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Friday, June 17, 2011

It would have been another peaceful June day if not for the airplanes every five minutes. And the power washers. And the lawnmowers. And the car horn beepers. And the garage woodworkers. And the central vacs. And the motorcycles. And the …

Sigh.

The birding world was also doing its best to contribute to the mayhem.

Two Grackle chicks fledged last week and were screeching up a storm at the birdfeeders.

A perfect addition to the day.

Mom and Dad bullied away and dive-bombed all the other birds. No doubt they were frantic to shut up their brood.

My sympathies were extended.

In the meantime, it was time to stop filling the feeders so that the Grackles could spend more time in the woods perhaps. Far away.

It looked like at least one baby needed a bit more schoolin' though.

What did you do when you were perched in the middle of a garbage can lid which was doing double duty as a bird bath?

And what was that wet stuff all around, anyway?

Mom? Where WERE you?

Oh there you are.

Hey, nice grub. You know where you can put that sucker …

Oh man. A wiggler. Wahhhh!

Where the heck did it go? Argh!

Would ya aim straight this time Mom?

Finally.

Now get me ten more of those things. Pronto.

Before I start screeching again.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

It was a warm tranquil morning. Perfect summer weather.

Impossible to stay indoors.

The barrage of e-mails and ever-present piles of paperwork were set aside to play hookey.

Every time I had walked by the trail entrance, I could smell someone's sickly-sweet cheap perfume.

Yuck. Someone should really change their brand, I had thought.

Turned out the brand was wild grape blossoms. Who knew?

The wild iris was blooming up a storm this year.

Thick overflowing clusters bordered all the established ponds. Yellow and purple. Gorgeous.

At the same time, my gardens at home weren't doing too bad either.

The peonies this year were spectacular.

All the wet weather had created a banner year for flowers.

Mosquitoes too. They were the worst that I could remember.

One more pair of waterfowl had managed to hatch a small family at the most secluded retention pond beside the forest.

I had seen them a few days before, casually meandering over the main road across from the grocery store.

Suicidal. Thank goodness most drivers in the neighbourhood knew how crazy our Canada geese could be.

I had flashed my lights at the oncoming traffic to give them a heads up.

Hopefully helped prevent mass slaughter.

In the forest, a friendly dogwalker noticed my camera and tipped me off to another small family on the move.

A minute down the trail, she said. Right hand side. Hopefully still there.

Indeed they were. Mom wasn't too pleased at me standing there clicking away on the camera.

Hissed at me. Then chattered away at her twins who were slow and clumsy. Not keeping up.

Giving directions, no doubt.

I couldn't help but sympathize with Mom's dilemma.

Especially when she showed that she was still nursing.

I backed up and left the scene. Best not to waste her time with interfering humans.

It's hard enough already trying to bring up a family.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Stifling sauna-like conditions and unmerciful swarms of mosquitoes had made life almost unbearable for more than a week.

At the same time, everything blossomed, multiplied and grew lush in the month of June.

It wasn't easy being stuck inside while the outdoors transformed itself into a paradise.

Thankfully by the time I was able to poke my head into the forest again, the temperature had dipped and the air had cleared.

The fields were covered with misty clouds of Bedstraw.

The first purple blooms of vetch were emerging and getting butterflies all excited.

Anemones were going strong.

There had been so much rain in the last month that normally bone dry places were brackish and swampy.

It had been a banner spring for amphibians. The shallow edges of retention ponds were stuffed with tadpoles and polywogs.

It was late morning and the day was quickly heating up.

Not only temperature-wise. A high-pitched racket at the pond from a pair of Red Winged Blackbirds likely meant only one thing.

Kooky fledgling on the loose. No tail. No wings. No sense.

No wonder mom and dad were having a fit.

Mosquitoes were hatching in batches of millions and dragonflies were having a field day. No pun intended.

Common Whitetails zoomed around in and outside the forest. Females had brown abdomens.

Males had a namesake chalky white abdomen.

Unless they were immature males.

A showy clubtail dragonfly sunned himself in the field.

The female sat close by.

Which species? Darned if I could find out. Odonatae take so long to research.

There were hundreds, maybe thousands of Bluet Damselflies. Everywhere you looked.

The goal of the day was to find a small shy wildflower that I thought I had glimpsed the night before.

But first I checked out the South Creek Pond to see if my eyes hadn't been deceiving me earlier in the week.

Amazing. A pair of Mallards had successfully hatched a family. Six bobbing, darting and dunking young'uns.

Well done.

I had to get down on my belly to take this shot of an Eight-spotted Forester Moth.

Who like to fly just above ground level, fluttering and weaving and landing upside down just above the dirt.

So much for clean white pants.

When I got to the boardwalk, there it was. A tiny streak of purple. Not hard to miss.

Fringed Polygala or Gaywings. Looked like an orchid. Liked damp pine swamps. Bloomed ever so briefly.

It was a long walk back. The sun had clouded over and the humidity was intense.

The Blue Eyed Grass began to pop open.

When I got home, an even bigger treat was waiting in the garden.

Oriental Poppies.

Vibrating with colour beside the False Blue Indigo.

A blaze of glory that lasted only a couple of days.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

A robin with a personality had been visiting my back porch. Whenever the back door opened, it flew away in a panic.

But not far. Just to the back fence. Then it came back.

Robins are supposed to eat only worms.

This one ate bird seed.

Adaptable city robin.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Yesterday I squeezed in a brief walk just before the darkness turned into night and swallowed up the forest.

For the briefest of moments I spotted something I had been searching for, for months.

Was it a figment of my imagination? A blurry vision of night-time shadows and dreams.

On a bare cedar branch at eye level and watching me over its shoulder sat what was unmistakeably a small heavily streaked tufted owl. More like a toy than a bird.

It turned and flew low through the tree trunks into the forest.

An Eastern Screech Owl. I had heard them last summer, an amazing and alarming sound. Brought goosebumps.

Just like when I finally saw it.

Monday, June 6, 2011

Real life has a way of interfering with the heart's most vital pursuits.

Or perhaps revealing them.

One of the rental properties needed painting so a week was set aside for the task.

It was never an easy job. Hour upon hour of backbreaking labour involving dismantling a room, finicky corners and trim, more than one coat of paint, and a half hour of slow, thorough cleanup.

Then home for a couple of hours of exhaustion in a chair, an ice pack on the back and a cold supper in front of the television. Early to bed for an early start the next day.

Repeat for five days.

At the same time, I was grateful for the exercise. It was when I first painted the rental properties four years ago that my hand remembered the satisfaction of a stroke well placed, the methodical way a surface is covered. The brush a deft tool, an extension of the hand and the mind.

That was when it all clicked and I put paintbrush to canvas for the first time in 25 years.

Every ordeal has its lessons.

Friday, May 27, 2011

For once the weather was perfect for delivering the newspaper across Brant county.

Cool, overcast, placid.

Lots of other creatures had been busy delivering already.

I had been trying to get a photo of the new twin fawns in the back field. But Mom was ever vigilant. Scooted away with her wobbly babies before I could even focus my lens.

Farm animals proved to be much more cooperative.

Near Burtch south of Brantford, one Mom showed off her recent arrival.

Dirty already. And fuzzy and gangly.

Scrawny. All legs. And totally adorable.

A little stallion. He kicked up his heels for the heck of it.

Glad to arrive.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Yet another day of overcast skies and intermittent rain.

Everybody's complaining. Except my flowering shrubs.

The magnolias were spectacular this year.

So was the Fothergill.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Holiday long weekends were always work weekends. That's what it was like running a small newspaper.

There were reports of Bobolinks in the Flamborough area, and I had hoped to combine work with pleasure.

I set out on my usual route. The conditions were favourable for Bobolink sightings.

Days of wet weather preceded by southerly winds. Long grass. Dandelions blooming everywhere. Black flies galore.

The Marsh Marigolds bloomed in the shaded depths of the swamps and wetlands.

Sure enough on Sheffield Road, a Bobolink sat on a hydro wire right over my car.

Then flew away.

Darn. No picture.

Sometimes in the newspaper business one gets phone calls from citizens needing help with a trying situation.

I thought I'd drop by Mr. Daniels' place. Check up on his bureaucratic problem with the local hydro provider.

Mr. Daniels had lived in the same little farm on Branchton Road for more than 60 years. He deserved to be heard out, even by someone who probably couldn't help him all that much.

He was glad for the visit and so was I. His stories about growing up in Saskatchewan were great.

Not only that, his old farm was a treasure trove of bird habitat and the best that nature had to offer.

Like this jar of honey Mr. Daniels gave me before I left. From his own beehives.

Tasted like wildflowers and apple blossoms with an undercurrent of whole grains.

"Put a spoonful in your coffee," he said.

After making the rounds with newspaper tasks, I scooted up Branchton Road and turned on a gravel sideroad bordered by thick grassy fields.

The 7th Concession meandered around a bend and through some prime farm land.

Through the rolled-down car windows I could hear a rapidly ascending bubbling song. It had to be …

… a male Bobolink in breeding plumage coming in for a landing.

When it called, it had that unmistakable square-headed look that only Bobolinks can have.

Bobolinks and rainy weather went hand in hand.

I rushed home before the clouds opened up so I could have a cup of tea.

In it I put a spoonful of Mr. Daniels' honey.

Liquid gold.

Monday, May 16, 2011

A noisy continuous trill has filled the side yard every morning for a couple of weeks.

Today the source popped out of hiding.

A Chipping Sparrow.

He scurried about on the bird feeding patio.

His colouration contrasted with that of another infrequent visitor, a White-Crowned Sparrow.

Both timid little birds were hard-pressed to avoid the obnoxious Grackles and Red-winged Blackbirds.

They were bullied out of the way without a thought.

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Finally managed to get another precious day off work. It was Point Pelee again, rain or shine.

The three hour drive was murder. Torrential downpours through Chatham Kent didn't help.

My nerves were in tatters by the time I arrived.

But Point Pelee has a way of calming you down the minute you step out of the car.

The sound of waves breaking against the shore. The trees rustling in the wind. The silence. Those moments of solitude with just you and the birds.

It sure helped that by 2:30 p.m., the park was already emptying out for the day.

There sure is something to be said for mid-afternoon birding.

The car windows were cranked down. An incredible variety and density of bird songs rang in the woods during the drive up the causeway.

I remembered that the little footpaths at the edge of Blue Heron Marsh could produce some good results.

There were multitudes of Chestnut Sided Warblers, all meandering at waist height within a couple of feet of the footpath and paying barely the slightest attention to humans creeping about with binoculars.

They were busy trying to get the best buds, the tastiest nectar and the juiciest bugs.

Doing whatever acrobatics it took to accomplish the task.

A male Magnolia Warbler did likewise.

Accompanied by Mrs. Magnolia.

Dozens of White Crowned Sparrows patrolled the grassy areas, gleaning worms and bugs.

A Palm Warbler wasn't going to be left out. He dove right in then discovered it wasn't quite as dry as it looked.

Dried off on a nearby twig.

When I got too close, he flew off a bit and gave me an injured look.

Don't take advantage of us poor exhausted migrants, he seemed to say. We're doing the best we can.

He gave me a lovely view of his tail. He couldn't have been too annoyed.

Or maybe he was. I backed right off just in case.

The air was filled with birdsong from Redstarts, Orioles, Grackles, Red-winged Blackbirds, Vireos, Cardinals … the list went on and on.

A Warbling Vireo tried to look inconspicuous.

He was, but he was still beautiful.

Some people didn't even bother to get up from the picnic benches. They just sat and watched whatever came by.

And there were lots. Seen by many.

I talked to people from California, Ohio and Michigan who all commented on the wide open spaces yet high concentration of birds in our Canadian park.

Known around the world, they said.

We Canadians know what we're doing when it came to bird habitat apparently.

I'm sure this Black and White Warbler would agree.

Later on, I came across a female Black and White.

It was interesting to compare the difference in colouration.

I took the convenient free tram to the tip with a handful of people. It was already the supper hour.

Thank goodness I didn't have to walk the 2.5 kilometre road. Left more energy for birding.

Washrooms, segregated garbage cans and a sheltered exhibit area made for a welcome sight at the tip.

The gazebo's annual seasonal dwellers had recently arrived and were setting up shop.

Luminescent Barn Swallows. Twittering, chirping, calling and watching the action just above our heads.

There were so many Baltimore Orioles along the footpaths at the point, it was impossible to keep track of the numbers.

They were intent on finding food right away. A juvenile sucked nectar from handy blossoms along the walkway.

Completely oblivious to passers-by.

There was only one thing that annoyed me about Baltimore Orioles.

Sometimes they gave you brain strain trying to identify them.

Was it an Orchard Oriole? A vireo? A super big warbler? No, no and duh ... no.

Note to self. A female Baltimore Oriole.

It was interesting to study the way hungry exhausted birds came onto the Point off a southerly breeze, then dropped to the ground to immediately scavenge for food.

Like this normally secretive denizen of leafy bushes, the Grey Catbird.

Not exactly known for patrolling beaches grabbing a beakful of insects.

There was a variety of migrating gulls taking a break at the tip.

Most of the smaller ones with the dots on their heads were immature Bonaparte Gulls. There was an unusual Little Gull, the fifth gull from the left in the foreground.

Its pink legs were distinctively short.

The violent rainstorm just a few kilometres down the beach seemed to have caused a fallout at the point. There were so many birds, they literally got underfoot.

You could not veer off the path for fear of stepping on some forager or another.

Persistent rustling revealed yet another arrival scrounging around for something to eat.

There were numerous warblers making their way into the park from the tip, including a pair of Blackburnians.

The male paused for a moment to eye something tasty buzzing around.

Thanks for posing, handsome.

A crowd of excited mega camera-toting afficionados zeroed in on a rarely-seen target.

Seeking the Bay Breasted Warbler.

Got him.

A complete ham.

A Blue Headed Vireo gave me a chance for a good solid look …

… at his distinctive white spectacles.

Madam Blue Headed Vireo was not to be outshone.

She was close behind.

Beside a nearby bench, a female Redstart waited patiently for everybody to disappear so she could pick off a few flies.

Breast feathers blowing in the wind.

There was an hour before sunset and park closing. A quick walk through the Woodland Nature Trail boardwalks wouldn't hurt even though the light was fading slowly.

A few remaining birders left on the trail saw my camera and directed me to a special sighting.

Shhh, a nice lady said, motioning me to come close.

A Hooded Warbler. A rarity.

The niceness was not to end.

Around the corner, a kind young man helped me find another rarity spotted that day.

An Orange Crowned Warbler.

I could even see the orange crown, something not often spotted.

Yay for nice people. Another very much-appreciated sighting at Point Pelee National Park.

Before I left the Woodland trail swamps, I checked off a House Wren, a Black-throated Blue Warbler, the now-familiar Prothonotaries, and a tree holding a clump of hunched brooding silhouetttes.

Turkey Vultures, flocking to a night-time roost.

I went through a dozen websites and three books on trees and I still couldn't identify this weird spindly flowering tree with awkward drooping petals.

The quiet darkness of the drive back home was soothing for tired feet and a sore back.

It took me an entire day to sort through more than 900 frames for this posting.

It was wonderful to appreciate again the marvel of Point Pelee's spring-time bird migration, renowned around the world by visitors who travelled thousands of miles over a period of many days.

And not just the birds.

How lucky we were in southern Ontario to experience it.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

How does one find enough time to see all the birds coming through these days?

Next to impossible.

Sigh.

A slow walk through Hanlon Woods this afternoon netted a few quick sightings.

The Bloodroot blooming in all its glory.

A Black and White Warbler picking off insects near a swamp.

Twittering sweetly.

A very soft "whit whit" gave away the presence of a thrush.

Suddenly, a beigy bird flew out of the underbrush and onto a branch. Safely hidden from view.

Or so she thought.

A Swainson's Thrush, I do believe. Buffy. No reddish tail. Unstreaked breast.

A lonely little clump of Trout Lilies managed to avoid the busy hands of flower-pickers.

Right beside the path.

This year, all the Canada Goose nests were plundered in April within a week of egg-laying.

An overabundance of muskrats. And raccoons. And skunks.

Beside one abandoned goose nest, a family of web-footed creatures managed to keep hidden their precious family-to-be. A pair of Mallards.

Just like last year.

What was their secret weapon?

Maybe just timing.

Their predators all seemed too busy guarding their own tiny babies now, to lay siege. But there will still be time.

Last year, the poor mallards were the overnight victims of serial infanticide.

Nature was so cruel. Yet here they were, trying yet again.

Brave and stoic.

My fingers will be crossed.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

A quick look out the kitchen window at supper time almost made me drop my frying pan.

A glimpse of black and white with a crescent of scarlet.

A Rose Breasted Grosbeak. At my little modest home right here in Guelph.

A first-time visitor to the bird-feeding patio.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

It took a full day to recover from the Point Pelee trip. That's what middle age does to you.

Sore and aching. Too much driving. Not enough food. Exhausted.

But today things were just fine. A good night's sleep cured everything.

In the meantime, the home birds were knocking at the windows trying to get my attention.

"Hello … feeders empty! Like … can we get some clean water … and maybe … uh … like …FOOD? Like … NOW?"

My birds are so spoiled.

I refilled everything including the Baltimore Oriole feeder and cut a new orange.

So far, no action in the past week. Just like every year, sadly.

But I was forever hopeful.

Today was another day.

Well …

Finally.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

From past experience, peak birding migration at Point Pelee National Park, birdwatchers' Mecca, tended to range from the ridiculous to the sublime.

Neverthless it was an irresistable annual ritual. Especially when there was a tsunami of exotic reports being posted on Ontbirds.

Today was a rare sunny warm day and I hurried to prepare a kit for the excursion. Lunch and dinner. Orthotics. Clothes for all weathers. A Tensor bandage for my perpetually hurting camera wrist. My lucky Long Point Observatory birding hat.

I made a quick stop at Henry's camera store in Cambridge for a special new lens before heading off to Leamington.

A Nikkor AF-S 28-300 mm lens had just come on the market. My photographer, Irv Donald, promised it would make a noticeable improvement in sharpness and distance.

Mobility and speed were crucial when photographing birds on the fly. The lens was a bit bigger and heavier than my much-loved Nikkor 18-200 mm (right).

This is what my camera looked like with the new lens:

A bit bulky. So Henry's suggested a BlackRapid RS-W1B cross-chest strap — "the world's fastest camera strap."

I found the fact that the curvy strap fitted comfortably under a certain relatively useless chest appendage that shall remain unnamed, an even bigger advantage.

Point Pelee National Park's annual Festival of Birds was a hit-and-miss affair. Some years good, others not so much.

Lots of factors came into play. Temperature, wind, precipitation, construction projects in downtown Leamington. Crazy park visitors.

And this year: gas prices.

Most times there usually emerged a good reason for making the long trip.

At the park, the normal master plan came into play. Find a roomy parking spot not beside a fat SUV. Check. Go in the opposite direction of the hordes of visitors. Check. Avoid (a) all groups and circus performers (b) ladies with dogs, squalling infants in baby carriages, and loud husbands who clapped their hands for effect (c) the incredibly annoying walkie-talkie guys and (d) the sections — including the best ones on the boardwalks — where people parked on lawn chairs and socialized for the whole day. Check.

Do the most birding when everyone left the park for dinner. Check.

If in need of help, address the quietest most polite person shying away from the spotlight. Inevitably they know the most. Because they watch and listen. Check (in brackets).

The trails at Point Pelee were ideal — flat and manicured.

They were manageable even by those in wheelchairs. A not infrequent sight.

You could not help but appreciate what a great country we lived in, knowing that such marvellous opportunities were provided to not only the able-bodied, but to the disabled as well.

The trails criss-crossed perfect bird-viewing areas: low-lying eye-level tangled Carolinian forests jutting out into Lake Erie on a handy point of land. Ankle deep in wetlands and hatching insects.

Birds came in exhausted, slow-moving and often somewhat oblivious to the hundreds of pairs of eyeballs riveted on them.

Visitors were instructed to treat the disoriented new arrivals with tactful consideration. And just about everyone did.

Amazing, considering that a look at the licence plates in the parking lot showed that visitors were from all over North America.

White Capped and White Throated Sparrows were everywere, bathing in puddles inches away from trails and scurrying about within the leaf litter.

Some of the earliest spring wildflowers, like Bellworts, were in bloom.

And Spring Beauties, which in previous years I had arrived too late to see.

I fled the crowded Woodland trail for the afternoon, but not before catching a glimpse of a rarity, a Blue Winged Warbler.

It had a distinctive black eye slash and a habit of hanging upside down.

A Rusty Blackbird in the Tilden Woods swamp erupted in startling squeaky tinkling: "kerloueelouee eee" as it foraged about.

It busily probed and ducked and flipped things over, searching for things to eat. Its feathers, especially the primaries, had rust-coloured edges: hard to pick out.

A female Yellow Rumped Warbler showed an interesting blue sheen on some patches, something my other lens would not have revealed.

Maybe a strange aberration.

Not sure what these flowers were, but they were lovely. Maybe Purple Cress.

After retreating to the back seat of the car for refuelling (i.e. a supper of a sandwich, ice tea and a banana) and some solid back support, I couldn't help but notice the waves of departing vehicles.

Including a garish orange Harley Davidson with extended forks and a driver wearing a vintage pudding bowl helmet and retro leathers. The bike backfired its way out of the lot.

Birds exploded out of the trees and flew away in horror.

Like I said, the place ranged from the ridiculous to the sublime.

I headed to the Woodland Nature Trail yearning for the latter. It was blessedly deserted and tranquil as the sun lowered in the sky.

The first treasure discovered was a timid Louisiana Waterthrush ducking about in the swamp.

I remarked to a quiet woman sitting on a bench nearby, "Elaine" as I later found out, at the high-pitched squeaks in the air. She pointed out the Prothonotary Warblers that were zipping about.

"They're not afraid to come right to the edge of the path," she said.

She was right.

Prothonotaries were rarities to see at any time or place but they seemed to love this part of the park. They could be seen annually along the Woodland Nature Trail, flitting about, getting photographers all excited, and generally hamming it up for the cameras.

I swear this one came over to check me out. Curious little dickens.

He decided to get into a rumble with a Yellow Warbler just so that we could all compare plumage.

Nothing made your day more than a cooperative warbler.

Just for variety's sake, a Common Yellowthroat put in an appearance.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, a couple of unexpected forest denizens made their way to the swamp.

This one needed a drink.

Another critter popped its head out.

Got some fresh air.

Elaine and I took the rest of the trail into the forest, spying a Black and White Warbler, several Grey Blue Gnatcatchers, and this striking bird.

A female Rose Breasted Grosbeak.

The songbirds really seemed to be rolling in that night, right after the crowds had left.

A coincidence? Maybe. But a nice one.

A Nashville Warbler was skulking around on the forest floor.

He had interesting rufous mottling on top of his head.

Something I never noticed before.

As Elaine and I chatted and walked, we discovered to our absolute stunned amazement that we had more in common than we ever could have predicted.

Turned out she was Elaine Laengert who went to school with my younger brother and whose older brother Ed I had spent oh, about 10 years of my childhood sitting beside in school.

Elaine Laengert formerly of Kingsgate Crescent, one street away from my childhood home, lately arrived from a six-year stint with an NGO in Haiti.

Who'd have thought that 33 years later and 350 km away, we'd bump into each other in the middle of a Carolinian Forest?

Birdwatching certainly did produce an astonishing array of miracles.

On my way out of the park, I made a point of dropping in on the Great Horned Owl nest conveniently signed at a pull-off near the entrance.

A very nice mild-manner gentleman named Rick, I think, kindly gave me the history of the owls' nest and showed me fascinating video of owlets from previous years.

Another amazingly fortunate encounter.

All in all a ridiculously sublime day.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

It was one of those sandwich days.

In between dropping off keys for the tenants and typing out invoices, I had to sandwich in some serious warbler viewing.

Running around like a chicken without a head.

I envied those birders on Ontbirds who had the time to go out every day and post their sightings. Every day! What a luxury.

For me, everything had to be squeezed in between one crucial task or another. It was all I could do to dash from one event to the next.

Argh!

For the past few days there had been reports of a fallout in the Oakville and Burlington areas.

Even though it was wet, cold and miserable, I was compelled to check it out. Asap.

There was a steady light rain falling by the time I reached Shell Park on Lakeshore Road West.

Didn't look like much of a bird sanctuary truthfully.

It was one of the very few tracts of greenery bigger than a postage stamp within the super built-up Oakville-Burlington corridor.

As it turned out, when migrating warblers hit the north shore of Lake Ontario, there were few other places to go, other than these scattered bits of green.

Within the park, a small section of tangled shrubbery by a little creek laid out a welcome mat to hungry insect and bud-eating warblers.

I stood wedged in between the bushes in the middle of a cloud of gnats which occupied a pillar of sunshine beaming in between the clouds.

Ideal bird-watching positioning.

A vibrant male Yellow Rumped Warbler darted about.

On the other side of the creek, a continuous stream of buzzing and zeeing gave away a Grey Blue Gnatcatcher.

Hopping frenetically from bud to bud.

A continuous drizzle gave the greenery astonishing supersaturated colour.

The Skunk Cabbage positively glowed.

What in the world was making that loud chattering sound above my head?

A Kingfisher on a mission. Trying … trying to make a nest without being disturbed.

Sorry.

The park was carpeted with lovely blue flowers.

Across Great Lakes Boulevard, a somewhat miserable looking Black Crowned Night Heron shrunk from a noisy group of pop-gun toting lads beneath his feet.

While at the same time, keeping an eye on me.

Thank goodness those boys never looked up.

The skies opened up with too much water for even me to put up with that afternoon. I fled down the road to Paletta Park in Burlington.

Paletta was directly on the shore of Lake Ontario.

It was a meagre resting area for migrants, hardly worth noting at any other time of the year.

No matter, birds funnelled through and popped out of the wind like pebbles coming off a train.

Palm Warblers fought and tail-wagged in every other tree practically.

More Yellow Rumped Warblers poured through.

A Yellow Warbler took a rest stop before heading into the leaves.

It was an exhausting cold wet day for me on the shores of Lake Ontario.

But I still felt lucky.

I hadn't flown 85 kilometres straight to get there.

Friday, April 29, 2011

After several days of violent winds, showers and tornadoes, broken trees and tattered shingles, a dismal leaden sky had descended over the countryside.

Mist, rain, cloud.

When I got to Glen Morris delivering newspapers, all I could see was mostly grey.

But strangely, there was that feeling that maybe I should pull over to the side of the road.

Something was looking at me.

A glorious male Eastern Bluebird.

He eyed me through my car window …

… and posed proudly.

Oh c'mon, that was just plain showing off.

He leapt to a nearby branch and called out softly, "cheer cheer."

The rest of what would have been a hard day unexpectedly became so much easier.

I had an hour before sunset to snoop around Fairchild Creek around St. George and check for songbirds.

A gaggle of geese paraded around a picturesque hobby farm on Hunter Road.

How adorable was that.

It was getting pretty dark but nevertheless there seemed to be lots of duck activity in the sky. But not Mallards.

Slightly longer tails and a more cross-shaped silhouette. Sharper beak.

At a favourite hidden duck haunt on Sheffield Road, I hid behind some bushes and waited.

Finally a group of walk-bys, pecking around for bits of corn — spectacular but nervous Wood Ducks in breeding plumage.

They quickly took to the skies when they heard my camera clicking away.

That was okay.

What had started off as a miserable day turned out to be fabulous.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

A letter from Prince William and Kate Middleton arrived.

I had written them about Kate's fondness for wearing hats with feathers.

I kindly requested that she not wear the feathers of endangered species or feathers that were not obtained in a humane way.

They managed to send off a lovely reply before dashing off to their wedding tomorrow.

A class act.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

After a short but violent lightening storm this morning, the wet ground steamed and gnats rose to meet the sun.

Work and deadlines were briefly put aside to explore the outdoors.

The first three Tree Swallows of the year swooped over Preservation Park.

An Eastern Phoebe practised flycatching at the tips of maple trees near the Hilldale pond.

Fanning its tail.

The willows were finally budding out at the Somerset ponds.

A lot of birders were complaining about our cold damp spring.

I'm loving it.

People forgot that warm weather forced out the leaves, obscuring all our lovely clear birding views with greenery.

A pox on warm sunny weather.

For now.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Irv Donald, my staff photographer, sent over a shot from the St. George Art Show and Sale from last weekend.

He made me look 5 years younger and 10 pounds lighter.

Bless him.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Easter, the first days of good birding, some precious days of balmy weather, and the busiest newspaper of the year all coincided in the last week.

Just like every year.

Sigh.

Things had gotten chucked out the window pretty quickly. Proper meals. Enough sleep. Washing dishes.

But today one thing had to get accomplished … photographing the first warbler of the year.

The first swarms of flies and midges had already hatched. Warblers couldn't be far behind.

Yesterday a blustery wind had blown in all day from the southwest. I headed out to the Hanlon forest to see what had been deposited over night.

Aha. A very faint sweet trill interspersed with somewhat annoyed-sounding buzzes let me know I was on the right track.

Gotcha. A female Yellow Rumped Warbler.

I couldn't resist heading out to Preservation Park to see what else was hanging around.

On the way, a Northern Flicker called to its mate at the South Creek Pond.

It was overcast, warm, still and slightly foggy during the lunch hour. Everyone was having Easter brunch. Which meant no one was in the forest.

Perfect.

A Cardinal landed on a fence and sat waiting … for what?

Mrs. Cardinal.

A casual pair of Mallards dabbled in the flooded grasses beside the small wetland.

Barely paid attention to me, as usual. Lollygaggers.

Couldn't walk beside the pond these days without hearing a familiar scrambling noise and a splash.

Muskrat.

Eating the first tender shoots of yellow flags.

I never thought I'd spot the local elusive Hermit Thrush catching some rays in the middle of the day.

When he saw me ogling him, he dashed into a big cedar tree for cover.

So did I.

Made my day.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

The warm weather continued this week and gave a boost to all things outdoors.

At dusk, the forest rustled and whispered and sure enough, the next day green shoots had emerged.

Wild leeks, sometimes known as wild garlic. Pretty soon pickers would be out gathering the tasty greens for salads and soups.

The Canada Goose was still nesting away at the South Creek pond, this time with a little company from a pair of Painted Turtles.

So far so good.

Muskrats seem to have inundated the ponds this year. They are the most numerous I have seen in the last eight years.

This one jumped into the pond at Preservation Park, boding ill for the surrounding goose nests.

The park was full of small lisping "sweet sweet" sounds. A flock of Cedar Waxwings hit on the Buckthorn bushes.

One seemed to have loose lips.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Moist warm southern winds called my name, rattling the roof and tossing up winter's detritus against the windows.

The computer, my e-mail, the telephone and a list of chores were all abandoned in favour of the outdoors.

I set off in a T-shirt and running shoes, a camera and binoculars slung over my shoulders and a plastic bag and a raincoat in my knapsack.

It was a morning of guilty pleasures. It sure would be nice if every day was nothing but guilty pleasures.

The paths were muddy but finally ice-free. It was wonderful to feel the earth under my feet again.

Best of all, on a weekday morning the paths were virtually abandoned by runners, bikers, and those dreaded of all dog walkers, the leash-free owner who swore their dog wouldn't hurt a fly.

While it jumped and pawed all over you.

Now I've learned a raised foot in the direction of a charging dog will divert the locomotive to the left or the right.

Unfortunately, it does little to deflect the nasty looks from dog-owners with wounded pride.

The first heads of Coltsfoot were already poking up through the leaf clutter near the Southcreek pond.

And the first of the Painted Turtles had crawled out of the mud to find a mate.

The first Canada Goose nests had already been in place a week ago at the pond.

Last year every single nest was predated in mid-May.

Let's hope the geese had better luck this year than the raccoons, skunks and opossums.

This nest looked pretty darn good.

Cleverly camouflauged. Check. Surrounded by water. Check. Behind a fence. Check. Holes under the fence. Check. Uh oh.

We shall see.

I still can't forget last year's scenes of devastation. Broken egg shells scattered all over the banks, ripped up nests. The honking and crying all night long.

And for several more days, dejected geese sitting dead still in the ponds. Stunned by it all.

Hopefully the inexperienced pairs from last year learned a lesson from the tragedy.

So many birds had already returned from their vacations down south, including our resident Northern Flicker.

He was a lot more obvious when he turned around.

Last night in Preservation Park I saw the first White throated Sparrows and a Hermit Thrush.

No camera, of course.

Several flocks of Golden Crowned Kinglets sifted through the cedars in the forest.

This female Kinglet sat still for 5 milliseconds longer than usual, just long enough for me to snap this photo.

Then it was gone.

By the time I got home, the sunshine had encouraged some miniature daffodils to raise their heads.

The Scilla did likewise.

A pleasant welcome home before hitting the saltmines.