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.  

Stalking the Kingfisher, Part 2

 

Kingfisher on the quarry cliff

Perched high to survey the quarry pond for its prey, the Kingfisher puts itself in plain view. But those open sight lines also mean you can seldom get close to it without being spotted.

Showing the least interest in it even at a considerable distance almost always puts a Kingfisher to flight.

Cooper's Hawk watching and waiting

One day I wasn't the only one stalking the Kingfisher.

A fast-flying Cooper's Hawk burst from the treeline in pursuit of our mutual intended.

The Kingfisher's splash

Just as the hawk was closing in on it, the Kingfisher dove beneath the surface to escape its clutches.

The close call, in detail
The Kingfisher is already underwater

It was an amusing and tender irony to see the Kingfisher take refuge under the water surface where it as predator dives for little fish.

The Kingfisher's escape

The hawk flew on with the momentum of its dive. The Kingfisher surfaced and darted away.

The hawk, pivoting

For the moment my Devil Bird escaped the clutches of the raptor. Tender sympathies ricocheted among all the players in this natural drama, including myself.

The Kingfisher survived to carry on its elusive lifestyle with occasional visits to Halibut Point. I wish they were more frequent.

Stalking the Kingfisher, Part 1

KINGFISHER. The name seems mythical, a character from an Arthurian tale, an exceptionalist in a constrained world.

Belted Kingfisher

A Kingfisher arrives and departs with a disdainful scolding sound, usually near water. You know by its voice that it's operating nearby even when screened by the woods.

The far side of the quarry

A Kingfisher occasionally perches on the rim of the quarry at Halibut Point. It might secret itself in a tree by one of the small ponds.

Taking flight

An unobtrusive observer hears it shriek in the distance, hover, and plunge for a minnow near the water surface. But Kingfishers are notoriously difficult to photograph. They're wary and watchful from their promontories.

Fleeing in diameters

Kingfishers don't just move. They cross the quarry diametrically, the direct route, to keep as much distance from people as possible. Your long, furtive perimeter reconnoiter to its last position usually ends with an eerie, dismissive scolding as it flies away on detecting the stalker.

The Devil Bird

After many near misses I began calling it the Devil Bird. I thought of it taking perverse pleasure at my frustration as it winged away with its unearthly rattle.

The regal bird

I became obsessed with the possibility of photographing this elusive malapert. I hid behind a cedar tree while my friend Don went around the quarry to prompt it my way. It landed within a few feet of my blind! A slight movement on my part put the bird to flight squawking furiously. No trophy that day.

Despite, and partly because of its incalcitrant nature; as well as it's improbable physique and lifestyle; my determination to portray it fully developed into a quest.

Underneath it all is the mesmerizing beauty of the bird.

To be continued.

Mouths to Feed

Some species of newborn birds leave the nest almost immediately to forage on their own, often with at least temporary supervision and protection from their parents.

Common Eider ducklings at the tideline, Halibut Point

They are able to find their own food immediately or at a very young age,

A long-legged Piping Plover chick on the dunes at Plum Island

swimming or running precociously before they are able to fly.

Eastern Phoebe at the nest

Nest-raised birds come into the world with the advantage of a more secure nursery, but their parents are pressed hard to satisfy their voracious appetites from the moment the youngsters break out of their shells.

Green Heron collecting minnows

The feeding program for nesting birds often moves quickly from regurgitated, partially digested baby food to captured prey brought back whole for the fledglings.

Brown Thrasher with insect ready for delivery

It's a race against time and danger to get those juveniles independently doing what birds do best, flying free.

Northern Mockingbird

Parents may take surreptitious routes with provisions for their concealed families.

Osprey passing Halibut Point,
carrying home a fish

Osprey sometimes hunt miles away from their estuary nesting sites and bring back whole fish for the juveniles to butcher.

Cardinal carrying a dragonfly

Herbivorous birds may need to supply animal-based proteins from outside the parents' usual diet at some point in the chicks' development.

Northern Flicker parent and child this week,

the youngster siphoning food from its parent's throat.

Hungry fledglings may continue to receive supplemental meals from adults after outgrowing cramped space in the nest.

Barn Swallows on the quarry rim

This Barn Swallow giving insect hunting lessons to its brood keeps their energy up with occasional morsels delivered on the wing into their gaping mouths..

Common Tern adult and juvenile

A young tern still learning to fend for itself is revived on an expedition far from its island home by a watchful parent.

These incidents of survival versatility give snapshots into the wonders of the natural world.