Nature Note #186: Strangers in a Strange Land
Well, that went well! With the election season over in a big way, I can say with certainty that no one truly expected the orange man with wispy hair to win the highest office in the land. Those of us with blue hearts and political leanings sighed despondently at such news, so naturally, we all needed to escape after the election results of this past Tuesday. I did so by heading to Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge. I had a quest for myself and the goal was to find a rare visitor that had appeared on the main pond for several weeks this year.
In fact, not only did I find one far flung traveler on this day, but two more graced my presence in and around Montezuma. The first target I sought was a duck. While that may not seem that exciting, the duck in question was a Eurasian wigeon (Anas penelope), a duck more at home in the marshes of Slimbridge than the backwoods of central New York. Despite living and visiting the UK frequently in my life, I had never gotten the opportunity to see one of these birds up close. I was excited that it had remained on the main pond for so long, but once I drove up along the waters edge, it quickly became apparent that finding the bird was going to be another matter entirely.
To say that there were a lot of ducks would have been an understatement. The water heaved with feathered bodies of all varieties. Ring-necked ducks (Aythya collaris), scaups, and redheads (A. americana) buoyed and bobbed in the deeper reaches of the pond. Canvasback (A. valisineria) and coots dove to dine on wild celery and other delicate pondweeds, while "poachers" in the form of American wigeon (Anas americana) waited on the surface to steal their meals.
I scanned with my scope, snapped a few photos, and then slowly moved the car up a few feet before repeating the cycle. Lather, rinse, repeat. After thirty minutes, no European appeared amongst the Americans. I started getting worried. Where could Baldpate's* distant cousin be hiding?!
I crept along, slower still, ticking ducks off my list left and right. Taking comfort in a small squadron on wigeon along the shore, I scanned each bird for the tell tale characteristics of an Old World wildfowl. Eurasian wigeon can be told from their American counterparts by their puffy rufous brown head, creamy crown, grey body with black streaks on their primaries, and pink breast feathers. The Americans, especially the males, respond in kind with pink bodies, white flank patches, speckled heads with an iridescent green eye patch and ever present white forehead.
The females as with most ducks, are at first glance drab brown and uninteresting, but have their own unique charm that helps to separate them from the other ducks. For one thing, as I mentioned a paragraph or two above, they are accomplished thieves, often bullying other waterfowl into giving them their hard pulled greens. While these birds are able to up end like the ducks you would see at your local park, sometimes outright piracy fills the belly better. Perhaps their shorter blue bills makes it harder for them to grab at those harder to reach pondweeds.
Amid the bullying, my prize appeared. He kept to himself as he nibbled at unseen greens beneath the surface and paid no mind to my car as I slid closer. I snapped what seemed like a million photos of another lifer for the list. More specifically it meant, #181 for the year list and #365 for the life list, but who's counting (me that's who!).
I admired him for a few minutes more, drinking in his details, but unlike some of the other lifers I had gotten this year (the March long-eared owl (Asio otus) comes to mind), it wasn't as exciting. It almost seemed like a formality. I now pondered if this is what chronic listers felt like when they note yet another new species to their scrolls and move along.
"Did ya see it?"
"Yep."
Check.
It seemed like it had lost its ring. It continued feeding merrily, not once paying attention to the man in the silver car giving it the paparazzi treatment. I appreciated its presence, not just for its rarity, but because it was fascinating to watch. I'm not just a checker or scavenger hunter. I am a birder and I take just as much delight in seeing a new bird as I do observing what it is doing at the time. Satisfied with my final thoughts, I peeled away and followed the gravel Wildlife Drive out around the main pond and out of the refuge.
Further up the road, I decided to scan briefly at the farm fields at Goose Haven. Despite its lovely sounding name, it is an hunting outlet for waterfowlers and not an amusement resort for geese although I wonder what that would look like? As with the wigeon, earlier in the week, several cattle egrets (Bubulcus ibis) had been reported in the fields in and around the refuge. They were likely looking for their insect prey while they chaperoned the beef cows they shared the farm fields with. It didn't take me as long to spot these strangers. For one thing, they're bright white so they are easy to spot (thankfully because it hasn't snowed yet) and for another, they live up to their name.
While their presence in the northern United States at this time of year is certainly rare and unexpected, what's even more fascinating is that they made it to the New World at all. Cattle egrets can be found worldwide, but originated in tropical and subtropical Africa and Asia. Despite their preference for warmer temperatures, they are explorers at heart and have been found as far north as Alaska and have even bred in Great Britain. They prefer open areas such as grasslands, farmland, and marshes with tall trees to build their nests and raise their young. At some point in 1877, a small group of them managed to fly over from Africa to South America and from they spread quickly. Even though they were quick to take over South America, North America wouldn't meet its first cattle egrets until the early 1950s and 60s when they showed up in Florida and eventually, California.
After noting them down in my notepad, I hoped that they would be able to fly south before the frost and snow locked their food away for the season. Cayuga Lake was my last stop of the day and as I turned onto Auburn Road, a dark hawk with a white rump caught my eye. It resembled a harrier, but it flew more methodically and with broad open wings. Thinking quickly, I indicated (a skill that, in the northeast at least, has come short in supply in recent years) and pulled over onto the side. Exiting the car when it was safe to do so, I peered through my binoculars at the bird. Dark feathers wrapped around the head, body, and wings, while a white tail with dark tip saluted me from a distance. The clincher came in the markings under its wings; faint white barring on the wrist of the wing. I was watching the slow patience cruise of a rough-legged hawk (Buteo lagopus). I smiled. One lifer and four year birds (I had managed to see at least one male greater scaup (Aythya marila) in the scrum of ringnecks). Not a bad haul for a late fall day.
Nothing interesting happened at Cayuga, so I headed home. I thought about the future and listened to the radio chatter about the future of politics in America. Whatever the future holds, I know that as long as I can get out to see the birds, I'll be just fine.
*While one could confuse this name with the dimwitted Baldrick of the Blackadder series, Baldpate was a duck hunters nickname for the American wigeon and was in reference to the white patch on the male's head. In Middle English, bald meant white, while pate referred to someones scalp or head hence the unusual and folksy sound to the name.
In fact, not only did I find one far flung traveler on this day, but two more graced my presence in and around Montezuma. The first target I sought was a duck. While that may not seem that exciting, the duck in question was a Eurasian wigeon (Anas penelope), a duck more at home in the marshes of Slimbridge than the backwoods of central New York. Despite living and visiting the UK frequently in my life, I had never gotten the opportunity to see one of these birds up close. I was excited that it had remained on the main pond for so long, but once I drove up along the waters edge, it quickly became apparent that finding the bird was going to be another matter entirely.
To say that there were a lot of ducks would have been an understatement. The water heaved with feathered bodies of all varieties. Ring-necked ducks (Aythya collaris), scaups, and redheads (A. americana) buoyed and bobbed in the deeper reaches of the pond. Canvasback (A. valisineria) and coots dove to dine on wild celery and other delicate pondweeds, while "poachers" in the form of American wigeon (Anas americana) waited on the surface to steal their meals.
I scanned with my scope, snapped a few photos, and then slowly moved the car up a few feet before repeating the cycle. Lather, rinse, repeat. After thirty minutes, no European appeared amongst the Americans. I started getting worried. Where could Baldpate's* distant cousin be hiding?!
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The females as with most ducks, are at first glance drab brown and uninteresting, but have their own unique charm that helps to separate them from the other ducks. For one thing, as I mentioned a paragraph or two above, they are accomplished thieves, often bullying other waterfowl into giving them their hard pulled greens. While these birds are able to up end like the ducks you would see at your local park, sometimes outright piracy fills the belly better. Perhaps their shorter blue bills makes it harder for them to grab at those harder to reach pondweeds.
Amid the bullying, my prize appeared. He kept to himself as he nibbled at unseen greens beneath the surface and paid no mind to my car as I slid closer. I snapped what seemed like a million photos of another lifer for the list. More specifically it meant, #181 for the year list and #365 for the life list, but who's counting (me that's who!).
I admired him for a few minutes more, drinking in his details, but unlike some of the other lifers I had gotten this year (the March long-eared owl (Asio otus) comes to mind), it wasn't as exciting. It almost seemed like a formality. I now pondered if this is what chronic listers felt like when they note yet another new species to their scrolls and move along.
"Did ya see it?"
"Yep."
Check.
It seemed like it had lost its ring. It continued feeding merrily, not once paying attention to the man in the silver car giving it the paparazzi treatment. I appreciated its presence, not just for its rarity, but because it was fascinating to watch. I'm not just a checker or scavenger hunter. I am a birder and I take just as much delight in seeing a new bird as I do observing what it is doing at the time. Satisfied with my final thoughts, I peeled away and followed the gravel Wildlife Drive out around the main pond and out of the refuge.
Further up the road, I decided to scan briefly at the farm fields at Goose Haven. Despite its lovely sounding name, it is an hunting outlet for waterfowlers and not an amusement resort for geese although I wonder what that would look like? As with the wigeon, earlier in the week, several cattle egrets (Bubulcus ibis) had been reported in the fields in and around the refuge. They were likely looking for their insect prey while they chaperoned the beef cows they shared the farm fields with. It didn't take me as long to spot these strangers. For one thing, they're bright white so they are easy to spot (thankfully because it hasn't snowed yet) and for another, they live up to their name.
While their presence in the northern United States at this time of year is certainly rare and unexpected, what's even more fascinating is that they made it to the New World at all. Cattle egrets can be found worldwide, but originated in tropical and subtropical Africa and Asia. Despite their preference for warmer temperatures, they are explorers at heart and have been found as far north as Alaska and have even bred in Great Britain. They prefer open areas such as grasslands, farmland, and marshes with tall trees to build their nests and raise their young. At some point in 1877, a small group of them managed to fly over from Africa to South America and from they spread quickly. Even though they were quick to take over South America, North America wouldn't meet its first cattle egrets until the early 1950s and 60s when they showed up in Florida and eventually, California.
After noting them down in my notepad, I hoped that they would be able to fly south before the frost and snow locked their food away for the season. Cayuga Lake was my last stop of the day and as I turned onto Auburn Road, a dark hawk with a white rump caught my eye. It resembled a harrier, but it flew more methodically and with broad open wings. Thinking quickly, I indicated (a skill that, in the northeast at least, has come short in supply in recent years) and pulled over onto the side. Exiting the car when it was safe to do so, I peered through my binoculars at the bird. Dark feathers wrapped around the head, body, and wings, while a white tail with dark tip saluted me from a distance. The clincher came in the markings under its wings; faint white barring on the wrist of the wing. I was watching the slow patience cruise of a rough-legged hawk (Buteo lagopus). I smiled. One lifer and four year birds (I had managed to see at least one male greater scaup (Aythya marila) in the scrum of ringnecks). Not a bad haul for a late fall day.
Nothing interesting happened at Cayuga, so I headed home. I thought about the future and listened to the radio chatter about the future of politics in America. Whatever the future holds, I know that as long as I can get out to see the birds, I'll be just fine.
*While one could confuse this name with the dimwitted Baldrick of the Blackadder series, Baldpate was a duck hunters nickname for the American wigeon and was in reference to the white patch on the male's head. In Middle English, bald meant white, while pate referred to someones scalp or head hence the unusual and folksy sound to the name.
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