Tag: birding

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Cottage Life

Nature Scrapbook: The common loon

By Agnieszka Bacal/Shutterstock

How well do you know the iconic loon? Our favourite and famous cottage-country icon is anything but common. Loons are incredibly agile underwater, propelled by powerful, widely splayed legs, which are placed far back on their bodies. This makes walking difficult, but enables them to out-swim and catch dozens of perch, minnows, and other small fish a day.

With heavy, solid-boned bodies, the diving specialists need lake-top runways of 30 to several hundred metres—depending on the wind—to achieve lift off. Once airborne, however, they commonly clock120 kilometres an hour in steadily flapping flight, often calling while overhead. Loons have excellent underwater vision, but their striking red eyes are believed to be largely for show, highlighting them for friend or foe from across the lake.

A pair of breeding loons claims an entire small lake, or bay of a larger lake, as their exclusive territory. The vociferous waterfowl’s heart-warming wail is most often a beckoning between mates, though it’s sometimes joined in chorus by neighbours. One in five loons switch mates during spring territorial competition.

Loons lay eggs in late May or early June. Mates take turns, about every two to four hours, tending to the speckled eggs atop a concealed, shallow mound of grass and sedge at the shoreline. The nest is perched just above water that’s deep enough to permit a quick dive to safety.

Loon eggs hatch in early summer. Within hours, downy grey loon chicks splash into the water, paddling close to their parents, often hitching rides on their backs for rest, warmth, and protection, especially during their first week. One elder always tends them, usually in a quiet, protective nursery cove, while the other is out fishing. Chicks start learning to catch their own finny food when about a month old.

This article was originally published in the June/July 2022 issue of Cottage Life magazine.

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Cottage Life

Rare bird spotted for the first time in Canada

Photo by DaniloDjekovic/Shutterstock

A small, grey-brown sandpiper spotted in Thedford, Ont. proved that one doesn’t need to be the flashiest bird to catch people’s eye. The first sighting of a marsh sandpiper in Canada brought enthusiastic birders to the region in the hope of catching a glimpse of this unique find. 

The marsh sandpiper stands on long, yellow legs that allow the bird to wade through shallow marshlands in search of food. The migratory species, which can be found in eastern Europe, Asia, Africa, and Australia, has a distinctive white “eyebrow” marking above its eye.

“The marsh sandpiper is native to Eurasia, and so this is the first time it’s officially been recorded in Canada,” says Natasha Barlow, an Ontario projects biologist with Birds Canada, who made the trip to see the Thedford marsh sandpiper. “Poor weather conditions can push birds off of their flight path, especially during migration when they may be making long-distance flights, and emergency landings in areas where they usually wouldn’t be (like in Thedford) can occur,” she adds.

The vagrant marsh sandpiper was first spotted by birder James Holdsworth at the Thedford Sewage Lagoons, as reported by CTV News London. The exciting find prompted the Ontario Field Ornithologists to arrange access to the property for birders to witness this once-in-a-lifetime sighting. 

One of those birders was Paul Riss, who goes by the moniker “the punk birder” and was featured in the CBC Gem documentary, Rare Bird Alert. Riss earned his nickname thanks to his efforts to break down the stereotypes of old, stuffy birdwatchers; instead, he is a proponent that birdwatching is a hobby for everyone.

Riss made an eight hour trek to see the marsh sandpiper, noting that he was not likely to get this opportunity again in his lifetime. Along the drive he was “praying to the bird gods that it was still going to be there.” He arrived at the site and trained his scope. 

“There it was,” he says, “with that lovely white marking on its back. I couldn’t believe it.” 

He observed the sandpiper walking around in the shallows, stopping to feed and preen its feathers. “It was lovely to see,” he says. “The people I was with, they were so happy.”

For those interested in experiencing the thrill of spotting a new species for the first time, Riss recommends that people connect with the Ontario Field Ornithologists to learn the ins and outs of birdwatching. But he emphasizes that birding as a hobby can be as casual as keeping watch on a backyard birder feeder. “To be a birder, you do not need to chase rare birds,” he says. “If you really enjoy birds, you’re a great birder.”

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the chestnut-sided warbler

By Agami Photo Agency/Shutterstock

The chestnut-sided warbler is an easy warbler to identify—despite the fact that North America is home to more than 50 species of the bird. At least, this guy is easy to ID if you know what to spot. In the spring and summer, when they’ve returned home to their cottage-country haunts after the winter in warmer parts of the world, both breeding males and females have a flashy chestnut stripe on their flanks. Chestnut-sided! Isn’t it helpful when a bird’s name just makes sense?

What does the chestnut-sided warbler sound like? 

If you can’t recognize this bird by its looks, you might recognize it by its calls. Beginning in May, males start belting out their love song from open, sunny spots. It sounds like “Pleased, pleased, pleased to meet-cha!” They’ll sing up to 4,000 times per day. Holy dedication—can you imagine doing anything 4,000 times per day? Once they’ve attracted the attention of a female chestnut-sided warbler, they’ll sing a different tune (literally): a territorial chant meant to tell other males to stay away from their home and their future wife.

Is the chestnut-sided warbler rare? 

Although this warbler’s numbers probably have declined in recent years—the same is true for many birds—chestnut-sided warblers are actually more common than they were in the 19th century. Because they prefer open areas, they actually benefitted from human practices such as logging. In some cases, their territories now nearly overlap with the yellow warbler (the two species are closely related). Yellow warblers look different, but their love songs are similar to a chestnut-sided warbler’s: “Sweet, sweet, I’m so sweet.” Family ties and all that.

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Cottage Life

Cottage Q&A: Feeding seagulls scraps

By Keith Pritchard/Shutterstock

We have a bald rock island a little ways from our cottage where we  take our fish guts. The seagulls eat it up as soon as we leave it. However, our neighbours have started leaving their fruits, vegetables, and eggshells on the island too. Do birds eat this?—Diane Robinson, French River, Ont.

Herring gulls or ring-billed gulls, a.k.a. seagulls, “will eat just about anything,” says Doug Tozer of Birds Canada. Fish guts, vegetables, french fries, energy bars, garbage, dead mice…bring it on. “But it’s best that they not come to rely on human food sources,” says Tozer. (Not even your discarded fish innards. Sorry.) 

“If they do, then large numbers of gulls might start to frequent a particular area when they otherwise wouldn’t,” he says. The birds could become nuisance wildlife. That’s annoying for the cottagers on the lake and ultimately not great for the gulls either. Plus, unlike seed-eating birds at bird feeders, “we don’t have good data on the health and survivorship of individual gulls that frequently feed on human leftovers
compared to their normal, natural food,” says Tozer.

You can’t control what your neighbours do, but as for your fish guts, you’re better off dropping them overboard in deep water, well away from shore, says Tozer. “This is often considered best practice for disposal.”

This article was originally published in the March/April 2022 issue of Cottage Life magazine.

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the double-crested cormorant

By Elliotte Rusty Harold/Shutterstock

The double-crested cormorant gets a bad rap. But give this big, prehistoric-looking bird some props: the species’ numbers have exploded since the 1970s, after they suffered at the hands of DDT. Just like eagles, cormorants would eat fish contaminated by the pesticide (and produced eggs with too-thin shells as a result). In 1950, there were only 900 breeding pairs in the Great Lakes. By 2000, that number had jumped to 115,000.

What do cormorants eat?

Some anglers aren’t huge fans of this bird, which, fair enough: it does spend much of its time catching fish. Flocks of cormorants will fly dozens of kilometres from their home base to forage. They soar in tight formations then dive below the surface of the water to catch more than 250 species of fish, including small fare such as minnows and yellow perch, plus invasive species including round goby and rainbow smelt. For the record, anglers, most research shows that sport fish only make up a small percentage of a cormorant’s diet.

Cormorants are excellent swimmers—at least, they are when they’re going after food. This bird has a cool fishing technique: it chases after fish underwater, propelling itself with its webbed feet. (Other bird species that swim underwater, like the Cassin’s auklet, use their wings like fins to “fly” as they pursue prey.) Cormorants have hook-tipped beaks for a reason. They use the hook to snag their dinner. Sometimes they catch crayfish. When they do, they repeatedly bash the crustacean against the surface of the lake until its legs fall off, then flip it into the air to catch and swallow it head-first. Show off.

Why do cormorants ‘pose’?

When a cormorant isn’t fishing, it’s just hanging out. This bird spends at least half of its day resting (hey, sounds like a cottager!). Ever spot one standing on a bare, windy rock or branch—or on your dock—with its wings outstretched? It’s trying to dry out. Cormorants have less preen oil (the stuff that helps ducks shed water) than other birds, so their feathers are soaked after a morning of fishing. Experts believe this difference is what actually helps cormorants hunt underwater more effectively.

 

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the Western meadowlark

By Matt Knoth/Shutterstock

A sure sign of spring is a Western meadowlark perched on a post and singing its lungs out. Well, not really, because bird lungs are small, rigid, and very different than mammal lungs. But you get it. As soon as the snow melts, male meadowlarks return to their spring and summer homes in the prairies and B.C. after having spent the winter in the southern U.S. and parts of Mexico.

When do the female birds return north?

Female meadowlarks don’t show up on the breeding scene for at least another two weeks. They have the same unmistakable plumage as their male counterparts: a bright yellow breast and throat with a black V-shaped marking—a little like a cravat—around the neck. But a male meadowlark starts singing as soon as he gets home. He needs time to establish a breeding territory before the ladies arrive.

What does the meadowlark sound like?

Each male bird has a playbook of up to 12 slightly different flute-like melodies. Sometimes, two males will try to out-sing each other by matching their tunes. Their voices are audible from about 400 metres away (not bad for a bird the same size as a robin). A female will pick the best singer, and the two hook up within minutes, then mate multiple times over the next couple of weeks as she builds a nest. When you know, you know, right?

Meadowlarks usually nest twice in one season—one male pairs with two females. Even though it’s the lady bird that builds the nursery, a simple, grass-lined bowl, sometimes covered by a waterproof “dome,” Dad helps with childcare. Once the brood of five or six hatches, he’ll periodically bring food and stick around to chase away intruders. Careful, though, if you intrude on a meadowlark nest. Back away! The birds aren’t bold enough to attempt to scare away a human interloper, and they might abandon the babies.

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the greater yellowlegs

By Brian Lasenby/Shutterstock

The greater yellowlegs has—wait for it—yellow legs. Good call, whoever gave this shorebird its common name. In March, the migratory bird begins to come home from winter U.S. digs in brackish wetlands, mudflats, flooded fields, and, ugh, sewage ponds, headed to Canada’s boreal wetlands and damp meadows. Greater yellowlegs parents seem to prefer shallow water and shrubby ponds where they can safely raise their kids. Who wouldn’t? During breeding season, the birds will sometimes fly up to and then perch on trees to watch for predators.

The greater yellowlegs vs the lesser yellowlegs

The greater yellowlegs walks with a high-stepping gait, its limbs flashing. Its cousin species, the lesser yellowlegs looks (no surprise) almost identical. But the greater bird is literally greater—that is, larger—with a longer, thicker bill. Side-by-side, most folks could see the difference, but when each bird is solo, it can be hard for anyone but an experienced birder to ID each yellowlegs.

What does this bird sound like? 

The greater yellowlegs’ screechy alarm call is one reason why birdwatchers don’t love this guy. It tends to scare away other shorebirds, so its nicknames are “tattler” and “yelper.” The most common call is a chirpy, ringing cry: tew tew tew. (It sounds, at least to some people, that the bird is saying its name: “yel-low-legs”). If you want to hear the bird in real life, be prepared to spend some time in boggy areas. When it’s dry, head to muddy reservoirs or lakes; when it’s wet, you can spot them in flooded fields. Adult birds also tend to wade into deeper water compared to other sandpipers—one reason that birders call the greater yellowlegs a “marshpiper.”

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the boreal chickadee

By Romeo Andrei Cana/Shutterstock

Look, it’s a black-capped chickadee! No, wait, it’s a boreal chickadee. Every Canadian can recognize the former, and its calls. But the lesser-known boreal chickadee has the same tiny body, big head, and round belly. (Adorbs.) Look carefully, though, and you’ll note the differences between the two species. The boreal chickadee has a brown cap, and darker, cinnamon-coloured sides. (Why isn’t it called the brown-capped chickadee? Good question.)

Where does the boreal chickadee live?

In North America, this songbird sticks almost exclusively to spruce and fir forests in Canada, and a few neighbouring states, such as Alaska. You can find these chickadees in almost every province, and, like black-caps, they don’t migrate (though they’ll move slightly south in the winter if there are food shortages). They prefer to feed off older trees. They’ll cling to tree cones, and poke around with their beaks to get at seeds or bugs. Their short bills are also tough enough to loosen tree bark and uncover insect eggs and larvae.

What does the boreal chickadee sound like? 

The species produces a call that’s similar to its black-capped cousin’s, but it’s a little rougher and harsher, less sweet and melodic: tschick-a-dee-dee. Like other birds, boreals have all kinds of vocalizations, for alarm, warning, courtship, and aggression—everything from a low gargle to a twitter to a series of short chirps and squeals. Still, it’s a lot less chatty than the black-capped chickadee—one reason why some birders consider the boreal reclusive. And unlike our other chickadee species, the boreal chickadee doesn’t vocalize to announce its breeding territory. (For such a wee bird this can be a large chunk of real estate: up to 13 acres.) Instead, to scare off intruders, males will use a chin-up motion, or a “ruffle display”: they puff up their feathers and wings. Oh, stop frontin’, chickadee. Just kidding. We know that you’re tough.

Are they endangered? 

Because boreal chickadees have a more remote and northern range than many other bird species, it’s hard for experts to monitor their numbers. Still, one survey estimated that population increased by 38 per cent between 1970 and 2017, and according to the North American Breeding Bird Survey, their numbers appear stable. So even though a lot of avian species are struggling, the future looks bright for this bird.

 

 

 

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the ptarmigan

By Carrie Olson/Shutterstock

Think of the ptarmigan as a kind of winter-hardy chicken. The alpine-dwelling bird, part of the grouse family, has feathered feet, the better for walking on snow, and plumage well-adapted to keeping it camouflaged year-round. North America has three species of ptarmigan (taar-muh-gnn): the rock ptarmigan, the willow ptarmigan, and the white-tailed ptarmigan (pictured). They’re all chunky-bodied, with short tails, legs, and wings.

What’s unique about this bird?

In winter, all three species are nearly snow white. Unlike other birds, they go through three plumage changes during the year. (Other species typically have only breeding plumage in spring and summer, and their drabber, non-breeding colours come winter.) As the snow starts to melt, ptarmigans begin to moult their white feathers into a barred pattern, starting from the head and progressing towards the tail. By mid-summer, males and females look nearly identical. Then, as the summer turns to fall, both turn more and more grey. The process is barely complete before the birds begin moulting back to white again.

How do they survive winter?

Winter is a lean time for the ptarmigan. Food sources are low, and the birds are limited to the few plants growing above the snow—they eat the seeds, buds, and twigs of low shrubs. Willow ptarmigans, in particular, are very good at balancing on spindly branches of higher shrubs to get at the catkins and other goodies. The rock ptarmigan, on the other hand, prefers to scratch down into the snow to get at buried vegetation such as purple saxifrage. This avian is also smart enough to take advantage of the craters dug by caribou and muskoxen. Interestingly, research shows that each ptarmigan species has evolved a slightly different bill size and shape to allow it to successfully feed through the winter.

But can they fly?

In the spring, ptarmigan chicks hatch in their shallow nests; it can take an entire day for a baby to break out of its shell. Then, it eats its own yolk sac for protein. Uh, yum? Within a few days, chicks can scurry, mouse-like, along the ground. By the time they’re a week old, they can fly—though they’re very clumsy. They get better at it, of course. (Less chicken-like.) Flying skills become especially important for our northern-dwelling adult rock ptarmigans. Some migrate as far as 800 km in a year, making them the most nomadic of the grouse species.

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Wild Profile: Meet the Northern cardinal

By Danita Delimont/Shutterstock

The Northern cardinal is a cheery pop of colour against the winter landscape. Unlike so many other bird species, cardinals don’t moult their bright red plumage, so they stand out at bird feeders year-round. They’re one of North America’s most recognizable species—who can’t ID a cardinal? Even the females have a sharp, spikey crest and a cherry-coloured beak. Pretty, pretty bird!

The Northern cardinal is unusual for another reason: it’s one of the few female songbirds that actually sings (usually in spring and summer, on the nest). Ornithologists believe this may tell their male partners when to bring them food. (“I want pickles and ice cream! Right now!”) A female Northern cardinal also typically sings longer and more complex tunes than the male—again, unusual in the bird world.

In winter, cardinals are largely quiet. But they do form large flocks, for foraging—sometimes they’ll gather with other species such as dark-eyed juncos and white-throated sparrows. They’re pretty easy to attract to winter bird feeders; with no insects to hunt for, they’ll eat almost any seed you put out. (That said, they’re big fans of black-oil sunflower seeds.)

Weekly Hack: Winter bird feeding tips

Although mated pairs that hooked up the previous spring will often stay together for the winter, about one fifth of couplings break up by the time the next breeding season rolls around. Aww, divorce sucks. Newly split, both male and females are ready to find a new mate.

Have you ever seen a cardinal attacking its own reflection—in mirrors or car windows, for example? That’s because in spring and early summer, both males and females obsessively and fiercely defend their territories. Including from themselves. A cardinal isn’t smart enough to realize that it’s fighting its own reflection, and will attack a shiny surface for hours.