The Watchtower

All through the record of history watchtowers have been prominent features of public vigilance. That is how the present Visitors Center of Halibut Point State Park came into existence as part of the coastal defense system during the uncertainties  of the early 1940s when German submarines were poised to menace the fishing fleet and shipping in Massachusetts Bay, and the refuge of Boston Harbor.

Perched cliffside on the Atlantic shoreline the building has been under constant exposure to environmental assaults and decay. Recently the Commonwealth invested substantially in state-of-the-art rehabilitation.

American Crow

The tower gives an open field of vision not just to human observers who climb to the top but to various birds keeping tabs on the lay of the land. Crows can often be seen and heard commenting on activities below. They seem to have set black as the plumage standard for this privilege.

Common Raven

A sturdy relative of the Crow, this Common Raven anchors itself  resolutely to the peak of the tower on a windy day.

European Starlings

A flock of European Starlings, a smaller but hardly less resilient blackbird, regroups en masse atop the tower while surveying a winter foraging mission. 

Turkey Vultures

The scale of the tower is never so well complemented as when large birds bring an eerie magnificence to the perch.

Besides unobstructed sight lines the promontory offers these massive creatures favorable conditions for taking off. They can pick up lift and air speed simply by falling forward. 

Bald Eagle

This big, dark, ominous bird‒distinguished by white on head and tail‒briefly took a lordly position on the peak of the tower this summer. The Bald Eagle could be seen as the monarch of elegance in the winged world. Its detractors contend that it is slow, opportunistic, and not above eating carrion.

Peregrine Falcon flyby

One of the truly adept hunters-on-the-wing flew by for a closer assessment. Bald Eagles and Peregrine Falcons have quite different hunting techniques and targets. Both species are still seen hereabouts in apparent coexistence.

The Watchtower constructed out of conflict rather than coexistence on this remote skyline now forms an observation feature as significant to nature as to humans. 

Mid-winter Bluebirds

Sunday this week was mild and sunny. The unrelenting winds of January had softened. I started walking up Gaffield Avenue into Halibut Point State Park with high hopes that the bird life would be more in evidence than recently, but things seemed  disappointingly quiet. Then from high to the rear came a series of sweet warbling songs that sounded like spring.

Perched over Gaffield Ave.

I turned around to notice a couple of birds that hadn't been there a moment ago, silhouetted against the low-angled sun. Even in the solar glare they were obviously Bluebirds. I took a few pictures. They allowed me to cross underneath them to photograph them from an angle that favored their brilliant plumage. Needless to say, this was a joyful turn of events.

Female Bluebird on a snowy branch

It was a delightful but not surprising encounter. Overwintering Bluebirds, once a rarity in Massachusetts, have become more common year-round residents. 

Male (above) and female foraging on Sumac berries

They've adapted to a winter diet of shrubby fruits rather than the insects we see them pursue in other seasons.

Eating Multiflora Rose hips

Not all botanists, ecologists, and gardeners are on good terms with these plants but the Bluebirds are glad for the sustenance.

Possibly some of the nesting boxes around Halibut Point will provide shelter for the Bluebirds, which are known to sleep together sharing body heat.

Vivid colors on a drab day

Those of us who join these birds on the fringes of meadowy terrain at Halibut Point are grateful for their adaptations and tenacity, as well as the commitment of the State Department of Conservation and Recreation to preserving varied habitat.

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.