The Least of These

 

The Birdcase, Peabody Essex Museum

Sandpipers grouped just above the boy's head

During a visit to the Peabody Essex Museum this week I was struck by how small the preserved birds appeared to be. The little shorebirds in particular gave a smaller impression than my sense of them on the coastal edges of Halibut Point. The tiniest of all, the Least Sandpiper, was said to weigh about the same as a penny.

Least Sandpiper

A penny? This sparrow-sized bantam spends its life navigating the natural forces of wind and water.

Least Sandpipers can be found regularly along our coast during the migration season, en route from tundra breeding grounds to wintering territories in South America. When they leave here they may fly nonstop more than 2,000 miles over the ocean.

It seems ironic that these creatures look bigger in the vast landscape than they do in the two-dimensional proximity of the glass case.

The sandpipers hunt energetically along the tide line for the miniscule morsels that fuel their journey.

Their plucky animation in the world of their being fulfills a presence and purpose that shrinks to a shadow when that life force is extinguished and brought indoors.

Cattail Revelations

 

Cattails have found their wind-blown way to the quarry margins.

Cattail Corner

They have steadily enlarged their domain in Cattail Corner with a root mass extending over submerged ledges and engulfing an old beaver lodge.

Cattails are well supplied in their stems, leaves and roots with a spongy tissue that creates air channels to facilitate the exchange of gases with their lower parts growing directly in water, or in hypoxic soils. 

An American Eel foraging in the cattail roots

The cattail colony provides both a sanctuary and a larder.

Painted Turtle

Green Heron with minnow

Cattail Corner bereft of flowers in early August

Oddly, hardly any of its bottlebrush flower spikes dramatized Cattail Corner this summer, though the foliage has been lush and verdant.

An adjacent colony in bloom

At the same time, just down the shoreline, another stand of cattails began taking on a tired look as their flower spikes bloomed prolifically.

Narrow-leaved cattail, Typha angustifolia

A close look reveals that this second colony is formed of a different species. Its spikes are separated into two parts, the sausage-shaped, seed-bearing female flowers topped by a less conspicuous array of male flowers, usually with a gap between the floral sexes.

Common cattail, Typha latifolia
Male flowers above the female flowers

In the Common (Wide-leaved) cattail the floral sexes are contiguous.

A winter rendering

Cattail Corner inspires imaginative images year round. It gratifies the eye as well as the wildlife it harbors. Hopefully after this sparse flowering season it will return to its typical productivity.

Heron Views, II

Herons come in different shapes and sizes. They have long legs that most use for wading in shallow water. They usually capture prey by striking out their coiled necks from a stationary posture.

Green Heron hovering

More versatile than other species, the Green Heron is capable of plunge diving on fish as well as stealthy shoreline ambushes.

Green Heron flying past a Black-crowned Night-Heron

Still-fishing relatives like the Black-crowned Night-Heron watch motionless while the Green Heron deploys its dexterity.

This one waited patiently at the edge of the quarry until a small fish rippled the water surface.

After a short flight the bird plunged, relying on momentum to catch its prey.

The heron submerged completely in its dive but the fish escaped this time.

Buoyancy and lack of webbed feet limited its pursuit under water.

Those feet did help propel it back into the air to return to its hunting perch.

The Green Heron's skillful marshalling of anatomy makes it a marvel in its niche.

Often enough it succeeds. For the bird, life goes on.

Heron Views, I

Recently a trifecta of herons graced the quarry rim on the same day.

A Great Blue Heron on a promontory beside a Double-crested Cormorant made a remarkable contrast between two fish-seekers constructed equally but entirely differently for the hunt.

Not far away a Black-crowned Night-Heron extended its nocturnal fishing vigil into daytime.

Before long it was time for the Night-Heron to retire into the surrounding woods.

A Green Heron rose out of the water after diving on a school of minnows.

Wings spread and legs stretched the bird softened its landing on a granite perch. 

Down to Earth, Part Two

 

Northern Mockingbird

The gray day that brought swifts and swallows swirling low around the Overlook also stimulated mysterious ups and downs by a nearby Mockingbird. Its performance enlivened that listless day.

I was a delighted observer. I know I shouldn't assume the bird was being theatrical, putting on a show for an audience. Its repeated upward sallies from the top of a cedar tree were nevertheless very entertaining. I'm quite sure that at mid-summer they had nothing to do with food, courtship, or territorial bravado. Other than the swallows we were the only ones around.

What comes down, must first go up. The Mockingbird launched itself skyward repeatedly. Dare I say it was having fun? Breaking the boredom of an overcast day? Do birds suffer from tedium?

Mockingbirds don't have much to offer in terms of colorful plumage or hunting dramas.

They are mainly known for their vast repertoire of vocal mimicry, repeating songs and calls from across the avian spectrum. What is the reason for that? Does it give them any advantage in life? Do they just like to hear their own chatter? 

Are listeners part of the Mockingbird's performance world? Does it like showing off?

To every looping sally from the treetop the Mockingbird gave full voice and panache. It came back to earth each time projecting a sense of fulfillment.

Down to Earth, Part One

A heavy sky shrouded Halibut Point. Atmosphere and ocean merged around the Overlook jutting into the Ipswich Bay. Conditions did not meet the photographer's dream.

Scimitar-shaped bird forms darted around the promontory where I stood.

Although details were indistinct the silhouetted proportions of Chimney Swifts were clear.

Chimney Swift

Something had brought these normally high-flying birds close to ground level. That 'something' must have been insect prey invisible to me but central to their zooming lifestyle. 

Finely articulated feather positions

I was getting a closer look at the swifts than I'd ever had under 'desirable' conditions. Later study of photographic images revealed some of the bird's aerodynamic intricacies. They were moving much too fast to locate in the viewfinder, so I tried shooting from the hip with the telephoto lens open as wide as possible at 1/3,200 sec, ISO 4,000. The pictures were inevitably grainy.

A second species in the mix

Some kind of swallows was also patrolling the sky, subtly different from the cigar-shaped swifts.

Bank Swallow

There was just enough clarity in the photos to recognize Bank Swallows. This was a bird I'd never seen before, another silver lining to the cloudy day.

When I returned the next day with clear skies and a light breeze there were none of these birds to be seen.

Stalking the Kingfisher, Part 3

The Kingfisher is a hunter, and that's the way I finally want to record its story.

Kingfisher in Folly Cove

Occasionally it ventures down to the shoreline on the lookout for shallow water prey.

Subduing and swallowing a captured minnow

A couple of times I've been able to capture it digesting a fish after a successful foray in the quarry. Obtaining legible live action photos of its plunge to the water has been a special challenge. 

Kingfisher diving

Back in 2016 I had my first and best encounter with a Kingfisher's predatory prowess.

Disappearing under water

A Kingfisher parent seemed to be giving fishing lessons to a youngster, in a not impossibly distant corner of the quarry.

Rising to its perch

At the time I all had was a Sony travel camera. It was a credible tool for recording the highlights of gypsy excursions around the Park but lacked the optical resolution for close contact with this shy bird.

The shrieking Devil Bird

Over the next few years I persisted in a quixotic mission for good photos of it fishing.

A pretty good view

Then one day I came upon my quarry conspicuously perched.

The Kingfisher diving

 This time I had a good camera, a tripod, and quick reactions.

The successful hunt

The Kingfisher and I each had the moment we'd been waiting for.

With mindful practice I've been able to soften my attitude to see it as a fascinating, wary bird rather than as a diabolical adversary--usually. But just when I think I've mastered equanimity I meet frustration once again. The Kingfisher and I have an ongoing psychic destiny.