Fledging from the Quarry

Eastern Kingbirds

Birding parallels bird life in being partly solitary, partly social. For both us birders and our feathered friends the prizes often come first from individual watchfulness, then sharing. As it is at the nest, so it is to many of us who keep an eye on natural life.

Kingbird home in the tupelo tree (center)

Don, one of the birding regulars at Halibut Point, spotted a nest under construction in a tree overhanging the quarry. A pair of Kingbirds flew in and out with material in their beaks.

After a successful incubation period there were two new mouths for the Kingbird parents to feed. Usually one would stay on the nest shading the newborns from the sun while the other foraged to keep up with their relentless appetites.

The arrival of an adult with a captured dragonfly would precipitate a family drama.

Mom and Pop look identical to an outsider. It was hard to tell whether the stay-at-home mate was demanding a share of the prey, or whether their commotion had to do with dismembering the insect to feed to the young ones.

Over the next few weeks the babies prospered, fledged, and exercised their wings. The day after this photograph was taken they were gone from the nest. I hoped they hadn't tumbled out or been pirated off by a predator. It hardly seemed likely that they could have reached flight readiness overnight.

Later that day Don saw the fledglings scrambling around higher up in the tree canopy. They were still under parental care and feeding but pursuing development outside the confinement of the nest. I was disappointed to miss witnessing their first actual flight attempts.

Green Heron fishing

Just across from the nesting Kingbirds was the favorite hunting perch of the Green Herons, a dependable sight all spring on their quarry promontory. I anticipated the fun of watching them teach their offspring some fishing tricks there.

Green Heron juvenile

The herons nested inconspicuously in a grove of trees at the far end of the quarry. Once again it was Don who pinpointed the spot within the canopy and away from the camera's prying eye. The pride of the parents didn't emerge from leafy shelter until they were feathered for flight.

By the time I first saw them they were practicing heron skills in the shadowy recesses of the tree grove, mixed in with youthful sibling shenanigans.

I was sure the public phase of their development was at hand, that the parents would line up their progeny for advanced fishing lessons on the waterside ledge. But on the same day the Kingbird fledglings disappeared, so did the Green Herons. They gave up the ready source of minnows for parts unknown, and have scarcely been seen again. Perhaps they have had to concede the State Park to the humans flocking there for respite in the pandemic.