Moonset

We need the darkness of night to best appreciate the Moon, though it may be overhead during the day. Daylight obliterates the lunar reflection no matter what phase it's in.

It's always intriguing to see the Moon in the sky. Near the horizon it may look brightest and include land and water features in a picture. Because of Halibut Point's geography setting moons, which occur toward the west, are likely to be more interesting than rising moons, which are easterly.

Moonset over the Ipswich Bay, Folly Point at left

At 6:00 on Monday morning a platinum disc shone through the neighbor's trees to the northwest of my house.  A full moon was descending toward the horizon. With sunrise a bit over an hour away I made a dash for Halibut Point. The open vista at Folly Cove confirmed that clear skies with a few spotted clouds held promise for photogenic possibilities in the Park.

Reflections on the quarry pond and the Ipswich Bay

I raced to the southeast rim of the quarry to see reflections on the icy surface, and further out on the ocean, past the northwest rim.

The grout pile's dark profile

Almost all the ambient light at this hour came by reflection from the Moon. Terrain features like the grout pile framed the view as black, brooding silhouettes.

Gradual illumination as the sun rises

From below the eastern horizon the sum began to give enough illumination to make both land and sky simultaneously visible.

The sunrise colors enriched the appearance of the Moon and the grout pile at dawn.

Moonlit surf

Growing sunlight dimmed the visibility of the Moon and brought earthly features into greater prominence.

Looking northwest from the Overlook

The evolving light conditions presented fleeting compositions of Earth, sky, and water.

The Year of the Osprey

 

One day last spring a sun-blocking shadow crossed the quarry at Halibut Point.

Looking up, an Osprey, the Sea Eagle, was flying almost directly overhead. Perhaps it was investigating the possibility of fishing in the quarry pond. It was flying low enough in its survey that we had a good look at each other.

Ospreys regularly inhabit East Coast estuaries and marshes, but I'd never seen one around our rocky headlands. As mentioned in last week's posting, we birders confess to getting excited about novelties to our species records, especially a sighting as dramatic as this. I also mentioned in that posting the tendency in life for novelty to snowball. And that's what happened with Ospreys for me in the past year, 2024.

On one occasion this grand fellow passed just off Halibut Point, likely coming from the Annisquam River or Essex/Ipswich coast pictured in the background.

From a high vantage point on the Overlook I had a fine view of the bird from above.

Its massive talons were ready to snatch a fish if the Osprey spotted prey at the water surface.

On another morning this bird's white underparts reflected the colors of the rising sun.

Most surprisingly, toward summer's end an Osprey landed almost beside me on a utility pole as I was leaving the Park. You can imagine my surprise and sense of good fortune. 

Some interesting facts from Wikipedia 

The osprey is the second most widely distributed raptor species, after the peregrine falcon, and is one of only six land-birds with a worldwide distribution. Most of our local birds winter in South America. 

The osprey is piscivorous. Fish makes up 99% of its diet. It has several adaptations that suit this lifestyle, including reversible outer toes, sharp spicules on the underside of its toes, closable nostrils to keep out water during dives, backward-facing barbs on its talons to help hold its catch, and dense oily plumage that prevents its feathers from getting waterlogged.

Ospreys have a vision well adapted to detecting underwater objects from the air. Prey is first sighted when the bird is 30 to 130 feet above the water, after which it hovers momentarily and then plunges feet first into the water.

The Zoomer

 Early one morning in October something fast and powerful burst into the quarry arena.

It flew purposefully, falcon-like, on long, pointed wings. At a distance of 200 yards in the dim light it was hard to make out identifying features.

Its, coloration dark above and whitish underneath, weren't like other local falcons. Something new and unfamiliar was circling relentlessly at the far end of the quarry.

It dipped down to the pond and back up to the sky. Like any birder my excitement piqued at the sight of something unique.

Ripples of the Zoomer and the gull

It hit the water surface a couple of times like the Lone Gull in last week's posting. But this was no gull. Was it hunting? It's head was too small to be a raptor and there was no big curved beak. I didn't know of any pelagic bird like this that might have gotten off course. An exotic from faraway lands? The moment was moving too fast.

An enlargement of the photo above.

As sometimes happens the picture clarified under screen magnification at home. Those pink feet belonged to a Rock Dove, our common park pigeon, the head-bobbing potato chip scavenger at the train station. There was no accounting for this one's behavior.

The pigeon flying away

In all my years of tracking birds at our Park I'd never seen a pigeon. This was a first-timer. It was hard to account for that, too. But we're all pleased to add a new species to our life lists. Especially an Attack Pigeon.

A follow-up sighting

Another core principle in life is that a new experience tends to open the door to repetitions. Novelty snowballs. A flock of pigeons subsequently zoomed over Halibut Point.

The Lone Gull

 

Standing on water-
the ice closes in
Don McManus photo

For much of the recent season a singular Ring-billed Gull whom we'll call RBG has frequented the quarry pond at Halibut Point.

RBG sometimes hangs out on the fringes of the big-chested crowd that often gathers for bathing, preening, and kibitzing. RBG maintains an obsequious, "Hey, guys, it's me!" posture from the outside.

RBG invariably gets the silent treatment from the chatty, gregarious Herring and Great Black-backed Gulls. 

Tern-like flight

Yet RBG is an adept and buoyant flyer. It circles keenly over the water looking for minnows to catch. None of the bigger species even attempt this.

With its lighter build RBG can skim over the surface ready to plunge on an unwary fish.

While it's swimming RBG spends a lot of time bobbing and turning cork-like to look for ripples that give away a submerged fish.

With quick sprints it occasionally gets to the prize in time for a successful catch.

The bulkier gull species that are so well adapted to soaring in the wind, scavenging at sea, bullying seals and diving ducks, can't share in that bounty below the very surface where they are congregating restfully.

RBG hunts with a parallel but entirely different foraging plan from the herbivorous Mallards.

The wonder is that this individual in the relentless opportunism of nature has the "field" to itself.

Sanderling Encore

 

Sanderlings at Halibut Point 

The flocks of Sanderlings on our shoreline deserve an encore presentation in the "Notes from Halibut Point." 

During the past week they have enlivened the tidal zone with many more photogenic opportunities. Of course some of the credit goes to the stunning environment itself.

An 'encore' is a demand made by an audience for an additional appearance by performers on stage.

It is a call for 'more', or 'again', after a delightful experience. 

Sanderlings feeding

Just going about their daily necessities these birds can't help being picturesque to us.

Sanderlings bathing

They're diminutive, approachable and resilient, with mysterious intelligence. Cute, you might say, in astonishment at their mastery of a harsh environment and global migration.

A school of fish in the water beside them with equally impressive life achievements would not seem nearly as charming.

Sanderlings blend highly developed individual and collective skills in the solar-energized tumult of atmosphere and ocean. 

Like us, they stand on two legs. Then they fly.

Sanderlings

 

The winter shoreline so impressive for grand elements and vistas truly comes alive with its bird life. This week Sanderlings have appeared at the tide line, sometimes like snowflake specks on distant ledges and sometimes almost at your feet. Their diminutive animated whiteness is irresistible in an environment of enormity.

Sanderlings have an uncanny relationship with waves, which churn up miniscule edible invertebrates for them to find.

Hunting along the edge of the surf means relying on extraordinary reflexes.

Much of what they do seems to depend on split-second signals from other members of the flock.

They fly in tight formations with simultaneous twists and turns and no singular leadership.

Purple Sandpiper

Interestingly, within this nomadic flock were a few individuals of other species that adapted to its group dynamics, communication, and maneuvers.

Dunlin, airborne at left

Since a group of Sanderlings is called a 'grain' these other birds were going 'with the grain.'

Sanderlings congregate for breeding in the northernmost Arctic tundra. Then they disperse globally to shorelines along both hemispheres. Depending on where they winter this journey can be anywhere from 1,800 to 8,000 miles long.

Some Sanderlings maintain a year-round presence on Massachusetts beaches. At Halibut Point we're most likely to see them now when the world travelers are resting and refueling in their cosmopolitan migrations.