Black-crowned night heron.
The fog and overcast cleared as I drove down the St. George Peninsula to Port Clyde. Boarded the Elizabeth Ann and soon was motoring across Muscongus Bay to Monhegan Island. Stood in the bow, as is my custom, but I have to confess the large swells had me feeling kind of peaked by the time of our arrival. However, right away my choice to bring shorts proved provident—the sun swiftly warmed the offshore rock, and I found myself also wearing sandals and a tropical shirt.
Red admiral.
Right away, I heard nuthatches. Red-breasted nuthatches. Lots of ’em. Turns out some sort of irruption must’ve happened somewhere, because those birds were swarming and flitting and beeping and all over the place. It became a joke among birders: “Have you seen any nuthatches yet?” Didn’t see much out of the ordinary otherwise, though. A few hawks. A black-crowned night heron at the Ice Pond. My only warbler species of the afternoon, in fact, was a yellow-rumped—unquestionably the most abundant Monhegan warbler species during fall migration every year.
But it was a memorable day for another reason: a few of us were present for the scattering of the ashes of Bill Loughran, birder extraordinaire and all around great guy and friend who died suddenly just before last year’s trip. His wife and daughter did the honors at the cliffs of White Head, where I’d stood with Bill and admired peregrine falcons soaring motionless in the ocean wind. “‘Grinsters,” Bill called them. He could spot ’em a mile away.
