By Caren Plank, BWA Board Member –
An avalanche of acorns pings down to the forest floor on this first day of fall. Their sound accompanies me, like a composition of contemporary music, as I carry a few bags to the camp door. Last week, sitting on the deck and reading, a Hemlock Tussock caterpillar narrowly grazed my head and landed on my opened book. Today, I find another tussock, this one lemon yellow, and then another. I have come for the birds, especially the ones who have traveled from distant places and soon will leave, but I find myself surrounded by change and an awareness of the wide brushstroke of creatures on the move. We learn as young children that the earth is in continual motion, a motion we do not feel in our bodies; but in autumn the incremental planetary passage of time seems to speed up and become transparent: green into yellow into orange or red, then all too soon, crinkled brown.
Not far from the South Penobscot ramp, an East/ Northeast wind is kicking up and riling the waters of Northern Bay. The boat launches itself across the tops and troughs of the waves, bouncing, although not nearly as gracefully as the immature loons that stay on the river late into the season. Kingfisher are making what sound like raucous territorial calls and then I remember they always sound that way. On the western edge of Winslow Island, five mergansers are huddled against the shore. It is hard not to notice that every week there are fewer of them. It’s an hour before high tide and I am expecting to see several species of shorebirds on the boulders that jut out from the northernmost point of Sparks Island. Just a few days ago a sizable mixed grouping of Black-bellied Plovers, Semipalmated Plovers, a few Short-billed Dowitchers and twenty or so Lesser and Greater Yellowlegs spaced themselves along the angled edges of rock. But this afternoon, with a few scattered exceptions, the rocks and the crevices below, are bare. Perhaps, the easterly has driven them elsewhere for shelter.
These migratory shorebirds, the ones you can expect to see along the length of the Bagaduce River, in the coves and tidal mudflats, the rockweed- covered boulders, have already traversed a long and risk-filled flyway. The snow white, jet black, checkerboard winged Black-bellied Plover has come from the high Arctic, the very top of the world, where they make their nests and breed on the ground. In our area, you will see some birds in their mottled less distinct non-breeding plumage or juveniles, foraging, typically two hours after high tide on mudflats rich in aquatic invertebrates. According to the Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology, the Black-bellied Plover is a “sentinel for groups of foraging shorebirds” *, it’s loud call alerting other birds to danger. Nonetheless, their numbers, I read, are in steep decline.
This autumn one of the most plentiful shorebirds I spot seems to be the stubby-billed Semipalmated Plover. A small plump bird, with what the Cornell Laboratory describes as having a “cheerful whistle” with a “run and stop foraging style”**, the Semipalmated Plover is reasonably easy to identify on mudflats or sandbars. Smaller than a Killdeer, with a single black band across the breast, it’s a heartening sight to see these remote Arctic breeders settle, if only briefly, in our watershed. For those not living directly on the coast, you might find them in shallow ponds and even muddy farm fields. Perhaps this diversity of sustainable habitats contributes, in part, for their conservation status as being of low concern.
A shorebird I’ve begun to see with some regularity during fall migration is the Short-billed Dowitcher. I remember the first time I spotted the bird wedged between two larger boulders. Although no longer in the robust orange, brown and gold of breeding plumage, it’s very long bill conveyed an impression of difference and delicacy. It became easy to distinguish the Short-billed Dowitcher from the greater number of Greater and Lesser Yellowlegs, with whom they shared common ground. (The Cornell Laboratory says this about the name: “Sometimes bird names just seem wrong: it only takes one look at a Short-billed Dowitcher to notice it’s not a short-billed shorebird! The name is meant to distinguish it from the Long-billed Dowitcher, but it’s only a subtle difference. Female dowitchers have longer bills than males, so if you see one with an Absurdly long bill, it’s probably a female…In general, it’s much more useful to listen to dowitchers than to look at their bills to tell them apart. “ *** With a rhythmic, straight up and down, probing action, the Short-billed Dowitcher feeds on aquatic invertebrates in coastal mudflats and wetland environments “during falling and rising tides, when only a few inches of water cover the bottom” The Cornell Laboratory also tells us that the “species migrate in stages, moving to intermediate areas to complete their molt, then moving on to their ultimate wintering areas. This strategy is called “molt migration.”**** I’ve also learned that while both sexes share incubation of the eggs, only the male takes care of the young once they hatch. Partners in Flight estimates that their populations declined between 15% and 50% from 1970 to 2015 and is now on the Yellow Watch List. *****If you see or hear one (using sound ID through the Merlin app makes this quite easy) consider sending your ID to E-bird to help in mapping the density and location of these welcome visitors.
Well into autumn, there is a fair chance you might see and hear the call of yellowlegs. Of the two species of yellowlegs, Lesser and Greater, it’s the Greater you are most likely to see during fall migration. Hefty, with flashy yellow legs, sturdy bill and deliberate gait, the Cornell Lab describes them as “dashing.” The Lesser is on Yellow Watch List for declining populations due to loss of their wetland habitats: shallow marshes, ephemeral mudflats, flooded fields in spring and fall. I cannot imagine the river without yellowlegs. Their distinctive calls have become a form of greeting, of being in a place where the both the birds and I have returned. When dusk comes, I often hear a flock moving along the river to settle, in safety, for the night. I don’t know the places they choose in darkness. But, in the morning, they are back: grouped in the cove on familiar rocks or jostling on seaweed. When they finally leave, the season will truly be over.
Some water and shorebirds are already gone or perhaps were not here at all this year. Fewer than usual this year, the Semipalmated Sandpipers and Least Sandpipers seem to have left. Common Tern calls have quieted. And while the Bald Eagles are still here, I may have heard the last scuffle between an Osprey and a Bald Eagle this season. There’s been no sight of Pectoral or Solitary Sandpipers or the Spotted, a sandpiper who breeds in Maine. Should you see any of these birds, take a picture if you can and share your observation. With shorebird numbers drastically shrinking, every sighting matters.
It’s impossible here to touch on the watershed birds just inland who are coming and going. You know them well. Song Sparrow, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Black and White Warbler, Northern Flicker, Red-eyed and Blue-headed Vireo, Ruby-throated Hummingbird, American Goldfinch, Gray Catbird, Cedar Waxwing…. We say common birds until we learn of their journeys.
You can still find Great Blue Heron and Snowy Egrets along the river shorelines, coves and mudflats. Great Blue Heron are likely to move from the northern edge of their breeding range in winter, with some going as far south as the Caribbean. No one should miss the dramatic displays and cries of the heron defending their feeding territories. It is a sound that can wake you from sleep. Snowy Egrets seem to be showing up more regularly and at multiple locations on the river and they may remain as far north as Massachusetts in mild years. Coming into the watershed are Canada Geese. A few weeks ago, standing at the South Penobscot town landing, I watched flock after flock jockeying with a strong wind as they attempted landing at the mouth of Winslow Stream. Awkward, but intent, they rode the wind like seasoned pilots, waiting for the right moment to descend. There was a grand ‘whoosh’ sound as they collectively hit water, followed by a general commotion, a degree of settling, and then disappearance into the shadows. A few minutes one way or another and I would have missed seeing the repertoire of intricate and interwoven acts of locating and choosing the place, our river, this collective of geese, decided they needed to be.
Changes in climate and the availability of suitable habitats are altering the timing, flight patterns and breeding/wintering destinations of many species. At the same time, vast improvements in tracking methodologies are expanding our knowledge of where and how birds are finding their way through the plethora of hazards that constitute much of their habitat. To have a detailed sense of the paths some of the birds mentioned above negotiate, migration and sightings maps on the Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology All About Birds website is a good first step. If you put in a species name, you may be able to follow where the bird now flying overhead is likely to head next.
Far from every change along the river is one of migration, but no less puts before us the question of what makes for remaining and what makes for leaving a particular place. This year, two pairs of bald eagles lost the nests which inscribed their breeding ground and essential habitat on the Bagaduce River. I’ve known one pair, the Aunt Mollie nesting pair, well for over twenty years. The nest was the hub from which all activity and purpose flowed for at least eight of twelve months of the year of both adult birds’ lives and then circumscribed and nurtured the growth of their young. The adults are still here, on Sparks and Aunt Mollie, often perched next to each other, sometimes one or the other on Gravel Island, up or downriver feeding, almost always back to the islands each night. Will the Bagaduce River or watershed remain their home? Will they rebuild and where? What new risks will they face? There is at least a fair chance I will not know. Which makes even twenty years of close observation seem fleeting and what looked everlasting a fragment of one’s own and other lives’ passing through. Keep an eye out for them and the other journeyers in our watershed. We are blessed, for however long, to have them in our midst.
Notes:
Starred quotes (*, **, ***, ****) are taken from the Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology, All About Birds, website. To access information about a specific species, go to allaboutbirds.org and type in a species name.
***** partnersinflight.org Partners in flight focuses on vulnerable land bird species and their declining habitats and conservation.
Other links:
- North American Bird Conservation Initiative nabci.org
Focus is on bird conservation challenges and priorities for land birds, shorebirds, water birds and waterfowl - Merlin Bird ID merlin.allaboutbirds.org
A very useful, free and easy app is available for bird ID. The sound ID is particularly easy to use. - eBird ebird.org/home Allows you to explore birds and hotspots near your location and wherever you go, based on latest sightings from around the world. A place to enter your own sightings
- Maine Audubon maineaudubon.org
Resource for local and statewide birding programs and events; online programs; ME sanctuary sites