The Lord giveth …
— AFTER JOB 1:21
BETWEEN MY RETURN FROM PELEE on May 16 and my departure for Rainy River on June 15, I see twenty more species without killing myself (a fact I come to regret later), bringing my total to 255.
Brant (May 23). Jim Fairchild phones and swears there is a Brant floating in the third pond at Nonquon Sewage Lagoons; I am not fussy and go there, alone. My wife says she is busy despite happy memories of our first date. There are people who hold that there is something humorous about sewage lagoons, something to snigger about. Let it be said here and now, I do not number among them. I love a good sewage pond.
All is as Jim said. I feel sorry for the Brant. But it’s a tick. I also get my first Semipalmated Sandpiper of the year.
Sedge Wren (May 19). Presqu’ile. Margaret hears a tiny chip in the bushes by the beach. I must have been distracted. I didn’t hear zip.
“Isn’t that a Sedge Wren call note?” she asks modestly.
“Yeah, I think so,” I reply. I mean, what are you going to say: “I didn’t hear nothin’?” It is, of course, a Sedge Wren, though I believe it has a strangulated syrinx or a hernia and has to call abnormally quietly. I don’t feel so bad when Fred Helleiner practically steps on it later. He says, “I didn’t realize it was so close.”
“What?” I say. “Didn’t you hear it chip?”
Whimbrel (May 24). Colonel Sam Smith Park. After failing spectacularly all along the eastern lakefront, I see repeated flocks, plus Willow Flycatcher and, finally, Gray-cheeked Thrush, which was threatening to become a nemesis bird. I never saw one at Thickson’s Woods or Pelee this year.
This is a good day, though not without its dangers. Hugh asked if it was okay if he brought his butterfly net. I unthinkingly said yes. While quietly looking at some interesting sparrow in deep grass, I feel a cold whoosh of air just as my hat is knocked off. Hughie practically decapitates me. “It was an interesting skipper,” he says insouciantly, adding sadly, “I missed him.”
“Well, you didn’t miss me,” I say. He seems surprised and mentions something about my not being in the way next time. This experience stands me in good stead the rest of the year whenever I see the ol’ net come out. I have fond memories of the Reisefuehrer tripping through long-grass meadows in his Bermuda shorts, baseball cap, and ever-present sneakers, pursuing butterflies or dragonflies and looking for all the world like a slightly more manic Nabokov.
Loggerhead Shrike (May 25). Carden Alvar, Wylie Road, out behind bluebird box 10; where else?
Upland Sandpiper (May 25). Wylie Road, teetering on a fence post like a snipe; plus Vesper Sparrow, plus Common Nighthawk at Alvar Road.
Clay-colored Sparrow (May 26). Cameron Ranch. Turns out I can hear these suckers from seven metres away. Piece of cake. Nothing like the ol’ Grasshopper Sparrow, which I practically have to be right on top of. Also Merlin in Kirkfield.
Yellow-throated Vireo (May 29). Opinicon Road. Margaret hears it and I locate it in a far-off treetop. I claim to have heard it to save face.
Photo by Andrew Don.
Upland Sandpiper. Carden Alvar. On the alvar, these birds compete for the fence posts with the Wilson’s Snipe.
Golden-winged Warbler (May 29). Opinicon Road. Margaret hears it as we drive by talking with the windows closed and the radio on.“Oh, wasn’t that a Golden-winged?” asks Margaret unexpectedly. I don’t tell her I couldn’t hear a Golden-winged if it was perched on my ear and thrust its beak down my ear hole. We jump out and find a little group of them in nearby trees. My faith in Margaret, already considerable, grows. “Well, I’m sure you can at least hear that,” says Margaret as they sing away merrily. I claim to be revelling in the concert. I watch carefully. Each time one of them opens his gob, I say, “Oh, wow. Listen to that
Photo by Sam Barone.
Golden-winged Warbler (male). Carden Alvar. Try showing one of these to a non-birder in your scope!
little guy.” This technique works well with Brown Creeper also, I find. Just don’t get out of sync.
Alder Flycatcher (Number 250! May 29. It is at this stage that I start my countdown, numbering every bird.). We find the bird east of Cobourg in a special place Margaret knows. The bird drives me crazy with its calling before it finally zips out and sits on the wires for a minute before hiding again.
Ruddy Turnstone (251, June 1). Cobourg Harbour, crawling all over the broken cement slab breakwater; not scenic, but it beats having them stealing fries from your dinner table in Tobago.
Northern Bobwhite (June 4). Long Point area. I think I have a bird for my heard-only extras list. Bruce Falls counted this bird on his Baillie Birdathon and charged everybody for it. I figure if it was good enough for Dr. Falls, it is good enough for me. But I am wrong. I soon find out it is not good enough for the OBRC (Ontario Bird Records Committee). Apparently these birds are considered releases or escapees. Damn. And Bruce won’t give me my money back! He tries to claim his wasn’t an escapee. This doesn’t work when I try to use it on Margaret. The OBRC owes me one.
Cattle Egret (252, June 4). Seen from the car, head deep in cow dung near the poetically named town of Gasline.
Lark Sparrow (253, June 4). Long Point area. Margaret and I nearly miss this bird until Hugh staggers across a lumpy field and flushes it out to the edge. We know from his body language he has either been attacked by killer bees or has seen the bird. We rush to the area toward which he is charging and get the bird in an open tree. I like them. Got a decent song on them, you know. No mealy-mouthing.
Louisiana Waterthrush (254, June 4). Long Point area. This bird calls all around us for half an hour, repeatedly flying unseen from the forest floor to the canopy. Margaret sees it. Hugh sees it. Somehow I don’t. We resort to tapes. The bird begins to tear around and I get repeated glimpses of it. I keep playing the tape though I know I shouldn’t. I remember my vows, but I can do no other. Finally, I get my diagnostic view of it in a treetop. I ask it what the hell it is doing in a treetop, but it just gawks. This is my one overuse of tapes all year. I feel bad, but not quite as bad as if I had missed the bird. I do not want to have to look for the already much harassed Ganaraska Forest bird closer to home.
Least Bittern (255, June 13). Lone Pine Marsh. After numerous attempts, in clouds of mosquitoes and up to my thighs in duck weed, I get a close up fly-by of a breeding pair, the female followed seconds later by the male, after which the flies seem a good deal less troublesome.
Photo by Mike Burrell.
Least Bittern. Hillman’s Marsh. This cooperative bird forgot how notoriously hard to find it is supposed to be.
A number of these birds (Yellow-throated Vireo, Golden-winged Warbler, Louisiana Waterthrush, Least Bittern) were birds I hoped to get at Pelee and then had to make time to chase and find elsewhere later, when I could have been after other birds. See everything you can at Pelee or pay the price later.