On the Wing #3: Stalking the Musketaquid
Musketaquid. The name sounds as ancient as the North American continent, brimming with the history and knowledge of another time when much of the continent was still wild and largely unkempt. What it actually refers to were the extensive grass meadows that were commonplace in the Sudbury River Valley where many species of birds both great and small existed for thousands of years. Recently after work, I took a detour down Water Row, a road in Sudbury that cuts through a portion of National Wildlife Refuge land allowing one to view the marsh from either side of this asphalt division. It was there that I saw the shape of a familiar, long-legged marsh bird. Two Great Blue Herons (Ardea herodias) were stalking the dry marsh floor for any wayward frogs and other morsels might have escaped the radiating heat of the sun, perched in the sky, far above our planet.
The marshes associated with the Sudbury, Concord, and Assabet Rivers are a haven for wildlife of all forms and features. However, it was in these marshes, ponds, and rivers where I saw my first marsh birds upon my family's arrival in America. The most noticeable of these first birds was the aforementioned Great Blue Heron. With their long necks and legs, long, pointed bills, and subtly hued plumage, they are probably the most observed of all wetland wildlife. Peering into the tannic waters that characterize these waters, they stalk along the muddy marsh edges looking for frogs, fish, and other aquatic morsels that happen to pass their way. When I was much younger, my family would take canoe trips on the Sudbury and Concord Rivers. Often, as we rounded a bend, we would often startle one of these grand birds, causing it to indignantly take off and croak disapprovingly as it flew further downstream. Another species, the Spotted Sandpiper (Actitis macularia), were as alarmed by the sudden disturbances as were the herons. While of a much more nervous character than the herons, they spend their summers in much the same way, patrolling the shoreline with a bobbing, teetering walk. Their spotted breasts for which they are named are only present in the early summer months and turn a plain white for the remainder of the year. Whenever coming across this species, almost invariably it would fly away upriver, calling "peet-weet, peet-weet, peet-weet" as it escaped.
As I grew older, my love of the grassy meadows and marshy bottomlands grew and I spent much of my time walking to and through them. One of my favorite haunts was Heard's Pond (often spelled Hurd's in older texts such as "Birds of Concord" by Ludlow Griscom) where, in the spring, the blackbirds would return from their southern haunts to reclaim the north for their summer breeding season. While mostly consisting of the more ubiquitous Common Grackle (Quiscalus quiscula), the bird that captures the most attention for beginning birders is the Red-winged Blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus). A jet black bird with red epaulets, the male is easily recognized as it flits through the dead marsh grasses and downed branches from previous winters storms. The female, while a drab bird, is carefully etched with lines and scratches of brown, black, and tan which enable the birds to remain camouflaged while on the nest. Personally, in some lights, the females almost glow reddish with their dark streaking, living up to the species epithet (referring to the phoenix-like red that the male's epaulets display in full breeding plumage) that distinguishes them from all other icterids.
Surrounding this pond are woodlands that are frequently flooded by spring meltwater and become host to a wonderful variety of waterfowl come the spring migration. In fact, any flooded area from Water Row in Sudbury, to Great Meadows in Concord, to the three rivers that surround the Sudbury River Valley, waterfowl utilize this rich resource to the fullest extent. Some of my happiest teenage memories are of trying to stalk the waterfowl hidden in these flooded paradises. Some of my favorites include the diminutive Bufflehead (Bucephala albeola), colorful Wood Duck (Aix sponsa), and the appallingly named Ring-necked Duck (Aythya collaris). Whenever migration stirred during those years, I was ready to seek out those marathon flyers and watch for those new arrivals with anticipation and glee. Back then I was searching for what Musketaquid meant to me. To the natives who used this land before the white man invaded it for gold and glory, it was a place filled with resources to be used, but also to be respected. Back then, Musketaquid was a long forgotten name that few ever had even heard of. I felt honored that I could know such a thing and that by learning about this place, in this land bordered by development, roads, cars, and suburbanites, I could do something more for it. While I wasn't sure what it meant for me at the time, I know now that that connection I have to the past beckons towards an need for understanding for the future. A need to aspire, to learn, and to gain more knowledge about this land that has given me so much. I only hope that I can do the same in return.
The marshes associated with the Sudbury, Concord, and Assabet Rivers are a haven for wildlife of all forms and features. However, it was in these marshes, ponds, and rivers where I saw my first marsh birds upon my family's arrival in America. The most noticeable of these first birds was the aforementioned Great Blue Heron. With their long necks and legs, long, pointed bills, and subtly hued plumage, they are probably the most observed of all wetland wildlife. Peering into the tannic waters that characterize these waters, they stalk along the muddy marsh edges looking for frogs, fish, and other aquatic morsels that happen to pass their way. When I was much younger, my family would take canoe trips on the Sudbury and Concord Rivers. Often, as we rounded a bend, we would often startle one of these grand birds, causing it to indignantly take off and croak disapprovingly as it flew further downstream. Another species, the Spotted Sandpiper (Actitis macularia), were as alarmed by the sudden disturbances as were the herons. While of a much more nervous character than the herons, they spend their summers in much the same way, patrolling the shoreline with a bobbing, teetering walk. Their spotted breasts for which they are named are only present in the early summer months and turn a plain white for the remainder of the year. Whenever coming across this species, almost invariably it would fly away upriver, calling "peet-weet, peet-weet, peet-weet" as it escaped.
As I grew older, my love of the grassy meadows and marshy bottomlands grew and I spent much of my time walking to and through them. One of my favorite haunts was Heard's Pond (often spelled Hurd's in older texts such as "Birds of Concord" by Ludlow Griscom) where, in the spring, the blackbirds would return from their southern haunts to reclaim the north for their summer breeding season. While mostly consisting of the more ubiquitous Common Grackle (Quiscalus quiscula), the bird that captures the most attention for beginning birders is the Red-winged Blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus). A jet black bird with red epaulets, the male is easily recognized as it flits through the dead marsh grasses and downed branches from previous winters storms. The female, while a drab bird, is carefully etched with lines and scratches of brown, black, and tan which enable the birds to remain camouflaged while on the nest. Personally, in some lights, the females almost glow reddish with their dark streaking, living up to the species epithet (referring to the phoenix-like red that the male's epaulets display in full breeding plumage) that distinguishes them from all other icterids.
Surrounding this pond are woodlands that are frequently flooded by spring meltwater and become host to a wonderful variety of waterfowl come the spring migration. In fact, any flooded area from Water Row in Sudbury, to Great Meadows in Concord, to the three rivers that surround the Sudbury River Valley, waterfowl utilize this rich resource to the fullest extent. Some of my happiest teenage memories are of trying to stalk the waterfowl hidden in these flooded paradises. Some of my favorites include the diminutive Bufflehead (Bucephala albeola), colorful Wood Duck (Aix sponsa), and the appallingly named Ring-necked Duck (Aythya collaris). Whenever migration stirred during those years, I was ready to seek out those marathon flyers and watch for those new arrivals with anticipation and glee. Back then I was searching for what Musketaquid meant to me. To the natives who used this land before the white man invaded it for gold and glory, it was a place filled with resources to be used, but also to be respected. Back then, Musketaquid was a long forgotten name that few ever had even heard of. I felt honored that I could know such a thing and that by learning about this place, in this land bordered by development, roads, cars, and suburbanites, I could do something more for it. While I wasn't sure what it meant for me at the time, I know now that that connection I have to the past beckons towards an need for understanding for the future. A need to aspire, to learn, and to gain more knowledge about this land that has given me so much. I only hope that I can do the same in return.
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