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Friday, December 9, 2011
The first snows of the winter season made the ground a cold soggy mess. Around Chatham, I managed to combine house-hunting with a bit of birding. An arduous task was made so much easier. MacKay's Line ran parallel to Highway 401 on the way to Lake Morningstar. Some distance from the road, a line of white blobs sent out a chorus of nasal honking. Hundreds of Trumpeter Swans foraged for bits of corn.
They fueled up before a final push south to Chesapeake Bay, Virginia, the largest wintering grounds in North America. Their migration route will have taken them 4,200 miles.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Work errands took me to Brant county for most of the day. Nevertheless I managed to sneak in a side trip to Bannister Lake near Ayr. The sun had already set when I arrived. It was cold and dank.
But beautiful. On the other side of the pond stood a line up of oddly still figures.
A flock of Sandhill Cranes tried to melt into the gloom.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
The season's first sprinkling of snow topped off branches and iced up walkways. The birdfeeders had been doing a brisk business the past couple of days. Small flocks of Gold and House Finches. Chickadees. Woodpeckers. But today the yard was eerily silent. On some overhanging branches the culprit lay in wait.
A Cooper's Hawk. From its large size, maybe a female. Skulking around.
Friday, November 25, 2011
There were always interesting sights along the route delivering newspapers. A family of Trumpeter Swans took shelter on a pond across from Pinehurst Lake Conservation Area near Glen Morris.
Four first year cygnets with sooty grey heads and necks. Several Trumpeter swans could be seen all year round in the area. They flew from the Grand River to Pinehurst Lake to Wrigley Lake to any one of the little kettle lakes that dotted the countryside. The river flowed all winter long, thanks to the warm effluent from the Cambridge sewage treatment plant. A comfortable home for Trumpeters. A lot more convenient than flying back and forth to the Arctic circle.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Busy days at work. The usual pre-Christmas frenzy. A frequent hawk had emptied out the yard. At dusk a Downy Woodpecker managed to sneak in a visit.
A peanut before bedtime.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
A trip to the cottage to check up on things was combined with a side trip to Rock Glen Conservation Area in Arkona, a 15 minute drive away. I heard its 10 metre waterfall was lovely.
And so it was. Plus it gave me an excuse to use the longer exposure setting on the Nikon. The Ausable River had carved a gorge through the hills and valleys in the area and exposed bedrock that dated back 350 million years.
I searched for fossils but couldn't find any. Too many leaves. And maybe the sign might have had something to do with it.
Hmmm. It was a warm windy day but there wasn't much wildlife. Just the remains of what used to be.
Like this great paper wasp nest. Probably with a few residents deep inside. I had the entire place to myself.
There was a lot of potentially fabulous birding habitat. Note to self: return next May. And be prepared to stay a while. Sure was fun running up and down all those stairs.
Right out of an Escher drawing. Gave the old lungs quite a workout. I lost track of time and the sun had dropped below the horizon by the time I left. Managed to spy at least one bird on my way out of town.
A lingering Sandhill Crane crept along a pond at the Arkona golf course. Thought I wouldn't see him in the gloom. Hah. I got almost totally lost trying to find my way in the dark to Port Franks. Tried to not panic. It was pitch black by the time I arrived. I walked around the property with a flashlight. The wind whipped through the tree branches and the sound of distant thundering waves could be heard. I stood still on the road and marvelled at it all. Even in the dark the place had a wonderful soothing quality. Quite inexplicable. A full moon and a distant streetlight cast shadows from the trees.
So peaceful. I began to understand why I was working so hard to get the cottage into a liveable state. A soul thing. It was going to be a long trip back, driving slowly in the dark watching for deer. A pit stop would be a must. The Ontario government had closed and refurbished its dingy old rest stops along Highway 401 over the past few years and reopened them as Onroutes.
The Woodstock location had opened a few months ago. I wanted to see what all the fuss and expense had been about. Had it been worth the huge inconvenience to the half a million or so drivers daily on the 401?
Totally. It was amazing. The food was terrific. Fresh, healthy, inexpensive. I tried New York Fries' braised beef poutine for the first time in my life. Not exactly calorie-free but it sure looked good. It was absolutely delicious. Darn. Another weakness to add to the list. The place had all the necessary civilized conveniences for harried motorists trying to get somewhere.
Kiosks for Tim Hortons. East Side Marios. And more. Comfy loungers for just sitting and resting. Soaring ceilings and walls of glass. A place outdoors to take a pet for a washroom break. Maps, videos of nearby attractions, a news feed, local temperatures.
And the cleanest nicest washrooms I've ever seen in a public building.
Probably the most important reason for stopping anywhere. Some very smart hardworking people sure put a lot of thought into the place. Well-deserved comfort and relief for the poor exhausted traveller. Brilliant. Made the whole driving thing a very pleasant experience. Thank you Ontario.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
The weather warmed up quite a bit and so did Tiny the Chipmunk.
He gladly came to get more seeds for his winter stockpile under the back porch. Even sat on my hand again. A final bit of friendliness before saying goodbye for the winter.
Monday, November 7, 2011
A pile of Mourning Dove feathers in the backyard meant only one thing. Hawk on the hunt.
A juvenile Cooper's Hawk. Small. From the rectangular shape of its torso, maybe a male. More mayhem at the bird feeders.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Don Smith sent photos of the Lesser Snow Goose migration at Old Wives Lake in Mossbank, Saskatchewan.
The number of geese is almost unimaginable.
Thousands.
Upon thousands. You can just hear the racket. The numbers of Lesser Snow Geese increased dramatically when farmers began to crop the prairies with huge fields of grain. Scientists estimate there are more than 5 million breeding birds today.
Snow Geese breed north of the Arctic Circle and spend winter in the southern U.S. and the Gulf of Mexico near water. They fly in high narrow corridors and cover 5,000 kilometres during their migration journey, on the move for more than six months a year. Totally amazing.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
The season's first big snowstorm south of the border sent shivers down everyone's spines. It would be our turn next before we knew it. Canadians went outdoors to enjoy the last days of warmth. Hawk Cliff near Port Stanley was one place I had always wanted to see. Strong winds blowing high above the cliffs meant that raptors had to drop to just above treetop level and follow the shoreline to continue their migration flights. Thousands of hawks and eagles funnelled through the area daily during the spring and fall. Like this Rough Legged Hawk, soaring just above my head.
Constantly blowing wind meant that smaller birds trapped at the water's edge took cover in the scrub and trees. Patches of agreement forest alongside the water also provided shelter and food. Robins, Red Winged Blackbirds and Cedar Waxwings gobbled up sweet wild grapes and berries.
In the meantime, the view of the Lake Erie bluffs was spectacular.
Erosion exposed the strata of sand and rock. From a pipe about 1.5 kilometres offshore, the Elgin water treatment plant extracted 75 million litres of lake water every day, purified it into drinking water, and sent it north to Southwold, St. Thomas, Central Elgin, Aylmer, Malahide, Bayham and the City of London.
A few kilometres down the road, the popular tourist village of Port Stanley was another good place to bird. Particularly in the off-season. Fishing boats tied up in the harbour were a pretty picture.
The abandoned pier was a great place for gulls seeking respite from the wind and a place to chill out.
A couple of Herring Gulls and a smaller Ring Billed Gull kept an eye on the water.
Settling in for the night.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Already it was time to winterize the cottage. Much had been done in recent weeks. A septic system inspected and repaired, poison ivy sprayed, an Eco Home Energy Grant inspection. A property survey.
I ruefully rechristened The Cottage … The Money Pit. A few miles down the road was Kettle Point, a fabulous birding area within the Kettle and Stony Point native Indian reservation. It was a fascinating area. But it was marked by extremes. Not a little disconcerting. Hard to visit. Small pockets of beautiful tangled thickets and forest had been left untouched by development. In other places, luxury cottages sat on prime waterfront lots. Many buildings of suspect standards were scattered on irregular plots of land rented from the band council. Some areas were full of garbage and abandoned ruined homes that should have been pulled down. Even burned out ones.
The area was smokey from a handful of small fires burning off fall's detritus. Kettle Point is the exposed tip of a layer of rock from the Paleozoic era — more than 400 million years old. The age was almost inconceivable.
From before even the dinosaur age. When bony fish were beginning to be formed. The shoreline's layers shale was fascinating. Petrified. Colourful and thin as cardboard. Fragile.
As I walked the edge of the lake, the delicate shale fractured and shattered under my shoes like eggshells. I grimaced. I was destroying history. Others ahead of me were doing exactly the same, including a family having fun breaking up rocks. Tragic that the area had no protection from the whims of humans amusing themselves. Including me. I jumped back onto the grass feeling horribly guilty. Even the famous stone kettles of Kettle Point were not immune from interference.
They made handy road decorations. The kettles were rounded egg-shaped concretions formed when a mineral precipated around some sort of centre, then was replaced by another mineral. Millions of years in the making. There still were kettles in the shallow bay that people couldn't get their hands on.
They made handy pedestals for migrating birds. Like Ring Billed Gulls and White Rumped Sandpipers.
And Bonaparte and Herring Gulls.
The sparrows were having a great time in the grasses along the shore, diving and retrieving flies. The first Tree Sparrows of the winter season were having a field day.
Literally. And so were some Song Sparrows.
Loving the warm weather.
Friday, October 21, 2011
The forest was full of Ruby Crowned Kinglets and Yellow Rumped Warblers passing through on their way south. White Throated Sparrows started coming through last week. They came to the feeder only in the half light of early morning or early evening.
They usually stuck around until the first frosts. Some summer birds were still hanging in. A single grackle remained in the back field and a few Red Winged Blackbirds still visited the feeders. Like this juvenile … this year's new crop.
He would soon be leaving too, if he knew what was good for him. A dozen Dark Eyed Juncos skittered around the yard today, the first birds of the winter. Tiny, the young chipmunk who jumped on my knee and ate from my hand all summer, had become stand-offish. Not only that, I think she was becoming a he. It took a year or so for chipmunks to mature.
He sure was plump. Double muffin top. Put on more than a few extra ounces for the upcoming hibernation. Wouldn't be around much longer either.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
A typical rainy fall day. Windy, cold and dark. The first Juncos seem to always arrive on miserable days.
Probably still not as miserable as way up north.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Reports that a Purple Gallinule was spotted near St. Catherines sent me to the Welland Canal. It was cold, windy and drizzling. What were the chances that this bird from the southern U.S. would stick around?
It was the first time I ever saw the canal. It opened in 1829. An incredible feat of engineering and construction for that era. The canal was widened many times and eventually its locks allowed huge trawlers to climb up and down the Niagara Escarpment and avoid Niagara Falls at the junction of Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. Thanks to the Welland Canal, U.S. ports like Detroit and Cleveland could ship their goods from North America and across the ocean to Europe. It made the cities of Toronto and Montreal prosperous. It was quite a spectacle to see the illustrious Pineglen bulk freighter move through a nearby lock in St. Catharines.
The Pineglen was the last lake freighter built at the Collingwood shipyards before they closed in 1986 and the last straight deck bulk freighter built on the Great Lakes.
It was 736 feet, more than two football fields long. Amazing. I spent hours at a small pond beside the Welland Canal Parkway, scanning the reeds for the Moorhen-like bird.
But it was not to be. Maybe those wild winds from the night before had swept the Purple Gallinule back south again. In the meantime, there were lots of other great birds around. Double Crested Cormorants flew overhead almost continually, patrolling the area.
Fighting the winds. Several flocks of Yellow Rumped Warblers darted about, madly filling up on the last insects before frost hit.
Hanging around with the flocks were a few other species. Like this Ruby Crowned Kinglet.
The ruby crown could only be seen from behind.
There were Flickers, Blackpoll Warblers, Brown Creepers, American Coots, Green Winged Teal, Hermit Thrushes and at least three kinds of sparrows: White Throated, Lincoln, and Song. The highlight of the day was this showy creature spotted by St. Catherines birder Jim Thomson.
An Eastern Towhee. Unlike most other birds, its fall plumage had not faded at all. A Northern Shrike at a nearby pond wasn't a bad sighting either.
An early arrival. Many Shrikes migrate from northern to southern Ontario. The fall leaves had already peaked and trees were beginning to lay bare from the wicked winds. The last flowering wildflowers still hung on. Goldenrod, Chickory, Goatsbeard and Aster.
Maybe giving us a few more weeks of colour.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
It was the warmest Thanksgiving weekend in recent memory. What better way to enjoy the fine weather than in Long Point, a final staging ground for many migrating species of birds. As it turned out, it was a mistake to visit Long Point Provincial Park. The entire place was swarming with campers, power boaters, rednecks and — horror of all horrors — duck hunters. It was open season on migrating ducks and the skies rang with shotgun blasts from dawn to dusk. Right up until Christmas. A birdlover's nightmare. At the same time, the ancestors of these hunters had to be thanked. It was they who had the foresight to preserve 15,000 acres of marshland off Long Point as a natural area and controlled game preserve. If not for them, the indiscriminate slaughter of migrating waterfowl would have continued throughout the twentieth century, undoubtedly extirpating or eliminating many species of ducks along with cranes, geese and swans. It took an imagination to create a new world. And some hope. It was a locale full of contradictions. An ironic place to establish birdwatcher head office — Bird Studies Canada — right next door in Port Rowan. A visit was in order.
I had supported the organization for years, financially and otherwise. It was closed of course. I paid my respects by exploring their handy mown trails abutting Long Point Bay.
There were few songbirds left, but lots of butterflies still feasted on sugary aster nectar.
There were so many Monarch Butterflies that sometimes they landed on my arm or hat. The air was filled with Buckeyes, Skippers, Red Admirals and Cabbage butterflies. Along with hundreds of Common Sulphur butterflies.
Female and male. Viceroy Butterflies always had a way of holding and flexing their wings that was different from Monarchs.
They were smaller too. It took half a day to figure out the name of this moth, fluttering over the clover and dipping into flower heads.
A Two-spotted Looper Moth. Also known as Autographa bimaculata. Obscure little dickens. Butterflies weren't the only creatures looking for a handy meal in all those wildflowers.
Voracious Praying Mantises propped open their vice-like claws beneath blossoms and hoped that at least one butterfly would tip over the edge. This butterfly was eventually able to wriggle away, minus a few chunks from its wings. But a poor Buckeye had breathed its last breath.
Praying Mantises sure knew how to set a trap. It surely seemed wherever there was an abundance of wildlife, there was an abundance of death. Hunt or be hunted. Sigh. It was warm and placid beside Port Rowan's pier.
The sun was low in the sky. Suddenly the water became alive with the sound of splashing.
Tiny minnows. Jumping up and chasing the last flies of the year. The waters must have been stuffed with fish of all sorts. Perfect feeding grounds for waterfowl. Too bad Long Point was so deadly for ducks. If they were smart, they'd head next door. To a safe harbour in Port Rowan.
Lots of food. No guns. Peace.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Another beautiful fall day. Another day problem solving at the cottage. First a pump out of the septic tank and an inspection of the drainage bed. Then a meeting with yet another contractor. More ideas. More difficulties. Bah. I sat on the back porch and watched the Turkey Vultures tilt and wheel. Wondered when they too would depart. A strange long-winged object seemed to be stuck to the back shed. Was it an insect? A stick?
A Northern Walking Stick, Diapheromera femorata. Occasionally kept as a pet. Some people will make pets out of anything. The backyard was full of small round mushroom-like objects
Puffballs. Beautiful fall colours washed over the port, even at the beach.
Huge flocks of blackbirds drifted through the skies and disappeared into the reeds.
I turned onto the highway and felt disappointed. No interesting birds. A small pond on Northville Road had two Great Blue Herons poking around. I stopped to take a look at the birds. Any birds.
Argh. Not just any birds. Sandhill Cranes. The traffic had slowed down behind me and I edged off the road, trying to not startle the cranes. Didn't work.
They raised their wings and prepared for lift off.
Took off into the wetlands at L Lake. Soon to leave for warmer climes.
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