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6 September 2010
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Rockport, Maine, USA
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Posts Tagged ‘great cormorant’
Saturday, March 20th, 2010
 Sky over Rockland. On the last morning of winter, the sun rose and the air got warmer quicker than on any other day so far this year. Out back, I heard a crow, a cardinal, a house finch, a white-breasted nuthatch, a chickadee, a goldfinch—and a first-of-year song sparrow calling from the tangles at the edge of the yard of the neighbor to the south of me. Soon after recognizing the song sparrow’s voice, I heard the distinctive chip note of a white-throated sparrow in nearer tangles. And not long after that, I heard the calls of a downy woodpecker and a good ol’ American blue jay.
 Beech Hill view. Dog and I walked Beech Hill fairly early. Seven species on the hill today: robin, titmouse, crow, goldfinch, herring gull, chickadee, and downy woodpecker. The islands hung off in a blue-gray haze, an almost steamy miasma, as if in summer. There was a wind up there, but I probably didn’t really need that hooded sweatshirt.
Took a midday bike ride. Heard the calls of three separate song sparrows in Rockport Village.
Late in the day, dog and I headed for the breakwater. En route, I noted a robin in the cemetery and saw a small flock of blackbirds—recognizing only a grackle—along the access lane. On our arrival, at nearly high tide, we found that another fifty or sixty spring-feverish folks (and their dogs) had got the same idea.
 Great cormorant. The chop rose on the harbor side this day, thanks to the antic northwest wind. And after a mostly sunny Saturday, clouds had by then begun collecting in the south and west sky, creating a dramatic sunray display over the harbor. But aside from a pair of mallards at the little protected beach, I saw not a single species on that side. On the island side, meantime, floated a couple common eiders. Then I spotted a solitary cormorant winging its way low over the water and thought perhaps this was an early double-crested; later, though, I got near it, and in fact it was a lingering great.
I felt a bit sad not to have seen any long-tailed ducks. And I found interesting the lack of any common loons. I couldn’t remember my loonless last trip out there and figured they’d all headed back to the lakes and ponds, what with (early) ice-out, and all. Then, having nearly reached shore on the return trip, I caught sight of a solo diver in full spring plumage floating off in the northeast lee.
Now that it’s spring, of course, we’re due some cooler temperatures—and precipitation that might even include snow. And you know? I’m not the least surprised.
Meantime, tonight—an implausibly mild-seeming night—up the hill a ways I heard a single spring peeper.
 The Rockland Breakwater. Today’s List
American crow
Northern cardinal
Song sparrow
White-throated sparrow
House finch
White-breasted nuthatch
Black-capped chickadee
American goldfinch
Blue jay
Downy woodpecker
American robin
Tufted titmouse
Mourning dove
Herring gull
Bufflehead
Common grackle
Common eider
Great cormorant
Common loon
Mallard
 Immature herring gull.
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, black-capped chickadee, blue jay, bufflehead, common eider, common grackle, common loon, downy woodpecker, great cormorant, herring gull, house finch, mallard, mourning dove, Northern cardinal, song sparrow, tufted titmouse, white-breasted nuthatch, white-throated sparrow
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Wednesday, February 17th, 2010
 Pastels. Not a flake of snow. Not a trace of fresh new white stuff. Disappointing for this first-year snowshoer. Another dry, mild day—a sky of partly blue, partly gray. Chickadees were active first thing. Playful, flirtatious, randy. I watched them for a while from the deck.
 Horned grebe. But the big news today is that I got a pair of these yesterday—and would be trying them out for the first time. I can’t seem to get out of the office before 4 p.m., damn it—though I did rush out briefly about midday to take care of some errands and tick the usual town birds off my list (herring gull, ring-billed gull, rock pigeon). By the time I started for the breakwater, the air hung still, the temperature had bumped up into the 40s (F), and the brimming tide had began to fall.
First sighting: a group of common eiders mingling with herring gulls near the harbor shore. In the little cove beyond the breakwater’s base, a gaggle of red-breasted mergansers with their punk hair-dos argued and splashed. In a calm patch beyond the tidal rocks, a raft of black ducks—along with a couple mallards—floated calmly; beyond them, a little group of common goldeneyes.
 Harbor seal. Then I saw the harbor seal. The seal had reared from the water’s surface and looked to be mounting something. A tidal rock? Another seal? After a few minutes, it turned out to be a rock just about even with the water’s surface—but the seal kept slipping off. It would swim up again and begin flopping around on its blubbery sides, apparently trying for a good balance. I like how the seals lounge there with their heads and hind flippers raised, looking at a distance like a sort of disembodied smile.
And then I saw the grebe. A horned grebe, in approximately the same place I saw one a couple days ago—possibly the same bird. Just a slight, solitary diving creature with a little lump of a body and a long, thin neck. Reflected, it looked sort of like an andiron. I stopped to watch the grebe a while.
 Great black-backed gull. The length of the breakwater I walked swiftly. Not a lot to see out there—oh, a couple of loons, some gulls in flight, a great cormorant in the waves. A breeze had picked up, but it didn’t feel too uncomfortable. And my new binoculars are, well, awesome. And I didn’t even have to pay $1,000 to $2,000 for ’em. (I’m saving up for one of these.) On the return trip, the sun passed beyond the horizon over Rockland, and in the opposite direction the bay and sky turned pink and purple and calm. A seal lay on a rock. A small flotilla of mergansers splashed and skirmished. The day died calmly, beautifully, quietly. And for the first I heard the voice of the horned grebe.
It was riveting. High, thin, with a slight waver. Brief. It reminded me of what might’ve been the whinny of a tiny horse. Wholly unexpected. Truly mesmerizing.
 Red-breasted merganser. Tonight I read up on grebes a while. I’ve seen several species. Pied-billed grebes used to frequent a quarry pond I owned. Eared grebes tend to stick to the western part of the continent, and horned grebes—and wear their fancy nesting plumage—far to the north of here. They tend to float silently in winter. I wonder why this particular bird decided to call—three, four times, at least—when I saw no other member of its species there to hear.
(Did you know a group of grebes is known as a “water dance.”)
Today’s List
Black-capped chickadee
American crow
Herring gull
Rock pigeon
Ring-billed gull
Common eider
Great black-backed gull
Red-breasted merganser
Common goldeneye
Black duck
Mallard
Horned grebe
Common loon
Great cormorant
Bufflehead
 Gloaming.
Tags: American crow, black duck, black-capped chickadee, bufflehead, common eider, common goldeneye, common loon, great black-backed gull, great cormorant, herring gull, horned grebe, mallard, red-breasted merganser, ring-billed gull, rock pigeon
Posted in Lists, Observations | 2 Comments »
Monday, February 8th, 2010
 Wedge of blue sky. The day dawned calm and hazy. Temps in the 20s (F), a sky that seemed unable to decide whether to stay cloudy or let the sun shine through. Early on, I heard the single squeal of a winter robin out back, then the friendly voices of chickadees, then the soft call of a white-breasted nuthatch. From my desk in morning I could see crows alighting in the crown of a great oak down the road a ways—the same tree whose foliage, in summer, takes on the shape of a human head or face. The crows would alight, then leave; then they’d return, then they’d leave again.
 Great black-backed gull. I’d had all the desk work I could stomach by about 3:30 p.m., and so decided to head out the breakwater to look for the king eiders rumored to be hanging out on the bay side these past couple weeks. I’ve only ever seen common eiders there, but you never know. After a quick trip to town—herring and ring-billed gulls, rock pigeons, the usual—I turned down and parked and grabbed my gloves and scarf. The temperature had warmed to slightly above freezing, but I’ve learned to respect the raw exposure you feel out on the granite stones. Still, I stuck my gloves in my pockets at first and didn’t zip my parka.
Not much wind really. The usual collection of mallards by the shore. On the island side of the breakwater, I saw black ducks and common goldeneyes; on either side were loons.
Maybe a hundred yards out, the wind rose suddenly. I pulled on my gloves and zipped up. A solitary gentleman I often meet returning from his walk warned me of ice out toward the lighthouse. A loon rose as by magic from the swell not a dozen feet away.
 Great cormorant. He was right about the ice. I had to keep closer tabs than usual on where I put my feet—and you generally have to pay attention to your footing out there, lest you step between the stones and break an ankle (a fairly common occurence)—and a couple times slipped and slid. Once I looked up surprised to see a great black-backed gull floating above me maybe twenty feet or so. Wings out, motionless in the wind. Taking its photo proved a challenge, however, as it was pretty close for my telephoto lens. I’d focus, it’d move; I’d focus, it’d move. It hovered directly above me for quite a few seconds—to the point that I wondered if I’d get pooped on.
Then the gull did an odd thing: at once it veered into the waves, plunged its head in, and when it emerged it had what looked like a long worm in its mouth—I couldn’t tell if it was eating the worm or trying to spit it out. In fact, I wasn’t entirely sure it was a worm. Perhaps it was some kind of string or line, or maybe the gull’s long tongue. (Except I can’t imagine gulls have tongues that long.) Maybe it was dining on saltwater worms. The tide was semi-low, and it looked like it was hunting.
I saw a single great comorant. I saw no long-tailed ducks. And this is noteworthy: I saw no eiders at all, let alone a king eider. I can’t remember the last time I headed out the breakwater in winter without seeing at least a dozen or so.
 Sunset over Rockland. I made it to the end and turned back. The sun was setting. The light in the sky was lovely. On my return, I met a young couple headed out and said, motioning behind me with a smile, “Kind of precarious.”
“We’ll be careful,” they said, as if I were a parent.
My cheeks grew numb in the wind. Loons and cormorants and goldeneyes dove for seafood. A great black-back gulped down worms—or not. And as I stepped off the breakwater and returned to my pickup, I saw a solitary duck, a female common eider, floating in the protected cove at gloaming and swallowing what might’ve been a mussell or other shellfish. She was the only eider I saw today.
Today’s List
American robin
Black-capped chickadee
White-breasted nuthatch
American crow
Herring gull
Ring-billed gull
Rock pigeon
Mallard
Common loon
Black duck
Common goldeneye
Red-breasted merganser
Great black-backed gull
Great cormorant
Common eider
 The bay.
Tags: American crow, American robin, black duck, black-capped chickadee, common eider, common goldeneye, common loon, great black-backed gull, great cormorant, herring gull, mallard, red-breasted merganser, ring-billed gull, rock pigeon, white-breasted nuthatch
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Thursday, February 4th, 2010
 Common eiders. Soon after rising, showering, dressing, making and eating breakfast, and heading downstairs to the office with coffee, I ended up shoveling snow again. The morning beamed with the sort of gloriousness only possible when bright sun meets fresh snow. While on the deck tossing shovelfuls off into the brisk north wind, I heard the clear, unabashed, unmitigated song of a house finch coming from the bare limbs of the big overhanging oak above me. I dropped the shovel and ducked in for my camera. It took me a good three or four minutes of tipping my head to find the bird—which sat in one of the tree’s highest branches, giving forth lusciously cascading warbles of sound. Too obstructed by twigs for a decent photo, though, alas.
 American goldfinch (♀). From somewhere up the hill, meantime, came the chip of a northern cardinal. While scanning for the cardinal, I caught sight of a small bird flitting into the crown of the sickly pine at the property line. A goldfinch. And while all this was going on, I heard the ever-present voices of American crows.
The bright sun crossed the sky slightly higher than it did yesterday, and snow melted, and icicles formed. By mid-afternoon, I had a hankering to move and thought first of the breakwater. It had to be close to high tide. My friend Kristen joined me again, and en route we wondered about the wind. Would it counteract the seeming warmth of the afternoon? I was beginning to think not—until I saw the chop in the harbor. So instead we wondered if the torturous headwind would afflict us outbound or returning. Heading out, we hoped; alas, it was returning.
It seems most of the sensible ocean birds stuck to the protected coves, the shelter of the lee. But a few braved the bare, raw waves: a good-sized raft of eiders, several loons (as usual), a great cormorant, a male long-tailed duck. A couple herring gulls floated alongside the ducks, and one ring-billed flew the length of the breakwater—up and back, up and back—I suppose looking for something edible.
 Common eider (♀). The way out was nice: bright, mild enough, and with snow enough that you had to make a point to avoid the hidden cracks between the granite blocks. Heading back, temperatures in the 20s (F) combined with a stout northwest wind to cause an ice-like pain right in the middle of my forehead. Surf splashed over the stones from the shoreside. Out on Vinalhaven, the great turbines, too, turned their faces into the wind. But it let up some about half-way back. A female eider floated calmly to the left of us. To our right, in the little cove, goldeneyes dove and mergansers sailed as the sun headed for the horizon.
When my father was a toddler, his family conspired to have him sit on the lap of one Charles Goodnight, a famous rancher known as “the father of the Texas Panhandle.” Goodnight was by then an elderly cowman—he was born in 1836—and late in his own life I recall my dad marveling at how between the two of them they’d witnessed upwards of 170 years.
I thought of Dad and Mr. Goodnight this week when I read the news of “Herbie,” an American Elm in Yarmouth, Maine, that finally died of Dutch Elm Disease and was cut down on 20 January. After counts and recounts of its rings, arborists finally judged the enormous tree to be 217 years old. When it was but a sapling, George Washington was president. Perhaps another ancient elm in its vicinity back then had lived to a similar age—it would’ve been around before New England was even a glimmer in any European’s eye.
I figure the older you get, the more you consider time. You consider the swiftness of its arc, the brevity of a day, the lifespans of mayflies, the breadth of an ice age. Today, returning against the wind in Rockland Harbor, time seemed long and lazy; tonight already I’m lamenting the loss of this day, 04 February 2010.
Today’s List
House finch
Northern cardinal
American goldfinch
American crow
Herring gull
Common loon
Common eider
Great cormorant
Ring-billed gull
Long-tailed duck
Common goldeneye
Red-breasted merganser
 Rockport Harbor (from the Rockland Breakwater).
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, common eider, common goldeneye, common loon, great cormorant, herring gull, house finch, long-tailed duck, Northern cardinal, red-breasted merganser, ring-billed gull
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Saturday, January 30th, 2010
 The bay. My temperamental weather station showed things got a bit chilly last night—down at least to 5 degrees (F). Still single digits at first light, but apparently none of the whipping winds of yesterday. Sunny. An achingly blue sky. From the back deck I heard the voices of crows, chickadees, and a downy woodpecker.
On a trip to town, I counted the usual herring and ring-billed gulls and saw a single European starling in flight.
 Horned grebe. Then, despite the cold, my birding friend Kristen and I ventured out to the breakwater not long after high tide, where rime ice coated most of it granite surface. Somewhat surprisingly, several other couples and groups hazarded a Saturday walk along the narrow strip of ice-free stone. And there was wind—there’s always wind—but relatively light and northwesterly. The stroll out wasn’t too bad. On either side we saw loons, great cormorants, long-tailed ducks, eiders. We saw buffleheads, goldeneyes, mallards, guillemots. Kristen quickly ID’d a horned grebe in winter plumage. Herring gulls, of course.
On the way back we headed more or less straight into the wind. Despite my hat, hood, and scarf, my ears and forehead grew numb in a hurry. But once we’d covered about three-fourths of a mile, we’d reached the lee of the shore, and my face thawed. In fact, we took a little side trip northeast, to a little cove we visit during our area’s annual Christmas Count, to check on a pair of red-breasted mergansers and a group of black ducks.
 Red-breasted merganser (♀), bufflehead, black duck. But the most impressive sight came as we drove back, at Clam Cove—a wide tidal flat just a stone’s throw from my place. The tide was going out, and a dozens of crows stalked the icy mud together, poking around for grub. And if the crow party below caught our attention, so did a similarly large collection of small gulls floating far out in the open water: Bonaparte’s gulls, maybe sixty of them. They were pretty far away, but they appeared to have their heads tucked under their wings, snoozing.
Humans, loons, long-tails, black ducks, crows, gulls—all going about their Saturday business in the company of like-minded individuals. Not that I’d describe cold January as miserable, exactly, but it does seem true that most species do love company. (Ironically, I got one photo that features three wildly different ducks.)
After our walk, as Kristen headed home, I heard the spring warble of a house finch coming from across the road.
Today’s List
American crow
Black-capped chickadee
Downy woodpecker
Herring gull
Ring-billed gull
European starling
Mallard
Common loon
Bufflehead
Common goldeneye
Greater black-backed gull
Common eider
Horned grebe
Black guillemot
Long-tailed duck
Great cormorant
Black duck
Red-breasted merganser
Bonaparte’s gull
House finch
 Crows and Clam Cove.
Tags: American crow, black duck, black guillemot, black-capped chickadee, Bonaparte's gull, bufflehead, common eider, common goldeneye, common loon, downy woodpecker, European starling, great cormorant, greater black-backed gull, herring gull, horned grebe, house finch, long-tailed duck, mallard, red-breasted merganser, ring-billed gull
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| Bird Report is an intermittent record of what's outside my window in Rockport, Maine, USA (44°08'N latitude, 69°06'W longitude), and vicinity. —Brian Willson |
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