Going Coastal

Marblehead Light

This may not be the image that first pops into your mind at the mention of the word Ohio.
Ohio’s a Midwestern state, right?
Farmland boasting fertile fields of both corn and beans, a hint of hill country to the east where the Appalachian plateau rises from the Ohio River Valley, and Columbus situated at its center—including, of course, the sprawling campus of The Ohio State University, where, this time each year, thousands relapse into a case of Buckeye Fever that consumes the region until football season has passed.
A lighthouse is perhaps the last thing you might associate with the state of Ohio.

Lake Erie at Dawn

But, despite its mid-continental existence, the state of Ohio claims over 300 miles of coastline where it meets the southern shore of Lake Erie, the southernmost and shallowest of the 5 Great Lakes. Boasting some of the best birding in the world, especially during migration, sites within this area provide critical marshland and shoreline and are designated an Important Bird Area—globally recognized habitat for bird conservation. Wading, shore and water birds abound here, and in the more wooded areas adjoining it, many songbirds, as well.


In the center of what is termed the Lake Erie Western Basin, sits the quaint village of Lakeside—the site of the 2011 Midwest Birding Symposium—surrounded by many legendary opportunities for great birding.


Magee Marsh Wildlife Area, known as the Warbler Capitol of the World, is probably best known for its famous boardwalk along the lakefront that draws thousands of onlookers each spring as warblers rest and refuel before crossing the Great Lakes to points north. Other sites that are frequent favorites include Black Swamp Bird Observatory, East Harbor State Park, Marblehead Lighthouse State Park, Meadowbrook Marsh, and Ottawa National Wildlife Refuge.


To be unveiled by the Ohio Division of Wildlife at this year’s symposium, is the Lake Erie Birding Trail--84 sites in an expanded area from Toledo to Conneaut, organized into 7 easily-driven loops and offering birders a chance to tally nearly 400 species along its length. As popular as birding has become, the grand opening of this newest of North American birding trails will surely be welcomed by birders beyond the borders of Ohio, for, situated in “The Heart of it All,” Ohio is within a one-day drive of nearly half of the population of North America!

Click on the logo above
to access a copy of the COBP donation form

Feeling a little torn between a desire to travel these trails in the pursuit of the birds and a desire to curb your carbon footprint?
This year at the Midwest Birding Symposium, an experimental and voluntary Carbon Offset Bird Project will be launched giving attendees an opportunity to calculate the impact of their bird-related travel to and during the symposium.
As monetary values are suggested to offset emissions based upon mileage and vehicle type, donations collected in this effort will be used to secure additional wetland habitat adjacent to Meadowbrook Marsh, just east of Lakeside.


No, the beaches of Ohio's lakefront don't smell of salt air.
And you won't find clams or lobster on the menu here.
But the birding is world-class.
The birders, too.


If you're not signed up for the Midwest Birding Symposium, get on board!
And be sure to follow the course of events as these bloggers report from Lakeside, Ohio.

Heather Aubke / Heather of the Hills

Jane Blumenthal / Wrenaissance Reflections

Nancy Castillo / The Zen BirdFeeder

Corey Finger / 10000 Birds

Nina Harfmann / Nature Remains

Ruth Johnson / Nature Knitter Blog

Robert Mortensen / Birding is Fun

Greg Neise / NA Birding

John Riutta / The Well-read Naturalist

Lynne Schoenborn / Hasty Brook

Julie Zickefoose / Julie Zickefoose on Blogspot

The Birding Curve

Prothonotary Warbler in Wet Woods

I recall a brief greeting several years ago in an exchange one spring afternoon beside a boardwalk.
“The prothonotary has returned!” he said.
But as I stepped onto the wooden-planked path looping the lake at our local nature center, the excitement this announcer had hoped to read on my face as he joyfully told me of his discovery was clearly absent.
I didn’t know this bird and, although I might have been able to conjure up a vague image in my mind from browsing the plates of warblers in my field guide, the proclamation of its presence there meant little…to me.

Years later, I would learn this bird while walking one summer afternoon on another wetland boardwalk, deeply shaded and winding between tall swamp cottonwood trees that stood in several inches of water.

Ebony Jewelwing damselfly, male

A ringing call had stolen my attention from the black-winged damselflies that were knitting up the frayed edges of a patch of sunlight--a brief, bright spot in the darkened, wet woods. The song's source had eluded me, though, for quite some time, as I stood peering past the thick, leafy cover where a small bird restlessly flitted, low to the ground, foraging close to the water’s edge.
Eventually, I matched both sound and sight to the boldly yellow-colored warbler in my field guide--the Prothonotary.
An afternoon’s shelter from the strong light and heat of July and my pursuit of ebony jewelwings had given me a life bird, time to stand and watch it work this wetland habitat, time to soak in the rich sound as it spread across the water, golden as the bird from which it flowed.

For the remainder of that summer, I found prothonotary warblers everywhere.
From beside every lake that I canoed,
every quiet river that I kayaked,
every river-rimmed trail that I hiked, I found the song and it followed me--and often, gave a glimpse of the golden bird--until I knew it well and understood the joy of finding its return.

Meadow of Siebenthaler Fen

This summer I walked again on the wetland boardwalk where I’d first found my prothonotary warbler, though this time it was butterflies that were on my mind—Baltimore Checkerspots.
In the sunny meadow, a handful of the uncommon flutterbys skipped, barely stopping to nectar
before whisking past and out of camera range.

Baltimore Checkerspot butterfly

Pleased that I’d timed my visit to find them flying, yet discouraged that in their flying, I saw so very little of them, I wandered slowly back along the boardwalk to the point where it passed into the darkened cottonwood swamp once again.

Cedar Waxwing

A small flock of cedar waxwings crossed the cattail marsh and landed just overhead, lining up shoulder-to-shoulder on the graceful branches of several small willows. Dragonflies paused in the sunshine of the wooden boards, then rose to course above its sedge-filled edges and tall reeds just out of reach of 2 green frogs sitting neck-deep and motionless in the cool water of the fen. Their watchful eye, for this moment, had turned to the northern water snake gliding silently behind them.
Yes, everything about this picture of a still, wooded wetland should suggest a prothonotary warbler. And, if the mangrove forests of coastal Central and South America had sustained him for the winter, the bird I found last year would be back to breed here once more.


Through the darkened woods, across the water that stretched between the cottonwood trees, came the resounding call—clear and bright as the little bird behind it. And, in knowing the bird, hearing his song as I’d heard it before in the very same spot along the trail, my heart made just a little extra beat.
No one felt it but me.
“The prothonotary had returned!”

Prothonotary Warbler, Protonaria citrea

The Prothonotary Warbler, Protonaria citrea, breeds in hardwood swamps and forested lakeshores of the southeastern United States and is named for the scribes (prothonotaries) in the Roman Catholic Church who wore golden, hooded robes. Dubbed the Golden Swamp Warbler by John James Audubon, it is the only eastern warbler to nest in tree cavities, often using the excavated holes of Downy Woodpeckers and building mossy nests in trees near or over standing water.
Adults forage in low foliage for aquatic insects, snails, flies, beetles and spiders.
Because the prothonotary warbler is extremely habitat specific, habitat loss (wooded wetlands in the southeastern US and mangrove swamps of Latin America) may cause this species to decline.

No matter where you might be on the birding curve—whether you’ve learned the prothonotary’s ringing call or have never even heard of such a bird, whether you’ve mastered all the species’ migration routes or are still fumbling to find the focus wheel of your binoculars—the Midwest Birding Symposium has something in it for YOU!
There’s no better way to improve your skills, than to put yourself smack in the middle of a bunch of better birders—experts who are passionate about sharing something they love with another and super-nice folks who fondly remember exactly where they were when someone showed them their first life birds.
It’s not too late to get registered.
You’ll be surprised how much fun birds and birders can be!
I’d love to see you there!

Solace for the Night Owl

Summer solstice is behind us.
And with it, have gone the lengthening days that offer me, each evening, a reprise—several hours more to explore the outdoors. The very trails I walked this morning, with fading light, become wholly unknown. Though the path is familiar, the journey never the same.

I treasure the long days for their evening hours—
their time to watch fireflies light the hedgerows,
their time to capture katydids from within tall stands of grass,
their time to walk the edges of my pond and find the largest bullfrog, neck-deep in moonlit water, watching me,
their time to bring sounds from the nighttime woods and weave them into each night’s dream.

Bullfrog, male in pond

I’m beginning to recognize that, even in this year in which spring seemed to be moving more slowly than usual, we have arrived at this turning point of daylight exactly as we should. The certainty of summer’s onset reminds me that, more than merely being very late, this year, spring was very short.
Can it be that it is already time to give day-lit hours back to the night?

I would wish for yet another encore—
more sweet-scented walks to visit milkweed cloaked in moths,
whose eyes glow golden in my light as I pass by.
Take care, for there is a curtain falling slowly.
The actors in this summer play soon take their final bow.

Moths on Milkweed

...

Need something to look forward to in the coming months?
Looking for a way to celebrate summer’s end?
How about the Midwest Birding Symposium, taking place mid-September in the lovely lakeside community of…Lakeside, Ohio.
This cozy, gated community on the shore of Lake Erie will come alive for 4 fun-filled days of everything bird-related. The Midwest Birding Symposium (MBS) rotates through each of the Midwestern states, remaining for 2 consecutive hostings in its biennial occurrence, before moving on to an adjacent hosting state.
I attended Ohio’s last Symposium in September of 2009. What I can only inadequately describe as a top-notch performance and gathering of avian experts, enthusiasts and environmentally-minded individuals (It’s not just birds. Last year David Sibley introduced his new Guide to Trees) is coming to town again! And having had a wonderful experience last time, I’d be a fool not to get on board while I still can.
There’s a cute little ice cream shop on the corner, an historic hotel with skinny rooms and tall ceilings, rolling lawns and unending sidewalks, a cruise on the lake, programs and performances…and birds.
Sound too good to be true? It pretty much is.
Would you like to meet some of your friends from around the country? Or listen to some helpful hints from birders we all have grown to admire? They’re all here—milling around on the sidewalks, sipping coffee, signing books…finding birds.
You should be, too.
Registration is open! Drop me a line and I’ll look for you!
I can’t wait for September!
It’s solace for this night owl.

Barred Owl

Great Horned Owl

Long-Eared Owl

Owls presented by "Back to the Wild"
MBS 2009

Heard Only

Lake Nettie in the Morning

I wake this morning to the sound of tree frogs.
Warm, heavy air has been spread over the Ohio River valley like a scratchy wool blanket that I would peel back and crawl out from underneath, if I could.
The weight is almost stifling—the dampness on my skin, constant.
But in the hush of dawn, those few brief moments before daylight brings the rustling of leaves and the chorus of songbirds to these woods, I recall the sounds of northern Michigan—the birds heard only, not seen.
And I remember in a dream the richness their simple song can bring to a cool and silent night.

Just beyond NettieBay Lodge, our home-base for a week of Birding & Botany in beautiful Presque Isle County, a narrow gravel lane draws a straight line north past woods that give way to water, then become woods once more. Thick and brushy, an undergrowth of alders rims the single-lane road. Peering past them, white cedars with buttressed bases can be seen standing in several inches of dark swamp water. As daylight fades, the dim woods become darker still.
The sounds from beyond the road’s edge are sharp and strong as we walk past—a veery’s strident call.
Soon, the distant song of a whip-poor-will is answered by another, much closer, who sings faster and stronger, from deep within the alder thicket. This narrow lane with its dimming light is the only opening in these very dense woods--the perfect place for the wide-gaped birds to wait and snatch some tasty moths drawn to this clearing in the brush.
High overhead, against what little faint blue remains, an almost imperceptible twitter betrays the dusk display of a woodcock. Around the sky he tumbles on whistling wings, then drops to the ground in a small, grassy clearing beside us to resume his courtship dance for the benefit of one we cannot see. We leave his persistent peent at the edge of the dark woods and wander further down the road.
The sound of frogs has grown loud and shrill. Spring peepers fill the wetland. Gray tree frogs’ calls resound all around. Here, amidst the foreign, I find the familiar—what I know so well of the warm spring nights spent beside my vernal pool. Yet, to listen for birds at this water’s edge, their calls are overpowering.
Stepping away, we wander slowly back to the car and roll softly down the lane, windows down, combing the night air, soaking in the sounds of northern Michigan. The whip-poor-wills are now perched at the road’s edge. In the moonlight, their red eyeshine eerily flashes in the headlights of our approaching car as they grab insects from their posts beside the road and cross in the beam of our light to the other side.
Lake Nettie is calm and still beyond the door of my cabin. Beneath a clouded moon, the mournful call of a pair of nesting loons spreads across the 278-acre lake. Perhaps more than any other sound, it is theirs that, to me, captures all that is wild and pure of the north woods.
A call, like the others of this night, that is rich and distinctive, revealing of its place.
A call that with it brings a cool breeze to a dream in an Ohio River valley summer night.

Lake Nettie
from NettieBay Lodge

Taking Time

Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher

A tiny bird sings incessantly from the highest branch of the tree beyond my window—a blue-gray gnatcatcher…that seemingly miniature mockingbird, with his wispy, whistle-y song. Oh, how he teased me to watch him weeks ago, playing his tiny kazoo, as I fussed with preparations for my trip to New River—a week of nature camp for grown-ups, as I’ve come to think of it.
He’s still at it today, though I’ve taken the time as he’s warned I should.
I’ve taken the time to watch nature.

blue-gray gnatcatcher's nest

Last year, afternoons were spent there watching a wee bird as she repeatedly brought small flakes of lichen to shingle her nest just feet from the Meadow House door. By mid-week, early morning wake-ups had left me with a sleep debt, but how can one nap while such business is going on?





I watched her each day, my choice only to sleep or engage with nature.
I chose wisely, and slept wonderfully upon my return.

Pennywort gentian, Obolaria virginica

This year, I spent afternoons in search of wee wildflowers—pennywort gentians just inches tall growing in the shade of mighty trees above them. And as I stooped low to marvel at the sweet, white blooms dotting the brown, leafy bank behind the Meadow House, I found an even tinier spider stepping from flower to flower, dragging his silken cord.
From one to the next he rappelled, his entire world smaller than my palm.

Again, I think I chose wisely.
For how can one sleep while such business is going on?

tiny spider
(for scale, the flowers are only 1/2 an inch long!)

Pennywort gentian with tiny spider

Pennywort gentian, Obolaria virginica, is a small flowering plant native to southeastern North America. The only member of the genus Obolaria, it is so named from the Greek “obolos,” meaning small coin, in reference to its thick, rounded, coin-like leaves.
Varying from shades of brownish-green to dark purple, the leaves of Pennywort gentian contain little of the chlorophyll that many plants use to produce energy from sunlight through photosynthesis. Yet, these small plants are able to thrive in the shade beneath a densely leaved canopy. How?
Pennywort gentian is a mycotroph ( Gr., myco=fungus + troph=feed or grow)—a plant which gains nutrients needed for growth from the fungi in the soil layer beneath it. The fungi, in turn, have derived their nutrients from the roots of a host —a woody, photosynthetic plant (tree) towering above. In essence, the mycorrhizal (Gr., myco=fungus + rhiz=root) fungi in the soil act as the intermediary, passing carbohydrates from the tree roots to the small pennyworts covering the hillside. The woody plants gain, as well. Soil inhabited by mycorrhizal fungi is able to hold more water and minerals needed by the trees for healthy growth.

The Birds of Sugar Creek

photo courtesy Jim McCormac

What’s wrong with this picture?
It's a group shot, from the Sugar Creek field trip at the New River Birding and Nature Festival where I spent the last wonderful week...a picture of fellow-birders, gladdened by a very birdy morning, hungrily having taken in long, lavish looks at a prized warbler as we wove a slow path down this gravelly West Virginia mountain road.
I’m that speck in the background—that stooping, bending form that seems otherwise occupied, oblivious to the purpose of the day--diddling in the ditch, while birds drip from the trees all around.
But odd as it may seem, I capture it better that way.

Scanning the bank, with each plant I create a richer picture of where I am, define a habitat a bit more thoroughly in my mind. With birdsong overhead, my snapshot is complete—a perfect picture remembered with as much detail as one might find when they recall exactly where they were or what they were doing the day that Elvis died.

Cerulean Warbler
Early meadow rue was blooming.
Little wind chimes tinkle
on a morning wet with dew.

Hooded Warbler
Through the thick woods,
brilliant birdsong hangs in the air
like tiny bells of Solomon’s seal.

Kentucky Warbler
A tangled bank is heavily planted
with bellwort, Canada waterleaf,
and a quick glimpse of a bird.

American Redstart
Jack-in-the-pulpit, tall and proud,
stands at the berm surveying the scene,
guarding the nest.

Hawks at a Distance

It’s a crisp, clear day in late March--
the trees still bare, the farm fields wide and wanting.
As I walk the empty country lane, a speck of a bird soars high in the sky above me, beyond anything that I can clearly see, against an expanse of blue. Steady and strong on a column of air, he slowly carves a wide arc without so much as a wing beat. I name him easily and walk on—a red-tailed hawk. It just seems right.
No one will know if I am wrong.

At any other time, I wouldn’t dare to name such a bird.
Like sparrows and fall warblers, hawks at a distance confound me. I struggle to see field marks clearly and mumble about dark shadow or bad light. Even decent binoculars fail to bring the bird close enough to allow me to match it to that crisp and clear image I might later check in one of my many field guides.
So how do these better birders do it?

Jerry Liguori, a leading expert on North American raptors and hawk-watcher since the early 1980s, lets us in on a little secret in his forthcoming book, Hawks at a Distance : Identification of Migrant Raptors, to be released next month from Princeton Press. This follow-up to Hawks from Every Angle is jam-packed with all aspects of in-flight hawk identification tips, including the inspiration I need to set aside my frustration and work harder at viewing and identifying these small specks in the distant sky.
Simply said, while it’s impossible to identify every bird, shape and flight style can be used to distinguish most distant birds whose plumage isn’t easily seen.
Put those scopes away!

Liguori’s latest book applies this strategy to 29 raptors--20 commonly seen in their North American migration; and 9 less so, including the California condor, several kites and zone-tailed hawk. The full-page color portrait of each species account is accompanied by a series of smaller flight shots—usually numbering 18 to 30 (but in the case of multiple races of red-tailed hawks, 78!) that show the bird in “real-world” settings. Each of these 558 well-chosen, color images depicts a distant bird in flight as it displays a variety of postures and is seen in conditions of varying light. Whether backlit or shadowed, or if colors have been transformed by warm tones of an afternoon sun—Liguori shows raptors as they are seen in the field and highlights the few lines of text with boldface descriptions of the most critical features to look for. Traits that might only be seen at close range have purposely been left out.

His brief introduction touches upon age and color morph terminology, follows with a 1-page glossary and wraps up with a simple diagram of bird anatomy. If it’s not related to the viewing or physical characteristics of the birds, though, it’s not in here. Life histories, range maps…none of that. This field guide is strictly a collection of ID photographs and accompanying identification tips.
In that, it does very well.

Perhaps because one might wonder if Liguori's preference for this distance id approach has arisen by default from a stack of distant photographs, he's included a section on photography and the ethical questions it raises for wildlife watchers. Must we approach so closely as to intrude into the bird's world, disturb a nest site, chase or bump birds, repeatedly harass a single subject, lure a raptor with live bait... just to get a fantastic shot? To other photographers, ethics might be overlooked. But, it seems Liguori's use of distant shots is a choice he's wisely made--and his discussion of ethics and integrity one I, especially, appreciate.

An interesting final chapter entitled, “Shapes” is as it suggests--896 black and white silhouettes that wheel across the last 19 pages in soaring, head-on, flapping, gliding and wing-on positions, allowing for easy comparison of images side-by-side.

As it is with so many guides available to the birding enthusiast today, Hawks at a Distance cannot capture in a single volume all there is to understand in the world of birds, especially the world of raptors, nor does Liguori claim to do so. What he has created however, is an awesome array of birds as they are seen by those who watch them--birds in the field for birders in the field--and practical tips for their identification.
And the closing thought that regardless of correct identification or successfully captured photograph, the joy in watching them, even at a distance, is often enough.

Another bird book?

Hmmm, ...another bird book soon to be gracing the shelves of the bookstores around town—or so I thought, flipping through the glossy pages of the latest from Princeton University Press.
The Crossley ID Guide: Eastern Birds, to be released in March 2011, boldly features the photographic excellence of Richard Crossley, a life-long lover of birds and admitted “twitcher,” as bird chasers from his native Britain are sometimes called. In 640 beautifully mastered composite plates assembled from over 10,000 single digital images, Crossley has created what he hopes will help us become better birders. Another bird book, a revolutionary guide…really?

With technological prowess, Richard Crossley has taken advantage of the digital revolution to create a guide featuring scenes of different habitats loaded with multiple views of the represented bird—“near, far and everything in between.” Close-ups often show the bird in as much detail as if it were perched on your windowsill, while, in the same scene, a flock of the same forages at the distant horizon or flies silhouetted against the sky. There may be dozens of birds in different plumages, different poses, all scattered across the page—and at first glance, I was confused as to what to do with them all! Hidden in tall spikes of teasel or plucking thistle down from messy, matted seed heads, 17 American Goldfinches looked back at me from one page. Isn’t a field guide supposed to show me a nice, clean picture, and point to some clear field mark so I know what to look for?

American Goldfinch
photo courtesy Crossley Books, Princeton University Press

In desperation, I turned to the Introduction.
Crossley implores the reader, “please, please, do read on,” for his description of the Guide and its revolutionary approach are nothing like those of the other guides already stacked on my shelf. Several paragraphs later, the purpose for his new Guide became clear.
Instantly, I’ve become a big fan.

Crossley’s intent is to create an interactive experience—involve a birder of any skill level in the active practice of field skills without their ever having to leave home. By studying the 3 or 4 large, captioned images on each page, the reader should then be able to apply and hone their own skills of observation to successfully identify the age and sex of the smaller images in the background--those more like what would be seen in real life.

Black and white warbler
photo courtesy Crossley Books, Princeton University Press

Warblers peek from beneath leafy boughs, sparrows blend into bushy backgrounds. Learning to look at the size and shape, behavior, probability and color of these stationary birds (which are all miraculously in focus in the composite habitat photograph!) develops in the reader, a skill in seeing, which later can be transferred to experiences in the field. The fact that this guide is a little too large to carry comfortably in a backpack, only reinforces Crossley’s suggestion that it be thought of as a workbook, rather than a reference for birding in the field.

Osprey
photo courtesy Crossley Books, Princeton University Press

While the photography is clearly center stage in this new Guide, I especially appreciated lengthy sections within the introductory text on bird topography, molt, and a discussion of eclipse plumage! (You’ll be hard pressed to find more than a one-line glossary entry of this in most other bird guides) Alpha codes, the shorthand form of common names used by bird-banders, are included as well, both in the index and within each species account. Bravo!

Barred Owl
photo courtesy Crossley Books, Princeton University Press

Rather than the taxonometric order found in many other guides, The Crossley Guide arranges species according to habitat and physical similarity. What is logical in a practical sense, however, results in some confusing chapter headings, such as Walking Waterbirds or Aerial Landbirds.
For each species account, a distribution map is included. In an effort to more clearly illustrate the bird’s actual size, in addition to its measurement in inches, 16 pages at the beginning of the Guide show smaller photographs of the birds as they compare to each other.


It’s a typical February day here in southern Ohio—lifeless and brown all around. Our spring is still weeks away. But, with my trusty heater blasting warmth toward my toes, I sit and stare at page 203, White Ibis. Afternoon sun has cast shadows onto the rippled water where the long-legged waders stand probing in the shallows of the beach.
In the distance, a couple walks hand in hand toward sunset.
It’s not just another bird book.
It’s an inexpensive birding vacation.