Sightings at 205 Thompson Hill Road

The early fall found Northern Cardinals bringing their somewhat mottled-looking young to the sunflower seed feeders. The Red-bellied Woodpeckers seemed to have trouble enticing their young to the feeders--the adult male flew repeatedly from feeder to a nearby branch to give the juvenile a seed. Finally, the young one got the idea, after at least 8 tries. At that stage of its growth, the “baby” was as big as the parent, but had not yet acquired the red on the head.
On Nov. 26 and again on Dec. 1, we were treated to the sight of a flock of Cedar Waxwings feeding on the berries on the dogwood trees and on the red cedar trees. These are two trees that provide wonderful winter food for birds. The eastern red cedar, in particular, offers both food and shelter to winter birds.
During the first week of Dec., a male Sharp-shinned Hawk checked out the back yard several times. The local Blue Jays gave their warning calls and the feeder birds immediately scattered.
Don’t forget to call for a spot on the Jan. 23 Backyard Birding morning. We hope to see some of the above and many more!

Christmas Count Held on Dec. 27, 2009

Because of the massive storm predicted (and received in some areas) on Dec. 20, the 35th Annual Salmon River Christmas Bird Count was postponed until Dec. 27. Stalwarts were out on the 27th, in spite of steady light rain, and mud just everywhere. Fog from warm rain hitting frozen ground reduced visibility to maybe 100 yards. The fog, rain, and mist did not lift until about noon-time, therefore, the morning yielded few birds, and our numbers, especially species numbers, were way down. Ducks were in short supply because ponds and lakes were frozen solid, with a coating of rainwater on top. Hawks, also, were not present because the weather had reduced the availability of prey.
The tally was held at the Cypress Restaurant as planned. Preliminary count at the tables was 58 species, however, several lists were yet to arrive, so the species count should rise somewhat when all captains receive and report all of the lists.
In this first preliminary count, Great-Horned Owl was missing—the first time we have not had this species in the history of the count.

Sparrow Crawl: October 10, 2009

I had just sat down at the bar of the Cypress Restaurant and ordered a glass of beer. Looking around me I noticed a man sitting alone nearby. He alternately glanced disinterestedly at the television or stared at his folded hands. He was slim, bearded with long hair; serious-looking or perhaps tired. Then, from the kitchen, John, the Cypress cook (he told me once he liked “cook” and not the more pretentious “chef”) came sliding over purposefully and sat down next to the “serious one”. I overheard the following:
“So, how’s Mr. Larry doing tonight,” John asked genuinely. He adjusted his glasses with a forefinger and passed another finger over his mustache. A shot glass in front of John was filled with cold Tequila. “Now, dear, don’t go away”, he commanded after he quickly imbibed the glass. Another was quickly poured.
“Surviving, just surviving,” Mr. Larry characteristically replied to John’s inquiry.
“That’s good, aren’t we all?” John chuckled slushily from the back of his throat.
“I led a field trip today,” Mr. Larry went on, warming to John’s even companionship.
“Yeah, and what did you see? Dear, I’ll have another, when you get a chance.”
While his glass was refilled a sardonic grin passed involuntarily over my lips .
Mr. Larry began: “Well, it was one of those early fall mornings; blue marbled sky, maples colored orange and yellow, dew on the lawns and fields. Four of us set off to the old pepper fields that are half-filled with gravel now, but in the corner the field is flush with goldenrod. Good cover for sparrows. We called out five species: Song, Savannah, White-throated, Chipping and Swamp.”
“Good, good,” John replied approvingly. But I had the impression that he didn’t know figs about birds or anything else outside of the kitchen. “I went out for a few minutes today myself to have me a smoke; it was a pretty day out there, sure was.”
“Over in the Nature Gardens we got four species of warbler: Palm, Yellow-rumped, Common Yellow-throat, and everyone but me saw a Black-throated Blue.”
“Oh, well,” John commiserated, stuttering just a bit. “I…I know what you feel. When everybody else gets something and you don’t get it…”
“Then we went out to Miller’s Road. We pulled a single Marsh wren out of a clump of cattails. Someone spied a Black-throated green warbler in a burst of yellow-rumps and chickadees flying through the trees. I never saw that one either. But I did spot an immature White-crowned sparrow along the hedgerow by the cornfield, and a Kestrel soaring off over the swamp maples. Those Kestrels are becoming all too rare.”
“Un, huh,” John said. His attention span seemed to be winding down as his eyes drifted over the bar room.
“Altogether, we counted forty-three species,” Mr. Larry finished.
“That’s good, that’s good,” John congratulated Mr. Larry, patting him on the shoulder as he stood up, gazing around the room. “Well-l,” he drawled. “It’s time I had me a smoke.”
He shuffled outside with a quick and deliberate gait. Mr. Larry went back to his former repose, staring at his hands or at the television, and I returned to my own business.

Canoe, Kayak Excursion: Salmon River: 6/6/09

An early morning gathering; yawns, smiles, anticipation; a warming sun spreading like butter through clouds; rays of light separating the clouds that hung suspended like soft cotton linens recently laundered and hung to dry; a brief relay to the launch site; a gravel clearing in a flood plain; brown puddles pushed aside deliberately by the tires of vehicles anxious to be unloaded; embarking and a quick exercise to determine the effectiveness of the strokes; an introduction to the flood plain, its tidal effect evident in the species of emergent vegetation, fulsome and pliable, capable of hours of exposure and a similar tenure of submersion: Arrow arum, Sagittaria, Tussock sedge, Pickerel weed. Higher up on the mudflats, Yellow flag, a garden escape, but also interspersed were native Blue flag, speckled smudges of violet painted among the verdure of the near-shore. Passage over the round, flat leaves of the Yellow-lily; the sighting, with satisfaction, of the green-yellow spikes of the Golden club, an emergent water plant of special concern to botanists; the surprise to those initiates of the fragrant Sweet flag with its distinctive, rippling sword-shaped fronds thrusting from the water in thick green swaths.

Gliding up river with the rising tide, that insinuated itself into secretive channels and woodland streams murmuring downward from steep hemlock-strewn uplands punctuated by massive outcrops of granitic gneiss and schist marbled with quartz—sea water transformed by the pressure and heat of plate tectonics; white mute swans stoically declining an offer of bread; a Red-tailed hawk swooping from bank to bank; cottages appearing, huddled like multi-colored dominoes or in isolation, surrounded by terraces planted with Hollyhocks and red Bee-balm; a narrow passage over sandy shallow stream beds; the quickening waters and frothing riffles of near-dam habitat and then a landing below the fish ladder; sandwiches, fruits and granola bars; laughter, camaraderie, and then a dreamless nap, while the gossamer clouds galloped over the verdant hill and blinded the eyes when touching the sun; a shiner caught by stealth examined and then set free; a return: the tide slackens, holds its breath, and then exhales; the sky a benign panorama caressing water and hill; the sentient beings in their blue, yellow, and brown vessels, floating like bits of origami, amazed and made cognizant: there on a blue and silver disk tumbling silently in a black, light-studded universe, they were not alone.

 

Breeding Birds of Wangunk Meadows: 5/23/09

A heron squatting, waiting for a fish:
a minnow swimming in undulating silence,
was soon to be interred
down the gullet of the bird

A chance encounter led the group to the discovery not of breeding birds but of a species of special concern nonetheless: an immature hog nose snake lying underneath some cardboard trash. How this rattlesnake imitator did lunge and strike! Had one persisted, the brown diamond-patterned reptile would simply have lain on its back, white belly exposed, and feigned death, much like an opossum does when threatened.

Proceeding into an abandoned gravel pit, a blue cobalt hyphen in a black locust tree trilled: tweet, tweet, tweet, sit-sit-sit-tweet! The voice of an Indigo bunting. At the base of the gravel pit we observed a female Snapping turtle lumbering back to its moist hole somewhere in the maple swamp, having just deposited a clutch of eggs.

Descending along a sandy path into the depths of the flood plain, we heard the ascending, descending notes of Warbling vireos, the kurr-ree of Red-winged blackbirds, and chattering Common yellow throats. Suddenly, frenetic clucking came washing over all other sounds. To the amazement of the novices, it was explained that the sound was the noisome begging for food of the dozens of Great blue heron chicks.

The path, wide enough for a tractor to pass, opened up into a corn field above which Tree swallow glided and swooned. A scope was quickly placed on its tripod and to the wonderment of the pilgrims, a concentrated view of some of the 140 nests was brought close to the eye. Adults were observed feeding their young, an average of two, and as many as four to a nest. Fly by day, fly by night, some squawking, some clucking, an estimated 300 birds in the rookery participating in the rites of spring…

 

Dave Titus Memorial Warbler Walk: 5/16/09

Fog and moisture clung to the tops of the oak trees the morning of the May Warbler Walk. The eight participants who gathered with anticipation in the parking lot of River Highlands State Park introduced themselves to one another and then began to slowly stalk along a railroad right of way. Walk-stop-proceed was the order of the march, all ears cocked to either side of the rail line, eyes scanning the canopies of wild cherry trees or looking down towards honeysuckle and barberry bushes. The sightings or songs of migrants began to accelerate. Rose-breasted grosbeak, Northern oriole, Oven-bird, Catbird, Towhee, all came in quick succession. And then charmingly, a hummingbird was found perching on a dead branch out in the open. Such a small and perfect expression of life! And then, another hummingbird was seen, also perching, as if to commemorate the spring, to let all and sundry notice them and become inculcated with their miniature beauty. Wood ducks flew by; a Great crested flycatcher clucked, heard but unseen from an oak treetop. House wren, Carolina wren, a Common yellowthroat were counted, yet the total number of warblers was slim: three. Not even a yellow warbler was heard. But the rail line divulged an uncommon sight: two box turtles nestled against the iron track, a bright orange male in his youthful prime and an older female whose plastron was quite scuffed up, revealing its traveling history.

On the return through the River Highlands, Worm-eating warblers were seen down slope towards the river, their preferred nesting area.

Finally, a side trip to the river flood plain gave the remaining “satyrs of spring” a close-up view of the Bald eagle nest on Gildersleeve Island with an adult and chick in evidence. Bristling vegetation made it a challenge to view the nest, but once discovered, reminded all that spring was proceeding and life continues, like an inexorable current that mankind might try to divert but never succeed in extinguishing.

Wild Flowers of Early Spring: 4/18/09

Walking beneath a grove of White pine whose arms rested in bristling akimbo, we sought out not flowers but the trills of the Pine warbler, one of the first neo-tropical migrant bird species of spring. Once satisfied with the sight of these canopy-hugging, olive-green harbingers of a new and hopeful season, we directed our gaze downward towards the pine needle and cone covered forest floor. There were the Trillium nodding their crimson heads in modest obeisance. Wild oats, not yet flowering, were interspersed throughout the terrain. Then the speckled basal leaves of the Trout lily were noted; like the yawning mouths of circus clowns their clusters of yellow blossoms opened towards the earth. Walking uphill past the still waters of a trap rock reservoir we were led into a talus slope thick with the drooping pantaloons of Dutchman’s breeches. Bloodroot unfolded its swan-like leaves and a white flower emerged, its petals radiating gracefully. Someone pointed out the dark, voluptuous green leaves of the Wild leek, or “ramp”, an edible delicacy. Climbing higher, the talus slope offered Hepatica, Spring beauty and Rue anemone. Then a downward trek along crumbled basalt led to a virtual treasure of Blue cohosh, and more Hepatica, Trillium and Trout lily. Wood anemone flourished. Columbine, shy and not ready to flower, grew upwards between the rocks. When the reclusive, bell-shaped flowers of the Ginger plant were exposed, all hummed with satisfaction. A total of 24 species of wildflowers were counted on a bright and azure morning.

A subsequent trip to the top of Lamentation mountain revealed Pale and Yellow corydalis, Early saxifrage and the Orange falcate butterfly that danced around its host plant, Lyre-leaved rock cress.

 

Echo Farm Eagle Trip, Feb. 2009
February 7, 2009, from MAS Conservation Chair, Larry Cyrulik

That February evening while the stars glistened like shed tears and winter held dominion over all, the temperature fell and ice thickened further on Salmon River Cove. Morning arrived, however, with a bright and promising yellow sunrise that rubbed the frost out of the treetops. Six participants in a quest for eagles gathered convivially for a trek to the promontory above the cove from where they hoped to see those soaring inspirations with their impressive wingspans.

They walked uphill over snow crunching like cornstarch, commenting on the natural history of glacial-influenced topography, on botany and on the changing face of Connecticut’s woodlands, due to insidious invasives.

Song Sparrows and Juncos were noted on the path as well as several species of woodpeckers. At the promontory, the group was treated to the tap-tapping of a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. The frozen cove, looking like a grey bedsheet, was a view of quiet deception, for it was soon noted that a Bald eagle was perched in a large oak tree near the shore above the ice. And then the deer carcass was spied, surrounded by several crows but also by four immature eagles, each taking a turn at the bones of the unfortunate one. Some squabbling occurred. It was a majestic snapshot of nature and all were thrilled.

Bluebirds were seen on the return downward along the path in an open field with bunch grass-covered mounds of gravel. For several members of the group, this was equally as inspiring as the sight of the eagles. Eleven species of birds were seen.

The sun rose towards its zenith. Two young lovers cavorted and took pictures in the snow, and the more staid and world-weary merely sighed with satisfaction that the morning had gone well.

Salmon River Christmas Count, Dec. 2008

Preliminary results from the after-count gathering at the Cypress Restaurant: 73 species seen—not our lowest count total, but a ways off from our highest total. Seems like the better the weather, the lower the species count. Check back for more details to come.

Swallow Cruise
From MAS President, Alison Guinness

What an incredible night for the swallow cruise last fall. After some very bad weather the day before, the storm cleared out for an evening of utter calm on the Connecticut River. We cruised up river to Selden Island for a view of our only Bald eagle that perched in its regular spot in a large conifer south of the Deep River marina. Captain Mark said all the Osprey had gone south, but a few minutes later, one came into view heading south as if it had missed the exit of its fellow Osprey. Not long after, the folks at the back of the boat got a good look at a Gyrfalcon. There were also several Great egrets, a few Great blue herons, some Double-crested cormorants, and oh the swallows!

The swallows began flying in before we arrived at Goose Island. They were everywhere, all around the boat, on the surface of the water, in the air above us, like we’d never seen before. They poured in and formed huge clouds that swooped up and down into and out of the Phragmites over and over, funneling together into dark masses and then spreading out in a haze of dots. Captain Mark estimated that they would end their aerial dance about 7:14. He was off by only 40 seconds, but there was one large cloud high in the air that just wasn’t ready to end their evening flight. As the sky darkened, they flew higher to the point where they were nearly impossible to find. Part of the cloud funneled in, but one group still lingered. We couldn’t stop watching until the last of them flew in, and with a cheer we headed back to the dock, marveling at what we had just witnessed.

Since this cruise was so phenomenal and not easily repeated, we are taking a break and will not be cruising in 2009.

Annual David Titus Sparrow Crawl, Oct. 2008
From MAS member Larry Cyrulik

That October morning four somnambulists (for sleep walkers they were, awakened to a dream state of scarlet and auburn hues and an atmosphere like that of etched glass) exhilarated with anticipation, struck out to find those elusive Freudian-like dreams personified – sparrows in the field. Stepping forth from an edging of maple and black birch trees into what had formerly been a bean and pepper truck farm the group discerned the choking filling of gravel that, like a brown and immutable tsunami, flowed over land that once was productive with green and ruby-colored vegetables. Yet waves of goldenrod, grey with seed, foamed and sparkled in the early morning dew of autumn like a spray of glistening sea-foam. Like elusive dreams that one tries to recover after awakening, the sparrows danced among the bunch grass. Up...down...up...down; the birds almost ricocheted from bush to bush, until finally sitting up, there was a Song sparrow; then another, and another, ad infinitum. Oh, that must have been a White throat; so difficult to see. Why must we imagine that which is right before our eyes? The Mourning doves gathered in the withered branches of a black locust tree seemed to mock us. But then in a wet thicket, more cooperatively, were a Swamp sparrow; a Yellow-rump warbler; and woodpeckers: Downy, Red-bellied and Flicker. Was that a Ruby-crowned kinglet? Yes.

Across from the former bean and pepper fields, in the Middletown gardens, quiet murmurings of more Song and White throated sparrows. Yet not the surprises or frenetic activity one expected. It remained for the open fields along side Miller road in Middlefield to reward the subconscious.

Several Palm warblers enlivened the drab branches of the red-osier dogwood with their yellow jackets and thumping tails. Despite the positioning of NO TRESPASSING signs (as if to say, “You can’t dream here!”) White crowned sparrows were seen, mature and juvenile alike, along the prickly thicket punctu­ating the rows of chopped corn stalks. Field sparrows also appeared, as if condescendingly. Returning along the road someone looked skyward … a Black vulture careened in a circle as if trying to avoid a sharp, flat cloud. An automobile ripped by, its preoccupied driver nothing but a blur like grease on a pane of glass, and the enchantment fell like a curtain. The crawl was over.

Flutes, Feathers and Fine Art, Sept. 2008

The almost October of blood-red and muted purples; shards of light, yellow like panes of broken stained glass; vanilla-colored tents, their flanks flaccid in the still morning atmosphere; the purposeful movements of the workmen grappling with tables, cloths and centerpieces; the notes of a flute pensively emanating towards the azure sky marbled with globe-shaped clouds seemingly gathered to listen; and the twelve human beings who stood in anticipation before the great estuary, Long Island Sound, a green and mobile deity, surprised at themselves and self-conscious, it seemed, the young and old alike, as they prepared for their discovery of near shore evolution.

At the rack line, the crunch underfoot of infinite numbers of gastropod shells; the ascent of a glacial moraine; and then a burst of Blue jays gathering to migrate, their namesake blue and white tuxedos brilliant in the pellucid October air; a secretive Winter wren briefly showed itself out of the bayberry bush; Yellow-rump warblers, immature, delved into the brisling embrace of the Eastern red cedar; gulls: Black-back, Ring bill, Herring flocked along the shore; then a Killdeer, almost invisible on the edge of the salt marsh; someone found a necklace of Channel whelk eggs, another fingered a black, pointed egg case of a Skate; an Osprey soared and underneath it the teetering flight of Northern harrier, the hawk intent on finding marsh rodents. Song sparrows rose and fell into the protective Rosa rogosa. The path led past monolithic boulders. Looking out over the sea, groups of Cormorants sped low over the green, curling waves while a flock of Sanderlings sped at an angle towards a distant sand bar. A Black-bellied plover stood statuesquely along a spit of pebbled shore; grey marsh silt clung to its feet.

The people saw these things and what they felt was visible in their faces, transformed in appearance from the dull masks put forth as they went about their daily chores into one of vivid animation. Then they hurried to the tents and their exhibitions. And the October day matured and sighed, and the sun followed its immutable path over the horizon, taking all inexorably with it.

First Annual CT Water Trails Day, June 2008
From MAS President Alison Guinness

Eleven boats set out from Harbor Park on a beautiful morning to paddle up the Mattabesset River for the first annual CT Water Trails Day on June 14. After leaving the highway behind, the river was tranquil and peaceful with only a few other paddlers and fishermen. The water had finally gone down from the long freshet to reveal banks covered in ferns and good old poison ivy. There was also evidence of beaver activity with two lodges and some cut trees, but none allowed themselves to be viewed on this warm morning. There were several sightings of Baltimore orioles. Unfortunately, there was Eurasian watermilfoil, an escaped aquarium plant that is considered invasive, in the open part of the marsh. Many thanks to Megan Hearne from the CT River Watershed Council for doing most of the work to organize this trip.

Pecausett Pond Canoe Trip, May 31, 2008
From MAS member Larry Cyrulik

On a glistening late spring morning we stood on the soft, gritty banks of the Connecticut River with anticipation. There were five special focus areas of the Silvio O. Conte u.s. fish and Wildlife Refuge within a mile up- or down-river of us. Our canoe patiently lay at our feet, brown and lithesome. We decided to go downstream towards Pecausett Pond, a special fresh-water tidal marsh.

The canoe tracked well against the rising tide. The tape grass undulated beneath the surface of the water. We made a brief visit to Wilcox Island, a special focus area, to investigate Arisema dracontium, the Green Dragon plant. Endemic to flood plains wherever the habitat hasn’t been too disturbed, we sought it out among the poison ivy and ostrich fern, and there it was, a population just beginning to stick out its yellow adder’s tongue, coated with pollen.

Continuing, we drifted past urban monoliths: petroleum tank farms; a curvaceous suspension bridge, a gaunt and rusty railroad swing truss. Slipping quietly past recreational boaters and remnants of tidal vegetation, we finally entered the sandy, out-fall stream leading to Pecausett Pond.

Gothic silver maples arched over the water that flowed upstream with the rising tide. The banks were steep and smooth as if colored with brown Crayola crayons. Soon the great fans of ostrich fern monocultures appeared on either bank. A beaver lodge came into view. The green shadows separated and the bright yellow atmosphere surrounding Pecausett Pond came to the forefront. Pollen-filled tidal water flowed busily around the bristling tips of pickerel weed.

Arrow arum folded large succulent leaves at their sides; arrowhead weaved along the banks and flashed bright yellow-green, characteristically-shaped foliage. A Great blue heron arose squawking angrily, while an osprey's lethal shadow glided over unsuspecting fish. Immune to fish hawk claws because of their bulk and size, carp puckered their rigid lips and blew bubbles into the mud.

The dragonflies and damselflies danced their frenetic zigzag ballet over floating shields, smartweed, and yellow lilies. Beneath these the invasive milfoil bred prolifically, gluttonous feathery denizens of turbidity.

Shadows crossed the dark green waters; turkey vultures pirouetted above the tree tops; and sunlight spread over the surface of Pecausett Pond illuminating the minds of naturalists eager to learn about this tidal corner of the earth.

Portland Reservoir Field Trip, May 17, 2008

From MAS contributor Larry Nichols

Two birders met me at the Brownstone Intermediate School parking lot at 6:30am. It was a sunny day with temperatures that reached the 70’s. The three of us started out with a quick stop at the Portland Fairgrounds where we saw a Solitary Sandpiper and Barn Swallows among other species. We then proceeded to Portland Reservoir where we saw a number of interesting species including: Green Heron, Purple Finch, Broad-winged Hawk, Veery, Baltimore Oriole, indigo Bunting, Eastern Kingbird, Belted kingfisher, and Scarlet tanager. We walked through the main part of the reservoir but also on the trails that lead around the opposite side of it. We had great views of several warbler species including: an Ovenbird perched on a low branch, Magnolia Warbler, Yellow Warbler, American Redstart, Common Yellowthroat, and Pine Warblers. Other warblers included Northern Parula, Black-throated Green (heard) and Louisiana Waterthrush (heard). We concluded our trip with a stop at the power line crossing on Old Marlborough Turnpike. Hear we heard a Blue-winged Warbler but never got a good look at one. The Chestnut-sided Warblers with their ‘please, please, pleased to meet you’ calls were taunting us for some time. We finally got a look at them. They really seemed to stay low to the ground hiding in cover. Prairie Warblers were easier to spot as they perched on the tops of fairly short cedar trees. Our last big surprise came when we were looking in some bushes across the road. We had a splendid view of a Canada Warbler which was facing us with the sun reflecting off its breast and showing off its black necklace. Total species: 59

Annual David Titus Warbler Walk, May 3, 2008

From MAS contributor Larry Nichols

On a cool and overcast morning, six participants gathered for a sacred rite of spring: the walk along Field Road in search of neo-tropical migrants. Sharp eyes and hearing are requisite tools for neo-tropical bird watching. In spite of these skills evident in members of the party, only two warblers were identified, the arrival of the main body of migrants still a week or so away. Nevertheless, six neo-tropicals were spotted and also an interesting look at wood ducks, male and female, sitting high up in an oak tree.
On a side trip to the edge of the Connecticut River, opposite Gildersleeve Island, the party was able to see a Bald Eagle sitting on its nest. This nest has produced fledglings for two successive years.

Thirty-six birds total were counted, and who is not thrilled by the song of the first wood thrush, or first Rose-breasted Grosbeak of the season?

Wildflower Walk at Giuffrida Park, April 2008
From MAS member Pat Rasch

The timing was right on this year’s trip—nearly every possible species was in bloom, (although too early for Pale Corydalis or Columbine). Notable sights were the quantity of Red Trilliums in bloom, and all 3 colors of Round-Leaved Hepatica (Pink, Lavender, and Blue), plus Yellow Corydalis just beginning to bloom. In full blossom were Spring Beauty, Dutchman’s Britches, Wood Anemone, Trout Lily, Wild Ginger, Rue Anemone, Blue Cohosh, Early Saxifrage, Pussytoes, Spicebush, Bloodroot.

A Northern Waterthrush was heard in the same location as on most of our past flower trips. Pine warblers were singing in the pines along the reservoir. Orange-tip falcate butterflies were abundant on the high ridge.

Eagle Trip at Echo Farm, Feb. 2008
From MAS member Pat Rasch

(Machimoodus Park) Feb. 2, 2008.
Nine participants gathered together in the gravel parking lot of Machimoodus Park on a clear, sunny, and tolerably seasonable morning. Bluebirds, Juncos, Song and white-throated sparrows immediately made themselves known. As the party walked up hill along a logging road both native and invasive plants and trees were identified. Tree of Heaven were particularly dense in disturbed areas. Soon after reaching the promontory over looking Salmon River cove, two immature Bald eagles hovered low over the tree tops and fanned out at eye level before the awed group of birders. Three other eagles were also seen. A good selection of woodpeckers were present; Downy, Red-Belly, and Flicker. White-Breasted Nuthatch, and the elusive Brown Creeper made an appearance. Also notable were a squawking Raven, a cooperative Hermit Thrush, and a Mockingbird. Twenty-eight species were counted.

Birders look out over Salmon River.

 

 

 

 

 

Immature Bald Eagle overhead