19 December 2020 (eider)
Kristen Lindquist
turning tide
a starfish wriggles
in the eider’s bill
Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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Filtering by Tag: Christmas Bird Count
December 19: Christmas Bird Count
Kristen Lindquist
We saw some rare birds today during our annual Christmas Bird Count in the Rockland (ME) area (errant Yellow-throated Warbler, Yellow-breasted Chat, possible Pacific Loon--check the range maps to understand our excitement), but to me the coolest spectacle of the day was coming upon a crow roost just before sunset.
Swirling masses of crows
gather at their evening roost--
thus darkness falls.
Swirling masses of crows
gather at their evening roost--
thus darkness falls.
December 20: Christmas Bird Count
Kristen Lindquist
My husband and I spent the day birding "our" section of the Thomaston-Rockland Christmas Bird Count, a Christmas season tradition which we've been sharing together for 17 years--14 of them in this section.
Flock of bluebirds--
of course they bring happiness
Winter Solstice eve
Flock of bluebirds--
of course they bring happiness
Winter Solstice eve
December 15: December sunrise
Kristen Lindquist
Spent the day birding the beaches, salt marshes, and nearby neighborhoods of Ogunquit and Wells for the York County Christmas Bird Count. We began the day with a beautiful sunrise over the ocean at Moody Point, where dozens of sandpipers twinkled at the edge of the chilly surf...
Sunrise over the beach--
at the sandy edge
one frozen raspberry.
Posted with BlogsyJanuary 2: Cancelled trip
Kristen Lindquist
Two below. Snow falls
all day. I imagine
being on that boat.
all day. I imagine
being on that boat.
December 28: Ducks on the Passy
Kristen Lindquist
Counting birds on some of Coastal Mountains Land Trust's Passy Greenway preserves in Belfast for part of the day, for the N. Penobscot Bay Christmas Bird Count, was more of a challenge than I'd anticipated. The effects of the recent ice storm are still quite visible, thanks to persistent cold temperatures. Everywhere, trees remain coated and bent to the ground with their burden of ice. It was as if entire forests were bowing down in severe obeisance to Skadi, the Norse goddess of winter.
It took me hours to clamber around one trail on snowshoes on the partially crusted snow. The second trail I'd planned to hike was impassable--too many frozen trees in the way. The third trail was too steep and icy for me to get far. So in the end, I gave up: I shucked my snowshoes, drove to Belfast harbor, and walked out on the Footbridge to watch ducks bobbing in the falling tide.
In the chilled harbor
ducks posture for mates.
When you feel it, you feel it.
It took me hours to clamber around one trail on snowshoes on the partially crusted snow. The second trail I'd planned to hike was impassable--too many frozen trees in the way. The third trail was too steep and icy for me to get far. So in the end, I gave up: I shucked my snowshoes, drove to Belfast harbor, and walked out on the Footbridge to watch ducks bobbing in the falling tide.
In the chilled harbor
ducks posture for mates.
When you feel it, you feel it.
 |
| Entrance to the Stover Preserve. See why I didn't get far? |
 |
| The icy forest of the Stephenson Preserve |
December 21: Winter Solstice
Kristen Lindquist
Participated today in the Thomaston-Rockland Christmas Bird Count. For the first time we found a Snowy Owl in our count area, on the Samoset golf course. The heavily barred bird looked like a rock until it moved. And then we found another, paler one, perched atop a church. Crows harassed it until it flew off over Rockland Harbor, a flurry of white wings and black in the bleak sky. The owl's yellow eyes shone pure and cold; the length and scimitar curve of its talons made me shiver. Such beauty, such deadly beauty. Like winter itself.
in the form of
December 22: Grosbeaks to start
Kristen Lindquist
Our local Christmas Bird Count--the Thomaston-Rockland Count--is held on the last Saturday before Christmas, so today was the day! My husband and I have been the coordinators of our section of the count circle for something like ten years now, and every year we feel a similar excited anticipation of what we'll turn up this time around.
We knew today was going to go well when we pulled in a little late to the initial meeting spot, and our fellow birders had already spotted a flock of Pine Grosbeaks feeding in a nearby crabapple. Pine Grosbeak is an irruptive species; it prefers the northern boreal forest but occasionally pops down to New England during winters when the fruit and spruce cone crops up north are poor. I'm not sure we've ever even had Pine Grosbeaks in our count section, so it seemed a good omen to see them at the beginning of our long day of counting every bird we find in our section.
We ended the day with a possible section-high total of 51 species, including lots of ducks (for the first time we can remember, all water was ice-free), more grosbeaks, Purple Sandpipers on the breakwater, Razorbills in outer Rockland Harbor, and a flicker (which should have migrated south by now). We even spotted a Gray Seal checking us out as we walked on the breakwater.
Female grosbeaks
appear dull
only from a distance.
We knew today was going to go well when we pulled in a little late to the initial meeting spot, and our fellow birders had already spotted a flock of Pine Grosbeaks feeding in a nearby crabapple. Pine Grosbeak is an irruptive species; it prefers the northern boreal forest but occasionally pops down to New England during winters when the fruit and spruce cone crops up north are poor. I'm not sure we've ever even had Pine Grosbeaks in our count section, so it seemed a good omen to see them at the beginning of our long day of counting every bird we find in our section.
We ended the day with a possible section-high total of 51 species, including lots of ducks (for the first time we can remember, all water was ice-free), more grosbeaks, Purple Sandpipers on the breakwater, Razorbills in outer Rockland Harbor, and a flicker (which should have migrated south by now). We even spotted a Gray Seal checking us out as we walked on the breakwater.
Female grosbeaks
appear dull
only from a distance.
December 18: Counting ravens
Kristen Lindquist
I spent all my daylight hours today with two friends, Derek and Jeannette, doing a Christmas Bird Count in Jefferson, Maine. Time spent birding with friends is always good, even when it rains all day and there are few birds to be found. Before lunch, our most exciting find was four bluebirds on a utility wire. During lunch, our most exciting find was excellent grilled cheese on homemade bread at Ollie's in Jefferson village.
After lunch, despite some setbacks that limited our walking time--like a chilly wind added to the continuing rain--we had some of our best (non-food) discoveries. At a bison and red deer farm, of all places, we followed a public trail to a small covered bridge where Derek had noticed what looked like a possible raven nest when scouting the area last week. When a pair of ravens flew out upon our arrival today, his theory was confirmed.
The pair flew a short distance as we continued on. We could hear them vocalizing in their odd, quorky way nearby. Seeing ravens always thrills me--they've long been one of my favorite birds--but seeing that pair today was especially meaningful because they were the theme of my husband's and my wedding almost ten years ago; this Winter Solstice, we celebrate the non-wedding anniversary of the day on which we first considered ourselves a couple.
(For other highlights of the afternoon, we also found a flicker at the bison/deer farm, and on Damariscotta Lake, a lingering loon and a small raft of Lesser Scaups.)
Winter rain: ravens
shelter in a covered bridge.
Thinking about pair bonds.
After lunch, despite some setbacks that limited our walking time--like a chilly wind added to the continuing rain--we had some of our best (non-food) discoveries. At a bison and red deer farm, of all places, we followed a public trail to a small covered bridge where Derek had noticed what looked like a possible raven nest when scouting the area last week. When a pair of ravens flew out upon our arrival today, his theory was confirmed.
The pair flew a short distance as we continued on. We could hear them vocalizing in their odd, quorky way nearby. Seeing ravens always thrills me--they've long been one of my favorite birds--but seeing that pair today was especially meaningful because they were the theme of my husband's and my wedding almost ten years ago; this Winter Solstice, we celebrate the non-wedding anniversary of the day on which we first considered ourselves a couple.
(For other highlights of the afternoon, we also found a flicker at the bison/deer farm, and on Damariscotta Lake, a lingering loon and a small raft of Lesser Scaups.)
Winter rain: ravens
shelter in a covered bridge.
Thinking about pair bonds.
December 17: Christmas Bird Count
Kristen Lindquist
 |
| We start our Count at the Rockland Breakwater |
In our count section, we ended up with 50 total species (47 by our group on land, with 3 more added by a friend coming in to Rockland on the Vinalhaven ferry). Highlights included: long-tailed ducks gobbling in Rockland Harbor, a merlin zipping past the Breakwater, purple sandpipers discovered by Paul on a solo second trip out the length of the Breakwater and back, and a lesser scaup in a pond at the Samoset Resort. A red-bellied woodpecker at a feeder was a first for our Count section, I think. A raft of over 600 coots in Chickawaukie Lake was a definite high count for that species; I'm sure we were underestimating our tally for them. A soaring bald eagle reminded us of a friend no longer with us who used to join us for the Christmas Count--she was always the one to spot an eagle. We watched crows chase a red-tailed hawk. A lingering yellow-rumped warbler chased down in a swamp thicket turned out to be the only warbler seen all day in the entire Count circle. Lots of very pretty tree sparrows turned up, a bird we only see here in winter. And in the mammal department, we came upon a basking harbor seal and a swimming muskrat. The most numerous species (besides coot, of course) was Canada goose, which flocks up in great numbers on the Samoset golf course, followed by mallard and herring gull. No surprises there, but plenty of simple delight.
 |
| Yesterday's flowers; today's snow |
One owl calls at dusk.
Alone, I hear its summons,
stand still, and shiver.
 |
| Winterberries in the snow |
January 21: Robins
Kristen Lindquist
Contrary to popular belief, it's not all that unusual to see robins in the winter. Yes, all robins fly south when the seasons change, but for robins north of us--say, in Newfoundland--this is south. This winter, however, robins have been few and far between. The Thomaston-Rockland Christmas Bird Count was remarkable for its paucity of tallied robins. And although a small flock usually forages in my neighborhood each winter, I don't think I've personally seen a robin for two full months, maybe more. Until this morning. Wending my way back to the office on Camden's side streets, I almost drove into a snowbank as I caught sight of a group of a ten or so unmistakable birds scattered in the trees of a backyard, their rosy breasts bright against the backdrop of snow. Finally, some robins!
These Canadian robins are noticeably bigger and darker than their southern counterparts, making them look even more dramatic when they flock together in a snowy tree. In winter robins shift from sucking worms out of our lawns to foraging for fruit in crabapple and mountain ash trees, sumac stands, and berry bushes. In this time of year when finding a territory and a mate aren't the driving imperatives, the birds flock together--partly for the "safety in numbers" factor, but also because many eyes are better than two when looking for a food source. They aren't the only species to do this, either. Winter robins will sometimes be accompanied by bluebirds, their thrush cousins--another odd but not rare sight in these cold climes.
Although they aren't harbingers of spring just yet, they certainly brightened my morning--almost as much as seeing the first sunshine and blue sky in four days. In just a few months, however, we'll start seeing these sturdy birds gathering by the dozens on thawing fields, lawns, and golf courses. And then we'll start hearing their cheery, chirruping songs in the trees. Those robins will be "our" robins, returned for another nesting season. The hardier Canadian visitors will have headed back north once again.
Winter's festive flock:
robins eating crabapples.
No signs of spring yet.
These Canadian robins are noticeably bigger and darker than their southern counterparts, making them look even more dramatic when they flock together in a snowy tree. In winter robins shift from sucking worms out of our lawns to foraging for fruit in crabapple and mountain ash trees, sumac stands, and berry bushes. In this time of year when finding a territory and a mate aren't the driving imperatives, the birds flock together--partly for the "safety in numbers" factor, but also because many eyes are better than two when looking for a food source. They aren't the only species to do this, either. Winter robins will sometimes be accompanied by bluebirds, their thrush cousins--another odd but not rare sight in these cold climes.
"Newfoundland" robin. Photo courtesy of Luke Seitz.
Although they aren't harbingers of spring just yet, they certainly brightened my morning--almost as much as seeing the first sunshine and blue sky in four days. In just a few months, however, we'll start seeing these sturdy birds gathering by the dozens on thawing fields, lawns, and golf courses. And then we'll start hearing their cheery, chirruping songs in the trees. Those robins will be "our" robins, returned for another nesting season. The hardier Canadian visitors will have headed back north once again.
Winter's festive flock:
robins eating crabapples.
No signs of spring yet.