, its signal lost in the storm. By some miracle, we finally trudged through nature's death trap and dragged our bodies inch by inch back to the park's entrance.

Somehow, beyond belief, we managed to continue birding. Every atom in the universe was telling us to stop but my right hand was twitching for more year birds...and by golly we actually saw some. Our hands frozen to our binoculars, we found Trumpeter Swans, Long-tailed Ducks, Gadwall, Mallards and American Black Ducks, American Wigeon, Common Goldeneye, Bufflehead, Red-breasted Mergansers, and Herring and Ring-billed Gulls. Finally giving up, we made our way to the streetcar and called it a day, looking forward to the next chance to birdwatch, no situation too awful to ever stop the insanity.

Our day's list (in no discernible order):

Ring-billed Gull
Mallard
Canada Goose
Northern Cardinal
Blue Jay
Dark-eyed Junco
Black-capped Chickadee
European Starling
Rock Pigeon
Mourning Dove
Hairy Woodpecker
Downy Woodpecker
American Black Duck
Killdeer
House Sparrow
Common Grackle (FOY)
Red-winged Blackbird (FOY)
Song Sparrow
Red-tailed Hawk
Common Goldeneye
Gadwall
Trumpeter Swan
Mute Swan
Long-tailed Duck
Red-breasted Merganser
American Widgeon (FOY)

Total Species: 26

Running Year Total: 61 (pretty measly but I missed the month of January...didn't even birdwatch once during that month!)

It is Tuesday night and there is not a single post on Ontbirds regarding the Ivory Gull seen on Monday. If it had flown onto the ice even a few minutes later, or descended to land mere yards away, it may have gone unobserved by its original finders, who had identified all they could see and whose departure was imminent. But a small white bird caught the attention of these two birdwatchers, hearts soon pounding as they realized the significance of their find. Photos are taken for the record books and within minutes, a report goes out across a listserv at the touch of a few buttons, an obscenely convenient network connecting hundreds; hundreds immediately aware of a rarity minutes ago a distant thought. The thrill of the hunt ensues as a few dedicated enthusiasts and listers dash to the lakeshore, hoping for a glimpse of this special visitor. It is not to be. This will be a brief encounter, witnessed by two individuals favored by fortune. The gull departs. This visitor, unaware of its celebrity, is searched for in vain by each subsequent arrival, unaware of the interest they themselves create as they scan with scopes and binoculars in the bitter wind and waning light. As the sky darkens, so do the spirits of the watchers. Iceland, Glaucous, and Lesser Black-backed Gulls will have to suffice this night. The Ivory Gull continues westward, snow-white feathers veiled by the night, a phantom flying unseen.

Empty Ice Patch - An Ivory Gull Lament

Mark and I scan for the Ivory Gull at Cherry Beach, Toronto

Photo courtesy of Lynne Freeman

failing light - no miracle tonight – this rare visitor avoids my gaze like she has once before – this heavenly form – this delicate winter-white angel – an ephemeral rest on the lakeshore – a brief appointment yielding disappointment – the shelves of ice carry a congregation – black backed, great and lesser, ring billed iceland glaucous herring – but despite my silent prayer – she is no longer here – yet still my eyes rise skyward - for I cannot bear to miss her once more

____________________________________________________________

Yes. At 3:58pm today, while birding Colonel Sam Smith Park with Mark Field, a report of an Ivory Gull was posted for Cherry Beach, Toronto (an ADULT Ivory Gull no less). Bless the iPhone. I really wish I owned this device for birding. Up-to-date birding reports and directions right at your fingers (not to mention if you ever need a refresher with a bird call, there are helpful apps to do just that). Needless to say, it didn't take us long to decide to ditch Colonel Sam and head across the city (bless having a van) to give the gull a go. Through bitter cold, we made a valiant effort with Jean Iron, the original finder alongside Paul Prior, to spot the gull but she informed us that it had flown directly west away from Cherry Beach and was not spotted again. Check out Jean's site and see the bird by clicking here. I don't know about Mark but I felt slightly defeated as the light faded and the last of the gulls on the patches of ice flew away for the night. This isn't the first time I've missed this rarity. January 2006 was a tough time when I couldn't get home to see the Ivory Gull that showed up at Hillman Marsh and provided great views.

There's still hope this bird will stay. There will certainly be a lot of eyes looking out for it throughout the week and I can assure you I'll be checking out the postings on Ontbirds frequently. I'll add here that although the end of the weekend held the slight disappointment of missing the Ivory, I still had two great days of birding on Sunday and today. I'll be posting full day lists/counts for the days within the week.

2009 Pelee May List

After shamefully cramming a package of petrified marshmallows left over from the holidays into my pleading-for-mercy stomach, I decided it would be a good time to actually put together my full spring list from 2009. I was very happy with my May last year until things spun out of control and my body decided I wasn't treating it well enough and I ended up bed-ridden for the final few days (perhaps after reading the first sentence of this post, you won't be surprised by this). However, I did achieve my goal of seeing more species than the year preceding at 178 (in 2008 I ended up with 175). I definitely would have made it to well over 180 had I not got sick but that's ok. I still ended up with a lifer (Western Meadowlark) and some amazing memories to take away from Pelee during spring migration.

I'm throwing on Ave Maria as I type this list and it's quite relaxing [i.e. making me not worry about some obvious misses (how did I not get Ring-necked Duck, Winter Wren or Solitary Sandpiper?! And some are just unforgivable...no Willow Flycatcher, Blackpoll Warbler, Clay-coloured Sparrow, or Hairy Woodpecker!!)].

Here it is, compiled into one list, my May list from May 3-May 14, 2009 in the Pelee Birding Circle:

Snow Goose
Canada Goose
Mute Swan
Wood Duck
Gadwall
American Wigeon
American Black Duck
Mallard
Blue-winged Teal
Northern Shoveler
Green-winged Teal
Greater Scaup
Lesser Scaup
Surf Scoter
Black Scoter
White-winged Scoter
Bufflehead
Red-breasted Merganser
Ruddy Duck
Ring-necked Pheasant
Wild Turkey
Common Loon
Pied-billed Grebe
Double-crested Cormorant
American Bittern (heard)
Great Blue Heron
Great Egret
Green Heron
Black-crowned Night-Heron
Turkey Vulture
Osprey
Bald Eagle
Northern Harrier
Sharp-shinned Hawk
Cooper's Hawk
Broad-winged Hawk
Red-tailed Hawk
American Kestrel
Merlin
Peregrine Falcon
Common Moorhen
American Coot
Sandhill Crane
Black-bellied Plover
American Golden-Plover
Semipalmated Plover
Killdeer
Spotted Sandpiper
Greater Yellowlegs
Willet
Lesser Yellowlegs
Ruddy Turnstone
Semipalmated Sandpiper
Least Sandpiper
Dunlin
Short-billed Dowitcher
Long-billed Dowitcher
American Woodcock
Little Gull
Bonaparte's Gull
Ring-billed Gull
Herring Gull
Great Black-backed Gull
Caspian Tern
Black Tern
Common Tern
Forster's Tern
Rock Pigeon
Mourning Dove
Black-billed Cuckoo
Eastern Screech-Owl
Great Horned Owl
Chimney Swift
Ruby-throated Hummingbird
Belted Kingfisher
Red-headed Woodpecker
Red-bellied Woodpecker
Downy Woodpecker
Northern Flicker
Eastern Wood-Pewee
Least Flycatcher
Eastern Phoebe
Great Crested Flycatcher
Eastern Kingbird
White-eyed Vireo
Yellow-throated Vireo
Blue-headed Vireo
Warbling Vireo
Philadelphia Vireo
Red-eyed Vireo
Blue Jay
American Crow
Horned Lark
Purple Martin
Tree Swallow
Northern Rough-winged Swallow
Bank Swallow
Cliff Swallow
Barn Swallow
Black-capped Chickadee
Red-breasted Nuthatch
White-breasted Nuthatch
Carolina Wren
House Wren
Sedge Wren
Marsh Wren
Ruby-crowned Kinglet
Blue-gray Gnatcatcher
Eastern Bluebird
Veery
Gray-cheeked Thrush
Swainson's Thrush
Hermit Thrush
Wood Thrush
American Robin
Gray Catbird
Northern Mockingbird
Brown Thrasher
European Starling
Cedar Waxwing
Blue-winged Warbler
Golden-winged Warbler
Tennessee Warbler
Orange-crowned Warbler
Nashville Warbler
Northern Parula
Yellow Warbler
Chestnut-sided Warbler
Magnolia Warbler
Black-throated Blue Warbler
Yellow-rumped Warbler
Black-throated Green Warbler
Blackburnian Warbler
Pine Warbler
Palm Warbler
Bay-breasted Warbler
Cerulean Warbler
Black-and-white Warbler
American Redstart
Prothonotary Warbler
Worm-eating Warbler
Ovenbird
Northern Waterthrush
Louisiana Waterthrush
Kentucky Warbler
Common Yellowthroat
Hooded Warbler
Wilson's Warbler
Canada Warbler
Summer Tanager
Scarlet Tanager
Eastern Towhee
Chipping Sparrow
Field Sparrow
Vesper Sparrow
Savannah Sparrow
Grasshopper Sparrow
Song Sparrow
Lincoln's Sparrow
Swamp Sparrow
White-throated Sparrow
White-crowned Sparrow
Dark-eyed Junco
Northern Cardinal
Rose-breasted Grosbeak
Indigo Bunting
Bobolink
Red-winged Blackbird
Eastern Meadowlark
Western Meadowlark*
Common Grackle
Brown-headed Cowbird
Orchard Oriole
Baltimore Oriole
House Finch
Pine Siskin
American Goldfinch
House Sparrow

Total: 178
New species: 1

High Park - January 12, 2010

My camera is on the fritz. Considering its price, however, and being my last purchase from Wal-Mart before I boycotted that chain 3 years ago, I have to admit, it's been a faithful little piece of technology. It now lays useless and collecting dust somewhere behind my computer but it served its purpose.

My cellphone camera can hardly be considered a camera at all, its pictures reminding us of the year 1814 when Joseph Nicephore Niepce took the first ever photographic image, requiring 8 hours of light exposure. The photo later faded.

Therefore, I do not have a picture from today's journey through High Park, a shame since the ducks along the creek north of Grenadier Pond were close enough to get decent shots, regardless of zoom lenses. So instead, here are a few silly photos of a Tasneem and I enjoying lunch in the park in a much more comfortable time of year...a time of year I am currently yearning for what with the lack of suitable winter attire. If you have seen me in the last few months, you'll also notice a shocking absence of long hair in these photos!







Today was simply a beautiful day for a walk. The wind lowered the temperature a few too many degrees but once in the comfort of the trees-as-wind-barriers, I was able to enjoy the quiet, lonely moments when a chickadee feeds a few feet away from your head, a cardinal makes its aggressive-sounding call notes from a nearby bush, a distant drum of a tree trunk indicates a Downy Woodpecker, and a Red-breasted Nuthatch descends a branch high above. The highlight was the aforementioned creek full of marsh ducks, though.

Being one of the few areas of open water in the park, the creek attracts a number of Mallards, both wild-types and freak-shows, strangely bred birds doubled in size, with off-colours, and deep bellies. There are 3 birds, in fact, that I recognized from last year in the park, all year residents that have become familiar enough to me that I search them out whenever I visit.

However, my target bird was a single Northern Pintail drake, which I eventually found after a thorough search from various vantage points. For most of my visit, he had his head tucked into his mantle but on the occasion that a leash-restrained dog barked or a pair of gorgeous horses clomped by carrying mounted police, he would become alert and provide great views. The Pintail was joined by a Wood Duck drake, the only two species apart from Mallard.

I'm now in the warmth of my apartment dealing with canceled credit card matters and furrowing my brows over overcharged internet access but on my next day off, I'm hoping to get down to the waterfront. I unfortunately had to miss the Waterfowl Inventory this year so I want to make up for it with a nice, long walk along Lake Ontario (probably in the Humber Bay East/West area).

In other news, my ordered book arrived in the mail last week! Where to Birdwatch in Scotland by Mike Madders. It looks great so far, with detailed descriptions of specific areas to bird as well as a calendar of dates marking the best times to see specific species. I have some time before my trip, which isn't until the end of August, but I want to be prepared once I'm there. Princeton Guides is supposed to be coming out with a new edition of their guide to the birds of Europe so I plan to buy that one as well once it comes out.