Nature Note #126: Adventures in Pennsylvania: The Lonely Birder and the Blustery Day

It will be two more weeks until my time in Pennsylvania ends, but before that arrives, I've been actively trying to add more species to my year list in an attempt to beat my year birding record from last year (223 spp.) With the addition of two American Coots (Fulica americana) this afternoon during a visit to Peace Valley Park in Doylestown, I now have 211 species on the list thus far. While I'm confident I can beat my record from last year, the nail biting finish is fast approaching and I can only hope that the sea ducks, LBJs, and auks I need, manifest themselves before December ends. Still it's been an amazing year and I've been clicking away whenever I get the chance (both in terms of photography and blogging).

I decided to walk around Lake Galena (the main attraction in Peace Valley Park) today for two reasons. This past week I've been using a pedometer app to track how far I walk during the day at work and for the most part, I get about 10,000 steps a day (which is the ideal). The other reason was made apparent in my opening paragraph.

I parked up at the nature center at 11:40am and set off over the bridge leading to the main trail around the pond. The most apparent bird life wasn't at the feeder as I had expected, but instead was the ever present Canada Goose (Branta canadensis) flocks that gather here during migration every year. Over the past few weeks, reports of a Greater White-fronted Goose (Anser albifrons) and even a handful of Cackling Geese (B. hutchinsii) had been spotted there. While I would be unsuccessful in locating those birds today, I did marvel at the huge flock before me. Estimating the number of birds in a flock is difficult as the large group throws off any decent attempt at quantifying all the birds in one location. For one, while some birds are loafing or sleeping, most of the others are moving around, preening, or feeding and eventually that motion will obscure another goose directly in front or behind the goose who is moving. Another problem is their nonlinear grouping. Birds aren't organized in a way that would make them easy to count and are generally more likely to be found in a clump than in a straight line. Even when flying in their trademark Vs, geese will still move around and change position. Expert birders say to count the birds in clumps of 5 or 10 for estimates on flock size. I much prefer the S.W.A.G. method (this stands for Scientific Wild-Ass Guess) which gives at best a conservative estimate and at worst, its namesake.

Leaving the throngs of geese behind, I walked at a good clip up the blacktop trail towards the dam on the other side of the lake. I stopped less frequently than when I had walked around the lake earlier this year. This was probably due to the waning songbird migration and it being a cold, blustery day that made it a little harder to walk. The wind wasn't that terrible, but, when you have hands that get colder and colder due to a need to adjust the focusing barrel on the binos or writing notes down, it does put a damper on things. Despite the cold, the leaves of the maples, sassafras, and hickories were offset by the bright blue sky above and made the world seem so open and beautiful.

As I walked, other wildlife made its presence known as crickets buzzed and chirruped in the meadows, white feathers fluttered in the cold wind, and the now dormant bodies of goldenrod, teasel, and mountain mint bordered the long, winding trail. Two times I watched a deer from the distance and was watched myself. I'm not sure if deer are aware if there is a break in the period when they can be legally hunted, but in a public park like this they are mostly safe from harm. I say mostly because as I traveled further on, I noticed a brown furry lump on the shore near Andrew's Point. As I climbed down the bank and approached the lump, it turned out to be a lifeless fawn constantly being lapped by the cold waves of the lake. I knew not what had happened to it, but it brought me back to seeing that goose die last year. In fact, it's almost a year since that happened and I'm still affected by what I was feeling back then. While I didn't write it then, I was going through some tumultuous emotions and fears about existence, death, one's purpose in life, and the ultimate end. I was having trouble sleeping and was stressed out about finishing my project for my internship in New Jersey. This was calmed and simultaneously exasperated by the struggle and subsequent death of this goose right before my eyes. It looked so tired and exhausted. Like it had given its all and even that had done nothing.

What stopped me from feeling those feelings about this fawn was probably not having seen the poor thing perish and succumb to the cold waves that it currently was lying in. It was sad to see, but given that most wild creatures perish before reaching their first birthday, it was understandable that this one got off "easier". It's certainly better than being hit by a car or savaged by a pack of coyotes. I left the little body for the inevitable scavengers and headed back towards the dam.

Getting to the dam wasn't hard. After all the trail leads right up and over it, but with no birds of interest to distract me, I just kept walking. That was until I saw the dabchicks. Granted, they aren't technically called that anymore as it is an old nickname. I'm referring to some Pied-billed Grebes (Podilymbus podiceps) I saw diving for food near some juvenile Double-crested Cormorants (Phalacrocorax auritus). I've always thought grebes were an interesting group always playing second fiddle to loons when they were top of the taxonomy pyramid. Within the past few years though, recent DNA evidence has suggested that the closest relatives to grebes aren't in fact loons at all, but instead are the flamingos. This seems a stretch (literally in the case of the tall pink lawn ornaments), but given that falcons are now positioned near passerines and parrots, I suppose it isn't the weirdest taxonomic switch to occur in recent years. While watching them, I looked further down and spotted another large flock of Canada Geese. Perhaps these birds would yield a Cackling?

I moved towards the flock along the shore and as I did, they honked nervously and moved into deeper waters. I scanned the group again and counted 300+ birds, as well as a small number of other waterfowl. Among their number were several sleeping Mallards (Anas platyrhynchos), a pair of Green-winged Teal (A. crecca), a solitary American Black Duck (A. rubripes) and Ring-necked Duck (Aythya collaris), a pair of Ruddy Ducks (Oxyura jamaicensis), and at least two American Coot. It was a good spread of birds. As I looked up the shore at the Mallards, I noticed some domestics mixed in, as well as a bedraggled looking Wood Duck (Aix sponsa)! It was a male and it kept a wary eye on me the entire time I photographed the group. It didn't move even after I had moved on. I guess it was tired and couldn't be bothered.

Green-winged Teals

American Coot

Ruddy Duck

Ring-necked Duck

Wood Duck

As I started to head back towards the nature center, I looked out over the lake. The sun gleamed off of the water and lit up the whole valley. In the distance, the colorful trees were slowly losing their leaves in preparation for their winter dormancy and several gulls wheeled about in the gusts over the water. As I passed Sailor's Point, I saw a brief flash of white wings settle in the rocks by the shore. Snowflake! Worry not reader, it's not the weather event you're thinking of, but instead another old nickname for the Snow Bunting (Plectrophenax nivalis). As it settled into the rocks, it became very difficult to see. It seemed illogical as the bird is bright white with caramel and black markings and would seem to stand out on the tan stones of the shore. This wasn't a deliberate camouflage like that of female ducks needed for when they're incubating on the nest, but instead is known as "counter shading". This typically can be seen in marine creatures that are darker above than below in order to hide in plain sight. The light side when seen from below looks like it's the brighter surface waters, while the dark side is hard to see from above in the depths. In regards to the Snow Bunting, it basically means that the randomly placed markings on its body help it blend in with the open habitats they often frequent.

Can you see it?

Look at it! All cute and stuff...

As I headed back, I was starting to get tired. After all, it was a nearly six mile walk and while I'm used to walking a lot for my job, I'm surprised by how much longer this seemed to take. Granted the walking I do at work is usually sporadic and spaced out to certain periods during the day. As I got closer and closer, my pace quickened. Sure I had fun being outside, but I guess it was getting at me. The continuous effort needed to keep moving forward and my attempts to distract myself by photographing errant squirrels or ignoring the passing strangers by pretending to photograph errant squirrels weighed on me. When I did get there, I was relieved mainly because I was hungry. Perhaps it was that, or maybe the cold, but by the end of it, I was just happy to rest. While I definitely had fun birding and taking photos, what gets to me most was doing it alone.

I do identify as an introvert, but I do appreciate good company. I get on well with my coworkers and hang out with them both at work and off duty, but over the past few weekends I have been left alone due to their visiting significant others or having other engagements that required their time. I guess I just got used to them being there and when they're not, it hurts. Not in an emotionally draining way, but in a lonely, quiet ache. I know they have lives to lead and they can do what they want, but I guess I'm mainly jealous of the proximity of their significant others while I'm stuck here in PA. Only two more weeks I keep telling myself, but it seems like it can't come soon enough.