Farewell to the Winter Ducks and Kin

Buffleheads taking off

In the middle of this month nature's calendar stripped our shoreline of its most interesting winter residents. It might be called the Ides of April. 

Common Goldeneye pair

The departures for northern breeding grounds are often preceded by nuptial displays as the ducks pair up for procreation.

Common Loon

Males of many species molt into striking plumage to further their mating appeal. The grey Common Loons of our winter coast often complete this transformation while still in our waters, to become the photogenic spring and summer icons of northern lakes.

Red-throated Loons out at sea last week

The slimmer and less observable Red-throated Loons, on the other hand, seldom show us their namesake coloration because they take on breeding plumage just as migration time arrives.

Black Guillemot, molting

Molting may leave a bird temporarily disadvantaged both in flight and appearance, like this motley between-phases Black Guillemot. As seen in the photographs below, its crisp white body plumage switches to tuxedo black at mating time.

Black Guillemot wintering in non-breeding plumage

Black Guillemot after molting to breeding plumage

Harlequin Ducks and a Red-breasted Merganser

These diving ducks surfaced together in an extravaganza of plumages.

Long-tailed Duck pair in breeding plumage

In the lead up to procreation in the Arctic, Long-tailed Ducks molt into a stately but more muted coloration. 

Long-tailed Duck pair in non-breeding plumage

They reverse the typical pattern by presenting more delightful plumage (to human taste) in their non-breeding phase.

Surf Scoter, male

The Halibut Point shoreline has been sparked by many sorts of fanciful featherings during the winter season.

White-winged Scoters

The departing ducks leave us a mild but duller coastline with gulls at center stage, a substitution of grace for glamor.

The Day the Ducks Owned the Meadow

During the month of March the meadow at Halibut Point hosted a succession of sovereigns.

Ring-necked Pheasant

Some came to glean the seed bounty of last year's crop of grasses and wildflowers.

Eastern Bluebird

The bright onset of spring encouraged Bluebirds to consider homesteading in waiting nesting boxes.

Soggy Bluebird

Then came days and days of rain that flooded the meadow. Bluebirds had to adapt their hunt for insects in the field, or go hungry.

The Bluebird perched on high ground

The rainfall was a boon to some birds, a setback to others, as the meadow spawned an enormous puddle.

Mallard Ducks

Ducks had had to get through the winter on a diet of shoreline seaweed. The emergent meadow vegetation presented an unusual foraging opportunity. The lake-sized puddle was big enough for their landings and takeoffs.

Crows approaching

Crows, alert to all prospects of food, waded in for a look. The ducks watched balefully.

When a crow got a little too close to Mrs. Mallard, Mr. Mallard gave it a stern warning.

The paddle-billed drake took a convincing stance against the proximity and intentions, innocent or thuggish, of the spear-billed crow.

Wood Frog

All that rain filled nearby vernal ponds to the brim. Wood Frogs quacked steadily in their duck-like mating calls. They're one of the earliest amphibians to emerge from hibernation.

Northern Flicker

And now April. The month of showers has nudged spring along in various weather patterns but no further torrential rains. The water in the meadow has subsided. New sovereigns have taken the field.

April 4

The house shuddered at today's dismal daybreak. Northeast winds, gusting over 40mph, roared noisily through the trees like a subway train in a tunnel. I lay there in the dim light wondering where the tumult had come from. After recently publishing "The Last Tough Day?" posting I felt nudged to take it all back and eat crow.

Eating Crow

In my own defense I recalled the easy circumstances of March 21 that lulled me into posting on this blog, "The forecast says [today's tough] weather is an outlier with no more frosts predicted this month. Then on to fickle April." Oh, boy, the give-and-take month caught me dreaming again.

Seedlings this morning

There's snow on the ground! Just yesterday I'd put out some trays of hardy seedlings to slow their growth after germination on the office floor. Hopefully they're only stunned and ready to bounce back from this April betrayal.

Hellebores (Christmas Rose) yesterday

Yesterday the woodland garden seemed to be in the business of bringing smiles. I went out back to check on the early blossoms.

Confounded Hellebores

Blooming in the snow may be how Hellebores earned their name "Christmas Rose".

Daffodils that might have opened today

The spring bulbs were braving the conditions stoically. They held their floral debut for another day.

Folly Cove with the in-breaking northeaster

The State Park didn't seem like a good bet for wildlife photography, but the coves on either side of Halibut Point offered scenic drama.

Andrews Point during the storm

Truly intrepid and expert bird watchers go there during heavy weather with the hope of seeing pelagic birds blown in from their offshore habitats. The pelting rain precluded any glimpses of alcids this morning.

Titmouse at the home feeder

Back home waited the quiet satisfaction of being able to offer sunflower seeds to soggy songbirds at the feeder as it swung wildly in the wind.

The Little Sanderling that Could

 

As a flock of Purple Sandpipers flew by a flash of white glinted from the center of the group.

A Sanderling among the Purple Sandpipers

When they landed along the nearby tideline it became apparent that the Purple Sandpipers had been joined by a Sanderling. How could it have synchronized so readily with their flight and foraging patterns?

Clusters of Sanderlings have appeared in past years along the Halibut Point's winter shoreline, although I haven't seen any this season. The adoptee stood in bright contrast to its dusky hosts.

Wherever the birds flew or scrambled the Sanderling found its place near the center of the flock. Its integration raised all sorts of questions in my mind about the fluid boundaries of species in the natural world.

The Last Tough Day?

 

It's the first day of spring on the temperamental New England coast. We're in our annual suspension of belief about the smooth progression of the seasons.

Purple Sandpipers on the shoreline

Part of our fascination with Halibut Point's creatures is their persistence through it all.

Gray Catbird

In January this Catbird pushed the envelope of survival by not heading south like most of its kind. Here it sits huddled near berry bushes waiting for the warmth of the rising sun. Hopefully it came to its senses and departed, or somehow found its necessities in this latitude.

 

Cedar Waxwing eating privet berries

Some species like the Cedar Waxwing adapt more easily to our winters.

Goldfinch

Certain seed eaters profited from residual food in the meadow.

Hermit Thrush

For many birds it's been a marginal time, and the icy landscape a forlorn sight. We keep our fingers crossed that they'll make it through today's cold snap.

White-throated Sparrow

Overall it was a mild winter. Last week dandelions in sheltered spots began putting forth scrawny yellow blazes close to the ground, tucked into tentative crowns of foliage. Rose twigs and buds showed reddish coloration.

The sun rose shivering today, March 21, at 24˚ with a 30mph westerly breeze. The forecast says the weather is an outlier with no more frosts predicted this month. Then on to fickle April. Is this the last tough day?

Coming Back to Earth

 

Purple Sandpiper, landing

Imagine that you could actually take to the air like a bird. Would you be able to come down again accurately and gently?

The sandpiper's dexterity requires intricate coordination of eyes, wings, and legs, all governed by its 'bird brain.'

As these flight calculations are being made the bird slows down, prepares to absorb the impact with its legs, and keeps a balanced posture.

It can reduce its forward speed by swooping up to a near vertical attitude, cupping its wings and fanning out its tail. Flapping in this orientation puts on its air brakes.

A perfectly timed approach lets the sandpiper come to a stall and drop softly onto its landing spot. 

Merged Minds

Any encounter with a flock of Purple Sandpipers enlivens a winter walk along the shoreline of Halibut Point. Their adaptation to this environment is of course astonishing. If you happen to see them flying in unison your sense of wonder will multiply.

Purple Sandpipers

These birds present a most interesting combination of individual skills and collective cohesion. 

In an instant they can transform their self-oriented foraging pursuits into aerial group dynamics.

Their explosions into collective flight have been measured as occurring in 38 milliseconds, three times faster than a human eye blinks.

Once in the air they form a unit navigating as with one mind.

Their cohesion, seemingly without vocalization or other signals, has always defied human comprehension. Precise observation has measured waves of movement traveling from bird to bird in 15 milliseconds as the flock weaves and reconfigures in flight. 

Explanations leave us more satisfied with the what than the how. The most accepted account was offered by zoologist Wayne Potts in the journal Nature decades ago in 1984. He posited that birds in flocks are able to change direction quickly not because they are following a leader or their neighbors, but because they see a movement far down the line and anticipate what to do next. Potts called this rippling effect the chorus-line hypothesis with reactions propagating through the flock at least three times faster than could be explained by birds just watching their immediate neighbors.

The photograph above shows a lead bird but not, I am assured by a leading naturalist, a flock leader. From a lifetime of shorebird study he is convinced that sandpipers have no decision-making leader even when they're relocating to another feeding ground down the coast and re-settling together at a certain tide line. "They're not deciding it," he says. "It reflects a group ambivalence. The group as a whole knows what it's doing."

Sometimes understanding must be satisfied with going beyond logic, particularly when processes happen quicker than the blink of an eye. The mysteries of these birds enhance rather than diminish our fascination. Purple Sandpipers have earned a niche not only on improbable terrain but in the near-mythic landscape of human wonder.