tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27627345165324061532024-03-04T23:24:35.208-08:00John's Birding BlogWhen the highest type of men hear of birding, they try hard to live in accordance with it. When the mediocre hear of birding, they seem to be aware and yet unaware of it. When the lowest type hear of birding, they break into loud laughter - if it were not laughed at, it would not be birding.
~Laotse & meJohn Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.comBlogger146125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-48260047082063898822020-03-02T01:48:00.000-08:002020-03-02T01:50:22.195-08:00It's Been Awhile, But I'm Back For A SpellIt's been awhile since I last posted on this blog. Four years, maybe? A lot's happened. Time flies like an arrow, they say, yet fruit flies like a banana. It's my third year at Colby. I've got a good job on-campus, good professors, good friends, a pretty shitty folk band, and no professional prospects. That's a Classics major for you. I'm in Athens for the semester. Officially, I came for my Ancient Greek, but oh Chiffchaff, how dope thou art! Part of this whole off-campus study thing is a blog correspondence with a faculty advisor. My advisor isn't giving me much, so I thought I'd share my posts here as well. Technically speaking, I'm bird blogging for academic credit. This is post number one, which I wrote on the thirty-first of January.<br />
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"Outside the cats, living in Athens must be easy for a Monk Parakeet. Inside a cat, it isn’t, of course, and there are more than a few felines around. There are the sweet street calicos who purr for a handout and there are the shy old tabbies who’ve lost an eye and an ear. There are more types too, but the distinction is insignificant to a parakeet. They all have teeth and claws to use.</div>
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I like the cats and the homeless dogs. <em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Homeless</em> isn’t <em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">stray</em> and even <em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">stray</em> isn’t necessarily a bad thing. In America, there’s the assumption that a dog on the street won’t last long. “She’ll die of hunger and the cold, if a car doesn’t get her! Poor thing’d be better off in a shelter.” Here, most dogs without collars are fat and content. They're vaccinated too.</div>
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There were three gray-muzzled mutts outside the Delphi Museum when I visited this weekend. They lay on the courtyard flagstones in warm Mediterranean sunlight. It’s really quite a nice place to live, if a bit rundown by the aeons. I wondered when I saw them how they’d ended up there and how long ago. Business at Delphi must have been profitable about a couple thousand years ago<span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">—</span>a weary pilgrim could surely have spared a scrap of sacrificial goat for a hound in hunger. Today any half-kind tourist would do no less with a PB&J.</div>
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Delphi is the center of the world, according to the Ancient Greeks. Zeus was the god that found it. The story goes something like this: one day, the mighty thunderer took a rest from all the adultery and fornication. That afternoon, bored out of his mind, he decided to locate the very navel of his kingdom. He called for his two eagles to fly in opposite directions, compassing the planet. One bird flew east, farther even than Asia Minor, and the other went west over Italy. They collided at Delphi, clearly indicating that the holy site was nothingless than the center of the world. As a birder, I can say with confidence that the frequency of bird collisions is effectively zero, so take that last bit with some salt.</div>
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Talking of birding, there’s a lot to see here in Greece. I’ve identified twenty-seven species of birds that I’d never identified before. <em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Lifers</em>, as they’re termed. Number twenty-six and number twenty-seven were nesting in the ruins of Delphi, the Blue Rock Thrush and the Rock Nuthatch. The Rock Doves were wild on the cliffs above the temple complex. They are to the feral pigeons of Athens as the wolf is to the dog. The city pigeons lost much of their dignity when people realized that they could breed for shapes and plumages to suit each fancy. Now they pick at crusts of bread on the curb and steal loudly into the National Garden’s aviary to eat the depressed Peacocks’ food. The Monk Parakeets eat that too. I guess there’s enough to go around."</div>
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John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-47577700458774104112014-03-31T09:30:00.005-07:002014-03-31T09:39:36.644-07:00Sachuest Point NWR - March 27, 2014<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">No fog drifted across the landscape, yet despite this most un-obvious lack, the day was of a rather rustic complexion. The clouds maintained a dreary, grey pallor as they scudded above the fields of Sachuest Point pushed onward to the horizon by a breeze of an intimidating strength. We had departed, grandfather, brother and I, to this seemingly barren region in the hopes of seeing a particularly famed Barn Owl. A bird which had daily amazed the binocular-wielding clan, flying moth-like and low above the grasses to the tune of feathered wings returning to nighttime roosts. This was a thrilling creature not only in the birds rhythm but also in its status - an elusive species and what may be called a priority “twitch” (i.e. a bird which you should drive a hell of a long way to see).</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We arrived at 3:00pm to find the parking area barren of birders, a rare happenstance. All to be observed in the way of pale-necks (birders) were a few gents carrying porro prism binoculars and while so doing enjoying the comfort of their pickup trucks. It should be noted that in the birding world there exist three classes of birders; the birdwatcher (i.e. people who own cheap binoculars), listers (i.e. people who maintain not only a life list but care for their year list with similar enthusiasm), and finally the birders (i.e. people who own expensive binoculars and dislike birdwatchers and despise listers). These people were of the birdwatcher genre and therefore in the birding world considered of no importance. It should also be known that I consider myself a member of none of these classes but embody styles and habits from all three. Now, to return to the story; not only were <i>birders</i> notably lacking from the scene, but equally every other species generally visible from the car lot were not to be found. However, just visible in the marsh was what appeared to be a Snowy Owl, hunkering against the cold in neither a stylish nor owlish manner, but an owl just the same. We observed this individual for a few minutes but the distance, even through a spotting scope, was daunting in the manner of viewing and we soon lost interest, deciding to get a closer view later in the day when perhaps it would be more active.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Despite the large distance spanned by the well-kept nature trail, the sought for Barn Owl was on average most easily found over the fields directly below the parking lot at dusk. Yet the sun had a good three hours between its current position and the horizon and it was therefore decided that owls would be unlikely to be seen flying at such a time. A walk around the grounds would be more successful in the aim of seeing birds. Thus we embarked down the trail heading to the south and west. Here we found our second Snowy of the day. This bird was to be seen sitting on the hill facing west to Sachuest Bay where Common Goldeneyes and Buffleheads were just visible bobbing amongst the waves of unsavory proportions. This bird was a rather fine individual whose plumage was all but unmarred by dark barring common to the species. He seemed rather uninterested in our presence although he was an alert<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>creature; constantly displaying his head-turning capabilities as he scanned the surrounding area for predatory dangers or prey to be predated. After observing the marvelous creature for a good while we continued our walk. Although we did not see anymore birds which matched the owls in scarcity or proletarian popularity the walk was an enjoyable one. At Sachuest Point itself, the namesake of the refuge, we scored for our list both Surf and Black Scoter, while Harlequin Ducks and a larger flock of Black Scoter were seen near Island Rocks (on average the most successful birding spot of the refuge’s land). On the nature of the Harlequin Ducks, it should be noted that these are stunning birds. The males outer appearance consists of a complex design, featuring; slate-blue, a contrasting white and a dark rufous color commonly seen on the spines and covers of outdated books. These birds are a popular species in the birding world but have gained little notoriety elsewhere despite both their striking appearance and their bold habit of favoring rocky coastlines (and along those coastlines the most wave swept and sharpest rock outcroppings) where they dive for invertebrate cuisine.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After a while, that being the time it took us to get properly chilled from the wrathful sea breeze, we returned to the car and drove over to Newport for a coffee break. Nothing needs to be said on the nature of this brief birding cool-down, although perhaps warm-up would be more apt to describe the situation, other than that the we found the visited Dunkin’ Donuts to be particularly pleasant. </span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Soon we returned to the sanctuary where we recognized that the day was now getting late, it being about 5:00pm, and the large and alarmingly tame White-tailed Deer population was now making its crepuscular appearance. Still no Barn Owl was to be seen so we walked part of the trail which headed along the north-eastern division of the refuge’s coast. Other than a number of deer, some Purple Sandpipers sharing a rock, and a particularly heroic-looking Red-tailed Hawk (although it could be argued that all individuals of this species display a particularly heroic appearance, and that therefore this bird was nothing special) little was to be seen. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We then agreed that the best approach to seeing the Barn Owl would be to return to the car and await the birds appearance. We did as such and subsequently were treated to a quick view of the second of the two Snowy Owls we had seen that day (apparently there were four in the refuge) as it flew in no particular direction and with similarly vague (to us at least) motivation. Leaping from the car, whose windows had just begun to fog, we hurried to the spot where this owl had been seen to fly, that being directly behind the visitor center. We were unable to locate the feathered creature but did meet up again with the hawk-who-we-were-not-sure-was-heroic. He sat at the very top of the center’s roof and as he took flight from this promontory, which was almost directly above us, I found I had come down with a case of Birder’s Back, which, as can be imagined, is far more dramatic in its achievement than the dreaded Birder’s Neck. The pain of the misdirected back soon faded as did the final rays of the sun. Finding ourselves yet again of a chilled manner we returned once more to the warmth of the car.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After a while we got bored of the particular view which we had chosen for ourselves, so we drove down to the Sachuest Saltmarsh, which is just visible from the visitor center. This was where we had seen the first Snowy Owl of the day hunkering in that unstylish manner of his. When we arrived at this new view point the Snowy, still not recognizing of his flaws of posture, sat keeping company with a few Killdeer and some birdwatchers, all of whom still rested in pickup trucks. Here we stayed for some fifteen minutes watching deer grazing in the meadows and quite desperately hoping for the appearance of the Barn Owl, a bird which we have tried for with no success multiple times this year. It is with heavy heart that I inform the reader that like previous attempts this excursion was, in its primary goal, a failure, but despite this sorry fact an enjoyable and pleasant day nonetheless. Dammit all we DID see two Snowy Owls (and a Mink which I neglected to mention) - isn't that enough? </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thanks is once more owed to my grandfather for escorting, sponsoring, and enjoying this naturalists adventure. It was, after </span>all a quite awesome experience.John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-23100281234951721562014-03-08T16:55:00.002-08:002014-03-31T09:39:01.744-07:00Gooseberry Neck, Dartmouth, MA - December 28, 2013<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; margin: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9; color: #232323; font-size: 24px;">The sky was a brilliant blue as we dashed across the stone-strewed beach. The object of our dashing was in no need of our speedy movement in its excellent direction as it was just barely visible, bobbing in the waves in the center of a wind swept cove. As presumably has not been surmised as of yet this eminent bird was a Dovekie, a name which would inspire awe in a birder and in a non-birder an “aww”.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;">Now standing upon the wave washed rocks of the shoreline and we (“we” being grandfather, brother and I) majestically stared at the feathered object in a manner commonly seen in action movies. Perhaps it was our powerful but compassionate stance that drew the bird to us, although it seems to me more likely sheer chance, yet whatever it's reason, it came.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;">Paddling to shore (strangely; via wings) it squirmed itself up the beach and politely leaped onto my brothers leg who, like me, had lowered himself to the ground in order to obtain the best photographic perspective.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;">With this final curios act perpetrated a panicked scramble across Dartmouth began in order to assure survival for the creature. A bird who had so willingly accepted being placed in the back seat of our car, submerged under a blanket. The fact that there were no open wildlife rehabilitation centers was not particularly surprising as it was not only a Sunday but also the winter holidays.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;">When this disappointing fact was finally recognized, we had no choice but to return to birding because we wanted to and the Dovekie seemed comfortable where it was.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;">As the awesome sun was drawing near its daily demise, we had only time to bird Allen’s Pond. This location yielded nothing more exciting then a male Ring-necked Pheasant, a year-bird for all.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;">The sky now dark, we retreated to our urban abode for to spend the night, with us came the Dovekie to be handed to a rehabilitator on the following morn. It spent the star-light hours in a box in our comfortable basement where it seemed surprisingly at home.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;">Examining the bird we could find no visible or invisible injury on the perfectly mobile bird other than a small patch of missing feathers upon the rump.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;">It was this that the rehab, which received the feathered package, identified as the issue. Probably caused by the casually aggressive swoop of a gull this bare-ass patch de-waterproofed the fair creature - a sure casualty of nature if not for my bold and heroic rescuing.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;">Once again I must thank my grandfather for his company, the use of his locomotive, and the opportunity his generosity provided (for me to be noble). </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">T'was the morn before Christmas and all through my head frolicked the noises of the Cape Codian highway and the Crosby, Stills and Nash playing on the stereo. </span></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Chestnut-brown Canary, Ruby-throated Sparrow, sing your song...” yet my mind was distracted by the possibility of the more existent birds that awaited us this day. </span></span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">A single grey cloud swathed the horizon in a damp pallor, but we remained undaunted as we approached Provincetown.</span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">We arrived (”we” being grandfather, brother and I) in the seemingly deserted parking lot of Race Point as the clock dashed through the 8:40's. A screech of breaks, a slamming of doors and the zipping of coats and then we were enjoying the company of a Palm Warbler. It in turn was enjoying the roof of the abandoned park restrooms on which it’s frozen feet clutched in order not to be swept away by that unpleasant sea breeze. Palm Warblers tend to be rather uncommon so late in the season so this was a particularly pleasing find.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Approximately a minute later we tallied our first and only lifer of the day which came packaged in the form of an Iceland Gull, we would have five of the species by the end of the day.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9H_60mivglJu4ajTZLNnAGZl7f0q41CiJQWbIcQNMhq6DdLyiSDlOoeFlSwecdKzMZI6458O2OEIKBC1yAbA5_Uc_xcGREKESb6whIBgO2QPl2gJM7xMMIu6-H_T1ZfqD5e6eiBqEb9o/s1600/IMG_5531.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9H_60mivglJu4ajTZLNnAGZl7f0q41CiJQWbIcQNMhq6DdLyiSDlOoeFlSwecdKzMZI6458O2OEIKBC1yAbA5_Uc_xcGREKESb6whIBgO2QPl2gJM7xMMIu6-H_T1ZfqD5e6eiBqEb9o/s400/IMG_5531.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two of three Iceland Gulls sen at Race Point</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2hlgvzw9uXnyYes5BsemXwWthA0ueENuESkiM_IMRc-nVXIsGCf-on4tuGcZf5q6hf3TR8-2RPxMCTYj_juXYSON84Tp6DVf5Ki-atvJER36emjIiJj-niVJKOwuyQKd5c08R4S7pD8g/s1600/IMG_5540.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2hlgvzw9uXnyYes5BsemXwWthA0ueENuESkiM_IMRc-nVXIsGCf-on4tuGcZf5q6hf3TR8-2RPxMCTYj_juXYSON84Tp6DVf5Ki-atvJER36emjIiJj-niVJKOwuyQKd5c08R4S7pD8g/s400/IMG_5540.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another Iceland Gull</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our confidence boosted to a level only attainable through good birding we advanced down the beach. Confidence alone however was not enough to keep the self warm through the billowing caresses of the frozen wind and we soon withdrew back to the comparative safety of the car. We had in this rather short time nonetheless seen a number of species including; Northern Gannets, Snow Buntings, White-winged Scoters, two more Iceland Gull and a particularly handsome Gray Seal.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">The next stop on the route was one Herring Cove. While not being any great distance from the last beach it is quite unlike it’s counterpart. Most noticeable in comparison with Race Point is that this beach faces into the placid Cape Cod Bay instead of the unfriendly turmoil of waves and wind that is the great North Atlantic.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Abutted by towering dunes, those mighty piles of ground stone and shells looked upon so fondly by those unique beings, New Englanders, the beach glimmered in the now just appearing sun. Unions of hardy aves (gulls and cormorants) littered the beach in un-organized patches of cackling bills, flesh and feathers. In the water similar organizations had been founded by even more numerous Eiders, Scoters and Mergansers. Above them frequently could be seen small flocks of Dunlin carrying themselves east via sputtering flight. We soon grew tired of the location’s feathered selection who although all fascinating were of but a few species and all (still) common. As we departed a brief glimpse of a fly-by Iceland Gull made the walk worthwhile. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">A quick drive through some large salt marshes, where all to be seen was some mud, a kingfisher and a couple of American Black Ducks, and then through the center of town, which consisted solely of gift-shops, we found ourselves meandering down the town pier. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Listen: I am unsure how the residents of Provincetown survive with a shopping venue which includes but baseball caps and magnets with lobsters on them and most notably does not include any edible items. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Returning back to the thought-stream from which I have just strayed; h</span></span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">ere eiders, Buffleheads and goldeneyes floated amongst the boats of their anthropomorphic coworkers. Into the feathered stage rose to my eyes the princely crown of an immature King Eider. A most elegant duck who paddled about in circles for a good half-hour serving only to make us rather dizzy and bored. The </span><i style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">motionless</i><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> form of an elegant Long-tailed Duck came as a relief as did the return to CSN and the cushioned seats of the car. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ6Ed4VlfZthvygY9vEIGZX6lj6FaJJBI5fm9pnEVGwtM4tkRcsx-JXdlYMn6BuytWEFMTLCTU3Q67epIqnxJQZuwxvZyzHdL81lCGJ1ZlSW6dZC7U-FI_xddcZk4eRQoXth7Z6h9fR3E/s1600/IMG_5570.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ6Ed4VlfZthvygY9vEIGZX6lj6FaJJBI5fm9pnEVGwtM4tkRcsx-JXdlYMn6BuytWEFMTLCTU3Q67epIqnxJQZuwxvZyzHdL81lCGJ1ZlSW6dZC7U-FI_xddcZk4eRQoXth7Z6h9fR3E/s400/IMG_5570.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The King Eider and a Common Eider</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigRhBluo6AoocWFFN8bG3BbW9Pcl41jP6a5hsa8XNbpFh9B9Q9c00aHalqzF3S4v_dyO0qsUqZ58UXclSnGl01wMJip81dhmhhZCTEhvZLJ5VPwmJu3SfQ3H_VDSroBgwuHkcF-1Rda10/s1600/IMG_5579.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigRhBluo6AoocWFFN8bG3BbW9Pcl41jP6a5hsa8XNbpFh9B9Q9c00aHalqzF3S4v_dyO0qsUqZ58UXclSnGl01wMJip81dhmhhZCTEhvZLJ5VPwmJu3SfQ3H_VDSroBgwuHkcF-1Rda10/s400/IMG_5579.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Common Loon at the Provincetown Docks</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Next we ... this is getting boring and I want to start writing a post about the Dovekie we saw the other day, scratch this here’s a list (with attached notes and numbers when recorded):</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Brant (Branta bernicla) - a</span></span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> few at First Encounter Beach.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Canada Goose (Branta canadensis)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mute Swan (Cygnus olor)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">American Wigeon (Anas americana) - a</span></span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> few in Marston's Mill Pond.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">American Black Duck (Anas rubripes)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mallard (Anas platyrhynchos)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">4</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #232323; font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Northern Pintail (Anas </span>acute)<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> - </span></span></span><span style="color: #232323; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Martson's Mill Pond.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ring-necked Duck (Aythya collaris) -</span></span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Marston's Mill Pond.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">1</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">King Eider (Somateria spectabilis) - </span></span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Provincetown Docks.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Common Eider (Somateria mollissima)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">White-winged Scoter (Melanitta fusca)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">2</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Long-tailed Duck (Clangula hyemalis) - </span></span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Provincetown Docks and Corporation Beach.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Bufflehead (Bucephala albeola)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Common Goldeneye (Bucephala clangula)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Hooded Merganser (Lophodytes cucullatus)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Common Merganser Mergus merganser)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Red-breasted Merganser (Mergus serrator</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Common Loon (Gavia immer)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Northern Gannet (Morus bassanus)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Great Cormorant (Phalacrocorax carbo)</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">- Herring Cove.</span></span></div>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">1</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #232323; font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Great Blue Heron (Ardea </span>hernias<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">)</span></span></span><br />
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">- Marston's Mill Pond.</span></span></div>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Red-tailed Hawk (Buteo jamaicensis)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sanderling (Calidris alba)</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">- a few with Dunlin at First Encounter Beach.</span></span></div>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #232323; font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Dunlin (Calidris </span>alpine)<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> - </span></span></span><span style="color: #232323; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Herring Cove flyby flocks and a small flock at First Encounter Beach.</span><br />
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ring-billed Gull (Larus delawarensis)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Herring Gull (Larus argentatus)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</td>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">5</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Iceland Gull (Larus glaucoides) - </span></span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">3 at Race Point, 1 at Herring Cove and another at Fort Hill.</span></div>
</td>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Great Black-backed Gull (Larus marinus)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</td>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rock Pigeon (Columba livia)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</td>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mourning Dove (Zenaida macroura)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">1</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Belted Kingfisher (Megaceryle alcyon)</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">- Hunting in a salt marsh in Provincetown.</span></span></div>
</td>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Red-bellied Woodpecker (Melanerpes carolinus)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Downy Woodpecker (Picoides pubescens)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Blue Jay (Cyanocitta cristata)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">American Crow (Corvus brachyrhynchos)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Black-capped Chickadee (Poecile atricapillus)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Tufted Titmouse (Baeolophus bicolor)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">White-breasted Nuthatch (Sitta carolinensis)</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">1</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Carolina Wren Thryothorus ludovicianus</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Golden-crowned Kinglet Regulus satrapa - w</span></span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">ith Yellow-rumped Warbler at Fort Hill.</span></div>
</td>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">1</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Eastern Bluebird Sialia sialis - h</span></span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">eard singing at Wellfleet Bay Audubon.</span></div>
</td>
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<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">American Robin Turdus migratorius</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">2</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Northern Mockingbird Mimus polyglottos</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 22.5px; padding: 12.2px; width: 0.1px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: right;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">X</span></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: rgb(255, 255, 255) transparent; border-style: solid; border-width: 2px 0px; height: 32px; padding: 7.5px; width: 428.3px;" valign="top">
<div style="color: #232323; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">European Starling (Sturnus vulgaris)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Snow Bunting (Plectrophenax nivalis)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">- flyover flock at Race Point.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Palm Warbler (Setophaga palmarum)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">- Race Point and Fort Hill.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yellow-rumped Warbler (Setophaga coronata) - f</span></span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">lock at Fort Hill.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #232323; font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">American Tree Sparrow (Spizella </span>arbor)<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> - </span></span></span><span style="color: #232323; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Wellfleet Bay Audubon feeders.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Field Sparrow (Spizella pusilla) - a</span></span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">t the feeders of Wellfleet Bay Audubon.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">- in the grasses by Marston's Mill Pond.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #232323; font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Northern Cardinal (Cardinalis </span>cardinals<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">)</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #232323; font-family: Helvetica Neue;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Red-winged Blackbird (Agelaius </span>phoenixes)<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> - f</span></span></span><span style="color: #232323; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">lock at Wellfleet Bay Audubon.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">House Finch (Haemorhous mexicanus)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">American Goldfinch (Spinus tristis)</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">55 species in total, an excellent number for a single December day in Massachusetts. </span></span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Credit and thanks is owed to my grandfather for his willingness to drive us around Cape Cod on our annual Solstice </span><span style="font-size: large;">birding trip.</span></div>
John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-42160146173165654632013-12-15T09:57:00.002-08:002013-12-15T09:57:58.711-08:00On the ethics of a cage bird<div style="color: #232323; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As I write this I am peering through the bars of a cage, inside a lovebird flutters, a bored but regal smile perched on her immobile bill. She is a handsome creature, House Sparrow sized, orange face roosting beady black eyes and the bill, pale and conical, from which issue a variety of querying chirps. Her tail is of medium length, triangular but stubby. Grey feet prop up her light green stomach matching her green hood of feathers. The blue rump is obscured by emerald wings and I find that I have exhausted my ability to describe this marvelous creature’s outward countenance. Now to her emotional appearance I shall leap. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It would be inaccurate to describe this burbling bundle of vibrant feathers as gallant, for she will squawk and flutter with a great deal of agitation to anything in the least varying from its regular course. For after all, a bird is but flesh and blood. But yet again this same bird will happily attack the household dog, an act which could be depicted only as bold (or stupid). She is safe in her cage, her room and her house, and she takes full advantage of this knowledge whenever the chance of escape from behind the bars arises. Once free she will flap and chirrup her way about the house, enjoying the only freedom she knows, a safe one. For as well may be expected she realizes nothing of the outward world, a world beyond the house. Windows mean nothing to a bird! </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">To her she has freedom on a regular basis, for she leaves her cage when ever it is cleaned, and to perfect her comfortable position she has safety, food, water and a nest of shredded newspaper. She lives a life of perfect bliss and near complete unknowing. What more could one desire? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">To state my argument clearly; captivity without knowledge of freedom is freedom ... in fact with the safety which is received by most pets it could be arguably stated that this is the perfect freedom.</span></div>
John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-90711027703637615002013-11-11T14:08:00.001-08:002013-11-11T14:11:30.164-08:00Birds for birding but how so?<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt; font-style: oblique;">“Dogs for dogging, Hands for clapping, Birds for birding, Fish for fishing”</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica'; font-size: 18pt;">~ The Beatles - Revolution 9</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica'; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica'; font-size: 18pt;">It would be a waste of time to discuss each of these lines “Dogs for dogging” etc. Instead I shall focus on the one which would concern the members of this fine organization, obviously “Birds for birding”.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica'; font-size: 18pt;">For many years a dispute has raged freely through the feather seeking ranks. That being the question of the function of the bird in our hobby. Most (lets call them Team #1) will passionately argue for the virtue of the view, seeing these beautiful beasts in their natural environments. What could be more pleasant then with a teasing sea-wind frolicking over your broad-rimmed hat, peering over a chaotic landscape of wave-washed rocks to the pale form of a Glaucous Gull. Chancing upon a singing Cerulean Warbler in a dancing beam of oak-tinted sunlight high on tree, high on hillside, leaves one high on life.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica'; font-size: 18pt;">Not to say this is not what Team #2 seeks just as eagerly, but for them the wind, the trees, the glaring sunlight; all</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica'; font-size: 18pt;">these are distractions and disadvantages. They seek the bird for the immaterial collection (the check-list). They strive only for a bigger list. To them more birds means more skill and in general that is the case.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica'; font-size: 18pt;">These are birders with a goal and this in reality is not necessarily a bad thing.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica'; font-size: 18pt;">I am not a lister but that is not to say that I don’t enjoy another name on my catalog. I find the process of keeping a list up to date tedious and boring. I have many incomplete lists!</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica'; font-size: 18pt;">I have no argument with a bicker in fact I find few things more pleasing then a good quarrel. But from my perspective this altercation seems lame and often even stupid. I don’t wish to take sides but I think I must. The ideas coming from Team #1 are in eliminating listers damaging the only thing they stand for more. This is, as may have been surmised, the recruiting the of the next generation of pale-necks. It seems to me ridiculous to expect a kid would ever appreciate the observation of even the most colorful birds enough to see the cheapest of field guides a worthy buy without already being deeply involved with the hobby. Team #1 seems to have unwittingly stumbled into a catch-22 of their very own; for they hate listers birding and love kids birding but to be a birder a kid must almost certainly be a lister.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica'; font-size: 18pt;">Children should see birding as a game and nothing more; later they can be easily encouraged to enjoy the birds.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica'; font-size: 18pt;">I recall when I was small, about 8 years-old, and I had just begun birding that to me the list was at the heart of the hobby, the joy of birds only later grew on me. “Gently rising, rising, rising, as a stiff bloated corpse gently rises above an oily river that flows under endless onyx bridges to a black, putrid sea”.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica'; font-size: 18pt;">Team #1 should learn to except these rats in the walls (ie. Team #2) as Team #2 seemingly has excepted them in turn. Have you ever heard the argument from a point of a lister?</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #a2c4c9;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica'; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica'; font-size: 18pt;">"Those are my principles, and if you don't like them... well, I have others." ~ Grouch Marx </span></span></div>
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John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-1397561640819290422013-06-22T08:32:00.004-07:002013-06-22T08:32:38.368-07:00A post of mine on The EyrieSorry for not posting recently for once I can seriously say I have been busy (please disregard every other time I have said that). As you may or may not know (probably the latter) I have for the last two years been a "young editor", though all I actually do is write posts, for the American Birding Association young birder blog The Eyrie. Seeing that this blog has been a miserably dull read of late I shall give you a link to my most recent post on The Eyrie:<br />
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http://birding.typepad.com/youngbirders/2013/06/birding-past-present-and-future-challenges-and-opportunities-a-young-birders-report-from-the-21st-an.html.John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-48231408126599515282013-05-13T07:54:00.004-07:002013-05-13T08:05:42.300-07:00Gooseberry Neck May/10/13<span style="text-align: left;">Golden sunflakes danced off the roofs of cars scattered through the parking lot, although eye-catching it was not eye-holding, the glimmer of a White-crowned Sparrows feathers were far too riveting.</span><br />
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It was just one of a surprisingly large mix of sparrow species in the area. Chipping Sparrows skipping past White-throated Sparrows who in turn danced among the Savannah and Song Sparrows. The latter, who's song could easily be heard anywhere on the preserve, outnumbered only by the gaily frolicking Yellow Warblers. </div>
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The sparrows amused us but for a short while. The feathered envoys of Gooseberry Neck called us away from the parking lot with angelic voices. We tripped merrily down the path gawking at the blazing red shoulders of blackbirds, the burbles of goldfinches. A terrible cry emerged from my brother breaking my extreme gawk. He had just seen the alien feathers and the corresponding body of a Kentucky Warbler wing into a patch thick bushes and, in the same manner, away. All far before I had a chance to get on it. A missed lifer.</div>
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We continued forth, our course unchanged by the sorrow that had descended upon my walk like a wicked voorish dome in Deep Dendo. "T</span>he black and green scarecrow is sadder than me, but now he's resigned to his fate, cause life's not unkind - he doesn't mind", so straightening my back and adjusting my binocular harness I followed in the footsteps of the straw-man. I returned to the Palace of San-Souci aided by a Chestnut-brown Canary one of my very favorite species.<span style="font-family: Helvetica; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span></div>
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The clattering song of a Virginia Rail jarred me from my mind where I'd been going through an assortment of Led Zeppelin lyrics in hopes of finding one useful in just such a blog post as this. "In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings, sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven" and all that. As I was saying, a Virginia Rail sang, surprisingly from some scrubby bushes a understanding between feather and twig that I had previously no knowledge of, and god was it a frustrating one. This bird was feet from the path and completely hidden. As I gnashed my teeth and stamped my feet it continued it's unforgiving squawk.</div>
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Least Terns called from the beach. Cormorants, antediluvian in all uses of the delightful word, mused on their shrouded past as I swirled through the land of aves accompanied by trusted binoculars. </div>
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I dashed from bird to bird, dodging all distractions. I scented feathers a<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">nd a nearby Ruby-throated Sparrow laughed, and said "pray, what may that creature be doing? I rise but a few yards in the air and settle down again, after flying around among the reeds. That is as much as anyone would want to fly. Now, wherever can this creature be going to?" In fact I was bounding to a pair of lifers although this was not a realization I had at that point come to.</span></div>
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The first lifer to materialize was a Bay-breasted Warbler. A handsome male who perched with all the grace that only a warbler can maintain for any great length of time (especially the Grace's Warbler) in the shrubbery along the path and right next to parking lot where the sunflakes still lazily glittered on the locomotives. "Sing your song, don't be long" I begged but the elegant bird refused and with a courteous nod, flitted away on equally elegant wings. I peered through the freshly deserted branches and spied a sight which thrilled me to the marrow. <span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Overhead the gull hung </span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">motionless upon the air and deep beneath the rolling waves in labyrinths of coral caves, the echo of a distant tide comes willowing across the sand but I was far too enthralled with the Grasshopper Sparrow who had suddenly confronted my feather weary (but still hungry) eye's. Suddenly focused I gave not a damn about anything else (even Pink Floyd). This dainty mirage (which was not in fact anything but reality) hopped up onto a rock, glanced our way and then vanished with an imagined "<i>pop</i>". As our </span>heartbeats<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> slowed the waves rolled by and life flowed on, screaming through the sunlit sky, momentarily stranding us in our frozen bubble of awe. Thankfully we were able to catch back up with reality accompanied with some documentary photographs of the lifer duo.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">"Look at the sky, look at the ocean, isn't it good?" But for me birding is far better...</span></div>
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John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-17356481515810527222013-04-24T12:01:00.000-07:002013-08-15T06:21:23.344-07:00Scusset Beach, Cape Cod Canal, Sandwich, MA March 30-31, 2013<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Nature is unkind: it treats creation like sacrificial straw dogs. But birding is not creation. It is a hobby and it's paths not so harshly ruled. Thank God for that. Birding would be a far more challenging (perhaps even dull) sport otherwise.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A preening (female) Red-breasted Merganser</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">With voices rivaling Comrade Butt himself eiders merrily whooped. Gulls wheeled and the Yellow-crowned Night-Heron, who had been kindly shown to us by a fellow binocular-wearer (thanks Linda), sat in a corner, on some sun-baked rocks and moped about his lot. He was a drab bird in general compared to some of his brothers, birds that had cured the kings pile and now live wealthy, frivolous lives in the mangrove swamps of the Caribbean, no this was a sorry specimen. His blood-shot eyes drifted wearily over his watchers, he didn't care to be the feathered-center of attention, but presumed not to interfere with his seeming fame, as it seemed to be the only way they would ever retire and they did, departing the scene with a flourish of drab garments followed by his satisfied gaze. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The ducks sped with the foam scuds through the bloated canal which swam in and out of focus as I turned the focus wheel of my binoculars. The unique features of Common Eider were very much in evidence as were the equally strange moldings of Red-breasted Mergansers. A machine of fish-seekers and subsequent killers - nice, nice, very nice, so many different birds in the same device. But one individual was lacking in my view, the bird who, though not one to gain stardom, was making the Cape Cod birding community very happy. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He was a King Eider and according to the birders asked, a bird who had just flown the canal, for the sake of the marina on the bay, a scopes view away, a scope which was currently lying battered and broken at home. Although my life list would not be lengthened by the end of the day, I left with a sun-dried murre's head in my pocket, a Purple Sandpiper and a three scoter (species) list; it was a grand day. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSNR_bSnsH5_UPz89kHrmxw2r_HyGeXJbP9DTdLeQ36baaj1WMyzlDKPP2_WgxYREF3QKWdnFQpa2EnQe4dkGpVJ2zlpnP3EW4LPEQwpXLChPpFifi7B5ECsVHd5GxmdqWPwRuqyZuQfw/s1600/IMG_1972.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSNR_bSnsH5_UPz89kHrmxw2r_HyGeXJbP9DTdLeQ36baaj1WMyzlDKPP2_WgxYREF3QKWdnFQpa2EnQe4dkGpVJ2zlpnP3EW4LPEQwpXLChPpFifi7B5ECsVHd5GxmdqWPwRuqyZuQfw/s400/IMG_1972.JPG" width="400" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On the matter of the murre's head there is not much to tell. After walking about a mile down the canal bike path to Scusset Beach, we strolled down the beach a little way musing on the odd, almost plover-like behavior of a pair of Savannah Sparrows foraging along the shore line. I finally happened upon an intact specimen, one of the many murres washed up dead along the beach, presumably the remains of some recent storm or other. His half fleshless head was too tempting a display for my bedroom and as he wouldn't be needing it any more I took the liberty of removing it with a professional twist. No more will the voice of this (unidentified) murre pollute the air, instead his mighty stench will pollute my gentle (?) snores, my lungs will wreak of this would-have-been lifer, long after his skull has crumbled to a powder on my desk. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Because we had missed the King Eider today, my grandparents offered a berth to me and my brother in order to make a return visit to the location on the following morn.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was 9:30am and with the sun's dazzling rays dancing over the still water and black-and-white backs of eider our collective pulse quickened to keep time with crunches of a crow rejuvenating his tissues on a crab in the bushes. We were birding once more. Over the mountains the watchers were watching, but we didn't mind. We were enthralled by the checkerboard pattern of a loon's back. Our revery was cut short however when the sleek looking bird dove to be replaced by an equally cool Red-breasted Merganser, a bird who puts the meaning into the word "freak" and almost as much into "punk". As startling as he was, the flight of a swan was more so, and we were soon lost in our binoculars and the aerodynamic feathers of a Mute Swan. A flat trill in the distance sounded parula-like, but it was still quite early for such a species and the sight of the impenetrable wall of briars and cedars was too daunting to attempt an entry. The suspected singer was left unconfirmed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Through the croaking of grackles and the more distant chirping of peepers my sibling’s horrific call rang clear - the King had been located!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Feathers dazzled the eye's of the pale-necks: blue, green, orange, white, black; he was a grandiose sight indeed and he knew it. His majestic sails curled with pride. He was a gentle bird but not a humble one. He took full responsibility for the glimmer of his feathers. he gloated and all the common folks looked at him and said "he is so beautiful that I am sure he has a long Latin name". He was King of the canal.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A barge barreled pass and a flock of terrified eider fled the scene, leaving the birders with a few backlit photos, some fairly poor views and, for some, a lifer.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My internal economy had been once more stabilized, for such is the power of birding.</span></div>
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<br />John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-60516436925825194142013-02-20T05:37:00.001-08:002013-02-20T05:37:16.584-08:00Midnight Memories with PlumesI once found a sticker pasted to the underside of a Cambridge theater toilet seat. On its weathered face were printed the words "Listen: Billy Pilgrim has become unstuck in time". I am quite fond of the memory of that particular sticker as well as the Marx Brothers movie which shortly followed it's discovery. Those memories swirl through my head now and blend with vibrant feathers like a mirage swirling through the darkened hours of this sleepless midnight.<br />
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A Painted Bunting flashes its vibrant colors into my binoculars. Closer to home my mind replays the song of the Hermit Thrush, sung from a distant mountain top. Spangled in the shade of stunted trees a Mourning Warbler hops from branch to branch followed by the chirping of House Sparrows in a city park. Navy blue clad Harlequin Ducks frolic in the surface thrown by the waves that glance against the faltering rocks. "Phoebe" says my memory. A Night-Heron's shrouded form hunches on a distant dock, unaware of the elvin terns that dance over his black-crowned head.<br />
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The handsome head of a Tree Swallow appears from the dark confines of a bird house, its stunning blue and white plumage giving it an almost penguin like appearance, but any similarities with those denizens of the south is ruled out by the mirage of metallic feathers that rear out of the dunes of a Cape Cod beach. Swallows vanish and sound appears; the morning chorus flutes through my brain.<br />
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Listen: John Shamgochian has become unstuck in his mind.John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-87102194954859136392013-02-15T08:08:00.000-08:002013-02-15T08:11:22.480-08:00Yet another apology and an owlIt may seem to you, my scattered readers, that I have now finally mastered the bloggers failure of sustaining a blog and with you I fully agree.<br />
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Life has continued, flowing on in its endless, random and abstract style. It has in this fascinating process tossed me a biscuit or two: a bittern, a few Tundra Swans, the first January RI record of a Barn Swallow, more recently a Sandhill Crane, but my biggest recent enjoyment was the kidnapping of a quite substantial quantity of Dragonfly and Damselfly larvae which are now being cruelly constrained in a number of water-filled pickle jars which line an upper floor windowsill. They and their brethren have been latest in a number of wild-eyed obsessions.<br />
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Seeing that adult odonates (dragonflies and damselflies) don't overwinter I have not had much satisfaction in this thrilling new pursuit. Larvae odes are aquatic and look like what you would get if you bred a spider with a cockroach and, as might be assumed, are not quite as enthralling as their older selves to observe. To be fully truthful this enthrallment is not fully recent. I have been watching these sewing-needles since early last summer but at the time made very little headway on my identification skills. It took an insect net and a field guide to get me just about over the line of no return. A line which (as anyone who has ever fallen too deep into a hobby knows) will haunt you for many years to come (particularly financially; I have spent over $200 on ode-ing equipment since November.)<br />
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I have now resorted to polishing my net and occasionally taking a swing at some object thrown by a sibling which after netting will probably be misidentified (by me) as a Pygmy Snaketail or even a Lake Emerald and then after inspection through a loupe I will realize it is nothing but a rubber ball. I have long ago memorized the local species and now all I can do is wait for the coming of the summer months.<br />
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It seems that I have run out of things to say about the elegant insects of my current fascination and seeing that this blog post is pitifully small I think I will give you yet another average summing up of a recent encounter. Unfortunately the "other" in this chance meeting was deceased.<br />
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On the 12th of February in the year of our Lord 2013 at 3:15pm, a quick stroll along the Ten Mile River had come to the collective mind of the Shamgochian household. Fresh water was needed for the odes so it was decided to walk the section of river which flows from Turner Reservoir where the water flows at it's fastest and is easily accessed. After retrieving the water we happily collected a number of ants which had been discovered lying prone under a tree. Later it was realized that the largest ant, a soldier, was still alive when collected. I have yet to release the "fortunate" survivor.<br />
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The snow which blanketed the trail/road of a short and none-to-attractive loop of the grounds which starts and ends at the river seemed fairly compact and walkable so without any discussion the walk commenced down this trail. As we neared the parking lot, I (weary from having worried continuously about the of unleashed status of our flesh-hungry dog combined with not-so distant main road and the locally large cottontail population and quite irritated with substantial long list of birds not seen) was pleased to see the mottled plumes of a sparrow. A squint through my binos and the identity of the sparrow was instantly obvious (it was a Song Sparrow) - the identity of the sleek pile of brown feathers at the birds dainty pink feet, however, was not.<br />
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As I approached swiftly, smoothly and surely it's name came towards my awaiting gray matter in leaps and bounds (as the Gazelle leaps into the awaiting jaws of a Lion aka. me). In seconds the name tickled my pimpled forehead and with one mighty twitch of my outstretched hand I flipped the husk of a life bird onto it's back. It would be cooler to say that<i> two gold-black eyes stood out stunningly against the brown of the feathers and the white of the snow</i> but to be fully honest it's feathered eye lids had drawn up over the two golden orbs. But that didn't bother me - it was beautiful as it was.<br />
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I gazed down on the (robin-sized) bundle of feathers in my hand, a handsome white on brown tail preceeded the similarly colored wings and the white breast and belly buttered with an artists touch by warm cinnamon. From these "butterings" protruded two down covered legs, ended by the yellow of the toes and complemented by the equally brilliant black of the (literally) needle-sharp talons. With it's heart-shaped face sheathed in a soft layering of tan feathers and ringed with chestnut, ornamented with sparkling white streaks like a fanciful tiara, it was stunning.<br />
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It, as you may have already picked up, was a very dead Northern Saw-whet Owl, an uncommon and much loved species.<br />
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I gazed at the crime scene and remembering the words of my detective hero Chico Marx "you gotta do like a Sherlock Holmes, you gotta get what they call the clues".<br />
First you say to yourself <i>what have you got?</i>, and the answer come right back: something dead!<br />
Then you say to yourself <i>what is dead?</i> and the answer comes right back: a Northern Saw-whet Owl!<br />
Now you say to yourself <i>what killed the owl?</i> and the answer come right back: something in these woods!<br />
Now you take-a de clues and you put dem all together, and what you got? The owl is dead!<br />
Where did it die? In these woods!<br />
What killed it? Something in these woods!<br />
Now we all we got to do is go to everything in these woods and ask them if they killed it!<br />
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There were some interesting features of the picture laid out before me. For instance a dead North American Deer Mouse was laid out on a gnarled branch. The frozen remains of the mouse sat above, and six inches to the left of it's (late) would be devourer. But despite the fact that pepper and salt had been metaphorically sprinkled on the owls furry dinner, it was on the outside not physically damaged.<br />
Even stranger was the direction the owl's now stiff form faced. It was found face down in the snow and twisted 180 degrees from where it must have once perched. If the bird had fallen from the branch on which the mouse rested it seems only logical that it would face away from the same when it dropped.<br />
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Strange.<br />
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I finished the walk with 6 dead animals (and the living ant) on my person. Not bad for a short walk in a non-exceptional locale. Now there is a dead owl on the porch and I don't know what to do with it!John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-10235568426384723802013-01-11T16:36:00.001-08:002013-01-11T16:37:19.764-08:00<br />
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The lack of new contents on this blog has been quite disgraceful as of late. I have had many subjects on which I could have written extensively. I could have described my experiences with a recent Northern Shrike, or reviewed the annual solstice bird count tradition which we observed with our grandfather (quite recently but not, as might be expected, on the solstice) for which we thank him. I could have even put up a post about one of my many recent sighting of Pine Grosbeaks in this most beautiful of winters. </div>
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My only real defense for this lack of blogging covers but the last few days I have spent sorrowfully wallowing on the living room couch with the taste of green apples on my breath, my hands feeling like two balloons. My only enjoyment during my recent illness was the time spent watching of the distant hulk of St. John's Catholic Church. It seems to have a curious tendency of terrifying the local pigeons and swallows which so freely frolic in the airways of this fair city of Providence. Their obvious avoidance of the steeple has puzzled me greatly. Perhaps some raptor has taken it as its roosting spot or maybe some other not wholly terrestrial species has taken up an abode there. Hopefully I can get up to Federal Hill some time soon and come to the bottom of this mystery.</div>
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My current state of sanity is not fully thanks to this little puzzle. Some of the honor has to go to the nature books which I have most recently immersed myself in. The book which has occupied my attention and lap the most is my new and wisely-purchased (<b>despite what <i>some</i> might think</b>) handbook to the Simuliidae, properly titled.</div>
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The Black Flies</div>
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(Simuliidae)</div>
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of North America </div>
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Peter H. Alder</div>
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Douglas C. Currie</div>
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D. Monty Wood"</div>
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It is a beautifully in-depth and completely unintelligible masterpiece, an indispensable reference to any "Simuliidaeer" which I plan to become once I figure out what a black fly is precisely and how the range maps work, and what the hell that little black thing on page 2028 is.</div>
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In fact these completely unlikable vectors aren't that bad really. They are more like blood-thirsty versions of those jolly, fat dwarfs who sneak into your bedroom at night to leave all the sweet little parasites you could possibly dream of under your pillow for you to enjoy when you awake in the morning. Apart from the horribly sawlike jaws of the adults, the gills of the pupae and the labral fans of the larvae, both of which are just too maddeningly Cthulhu-ish for comfort, they are actually rather beautiful in their own highly evolved sort of way.</div>
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One parasite which particularly interested me was the Onchocerca volvulus which spends the first part of it's life in the skin of a human but has to be transmitted to a black fly to grow into its second stage and then, to top it all off, the worm has to find its way back into the blood stream of a human where it can live up to 15 years and grow up to a foot in length.</div>
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Even more horrible than the adult worm though are the consequences played out if the immature worm does not reach the fly. It will spend the next, and last, 2 or so years of its short life burrowing through the body of its human host (even chewing through the eyes which causes blindness in so many of its victims).</div>
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Chapter 7 on the economic importance of the "bugs" was particularly eye catching. They are, it seems, no friend of the economy. Each season they are responsible for the murder of livestock across the country in an number of equally blood-thirsty ways which generally involve: lack of oxygen, lack of blood, shock and agony. There were even reports of animals tossing themselves off of cliffs and rolling in fire to relieve themselves of the terrible swarms that occasionally spring up.</div>
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The species Simulium vampirum has since 1886 killed more than 3,500 animals and far more deaths remain un-reported! Thankfully only about 33 species of North America's 263 have been reported to bite humans, livestock and poultry.</div>
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Ahhhh Mother Nature, so loving and kind! </div>
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All I need now is a stereo dissecting microscope and some 18 inch forceps to go with it. Time to start saving.</div>
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Next on my reading list: <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Fleas of the Northwest</span> and <span style="text-decoration: underline;">Mosquitoes of California</span>.</div>
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A completely unrelated photo of a Canada Darner (Aeshna canadensis) larvae I recently caught in Petersham, MA.</div>
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John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-8930045335624220702012-12-14T07:51:00.003-08:002012-12-14T07:51:39.936-08:00East Beach, Charlestown, RI - Nov/18/12<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Through the hazy paranoia of life came the sweet burbling call of the crossbill and the noise lit a spark of excitement. The sand crunched beneath my feet and I found myself walking down a sandy path. To my left a forest of stunted Japanese Black Pines. to my right that shimmering mass a big blue wobbly thing that mermaids live in, that they call the Atlantic. Off in the distance the hulking form of Block Island is just visible in the distance. In a dazzling wave of color and noise over my head sweep crossbills; hundreds of them. They land around us covering the trees in their radiant joy of life. Mixed in with their warbles I can hear the calls of Red-breasted Nuthatches, chickadees and the occasional siskin and redpoll.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The sky is that clear shade of springtime although in reality winter had but recently come to the beach and as I watched more and more of the handsome crossbills appeared falling from the windless skies in a bubbling and burbling cloud, sheathing the trees in yet another layer of feathers.</span></div>
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The snapping of cones being disassembled surrounded us.</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">They had come as an eruption from the North. They had arrived at East Beach by wing, a bad cone crop was all it had taken to send the two species wheeling out of control and spilling them across the country.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"><br />The spit of land that was East Beach boiled with them, the biologically diverse Red and the opposingly un-diverse White-winged Crossbill. They played a game of cat and mouse: one-day the beach would swarm with Reds the next there wouldn't be Red Crossbill in sight all replaced by their sibling species. That day was one of the latter and in total I positively ID'd a little over ten of the brick red birds. </span>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As we walked the Jeep trampled road the birds followed, billowing up behind us and trailing us with cheerful calls. The two species themselves could practically be summed in but one word: EFFERVESCENT.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Our shoes weighted by the pixie dust sand we eventually decided that as the Charlestown breachway, our original turn around destination was still quite distant and considering that we had been walking for at least an hour it was time to turn around. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We slogged back down the beach for a change of scenery, watching gannets diving the azure tinted waters whose usual wavy complexion had all but vanished on this day of days. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Closer to shore floated loons. I could see from the beach the crossbills still cracking open cones with those most unique bills and that's when it finally sinks in what a magical day it was in this beautiful world. I don't think that in all my birding days I have ever loved birding more than at that moment! </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A delicious dead gannet</td></tr>
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John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-49863163875539738142012-12-08T13:57:00.003-08:002012-12-08T14:37:07.541-08:00A quick video to shareThis blog has been sadly lacking in posts recently. I'm sorry for this and hope to get back to writing posts soon but at the moment I don't feel particularly inclined to write so instead I've decided to share with you this birding video:<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NaX7i1Q7-Rw" target="_blank">Sh*t Birders Say</a>John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-10950215684520747712012-11-29T13:04:00.002-08:002012-11-29T13:04:42.496-08:00Ruff! To quote the great NatGeo: "<b>Calls </b>are poorly known; one call reportedly a rippling tr-tr-tr and a soft whistle". I have never heard the above call, if I had I would be the proud rediscoverer of the Eskimo Curlew. Nor have I heard the rare call of the practically mute Ruff, but contrary to the curlew my experiences with this species transcend to a much higher level then just a literary knowledge.<br />
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It was a life bird when I found it. The moment is still engraved in my (always decaying) grey matter. I was standing on the mini dunes of RISD Beach when time froze. I had at first passed the bird off as a Greater Yellowlegs, a species which is as much a part of RISD Beach as the beach itself. My first squint at the bird had revealed nothing of it's heritage and my call of Greater Yellowlegs was just a guess. Thank God I gave the bird another look for as my eyes set on the bird once more I mentally trashed the idea of this bird being a yelllowlegs of any kind. I must say this was one of the most thrilling experiences that has been tossed my way yet. The sweet moment of realization, in my opinion, is one of the highlights of the birding disease which I am afflicted with. What had caused this sudden change of identification was no more than the birds back and I must admit that it didn't immediately strike me in any way vagrant like, in fact my first thought was snipe. But as the bird drew out into the open this random ID was quickly replaced by a frenzy of bafflement, confusion, puzzlement and many other types of unknowingness. This last array of thoughts lasted a mere second and after mentally flipping through the list of possible species I decided that species could not be an average one. Nataraja danced away my illusion and in a flash the ID had dawned on me; this bird was no average wader - this bird was a Ruff!!<br />
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After this the usual things happened: I got some cheap photos, ran around a little bit panicing, confirmed the identification, eBirded it and eventually reported it. We went back the next four days in a row and saw it on each. I liked seeing the beach being put to it's proper use, it is generally neglected by the birding community but now it was near certainly haunted by a flock of those elusive bird-obsessed. Each day produced new excitements and by the last of the four days I had scored a Dickcissel, two Snow Buntings, three late Least, one late Semipalmated Sandpiper and (a partridge in a pear tree) although the excitement eventually died, the birds continued to flow in.<br />
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When Sandy FINALLY hit (a storm I had been looking forward to all week) I was unable to check on the Ruff due to some rumor about the storm being a safety hazard. The next day the Ruff did not show and I had to admit that she (she had been identified as a female, a reeve) had "flown the marsh". But this lack of reeve Ruff was made up for in full. Two days after Sandy swept through a Cory's Shearwater flew over RISD Beach.<br />
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This event was quite amazing and although not quite as extraordinary an occurrence as that of the Ruff it was still a moment which will be long lived in my rotting brain. It soared low, directly overhead from North-ish to South-ish over the neighboring country club, swept past the marsh and above the long missed salt-water. It was followed quickly by my camera lens.<br />
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As it wheeled by it was hard not think of the last few, severe, starving days this beautiful bird had suffered through. It was a fit, but bedraggled, specimen and you could literally see the relief and pleasure in the birds countenance as it bathed itself in the pleasing salt water and skimmed, inches, above the gently rolling waves. The story behind this birds strange location (for it was indeed strange, this bird was as far as I know the most Northernly report of the species in the state along with being the fifth November record for the same state) was quite obvious. The bird had, near certainly, been blown helter-skelter across miles of frothing ocean and then continued on over beach, town, woods and field until Sandy, the culprit of this terrible blowing, released it from it's enveloping folds and let its fly as it will. From there a long and arduous journey back over fields, town, woods and finally beach, RISD Beach, ensued.<br />
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I think the flight of the shearwater has to be one of the most beautiful sights in nature, easily comparable to the Aurora Borealis, a deep, dark, dank, dirty rainforest over flowing with the songs of hidden birds, or even the terrible countenance of the penguin eating Shoggoth (illustration below). The shearwater sweeps over the water riding the breeze as easily as a ball rolls down a slope or our dog chases a squirrel. The bird skims, swerves, swerves again and vanishes behind the crest of a wave, but as the wave hits the shore and gently recedes the bird is once more seen, continuing its loving waltz with the swells.<br />
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It was, I think, a near perfect lifer.<br />
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John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-29679368240715877432012-10-31T07:31:00.002-07:002012-11-02T16:08:41.692-07:00Six Golden Grosbeaks in Petersham, Massachusetts <br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In the beginning there was light and a quite obnoxiously loud BANG. Fast forward 13 billion years or so and you get me. You have my permission to stop at any given point between me and the beginning. Maybe you will stop by in the Jurassic to observe that peculiar creature the Archaeopteryx or maybe you will decide to see the last Dodo, perhaps you will even wish to see the Elder Things battle with the Star-Spawn of Cthulhu. But I do insist that you eventually come to pause on me and preferably on the day of October the 28th, 2012. I have two reasons to chose this great date. First off; on this date in time I was alive currently suffering through my thirteenth year of life and secondly; this was the day that I scored my first flock of Evening Grosbeaks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I had on this date taken it into my head that I was currently the soul New England birder who had not seen the aforementioned grosbeak, though to be fair to my earlier self there must have been at least a few other New England birders who suffered from the same lackingness as I. Whatever the case I was goaded by the constant stream of infuriatingly delicious local reports of the species and I decided that a quick bike ride around town could do me little damage. I, in fact, nearly lost my left hand to frost bite later that same day but at the hour of 9 am I knew nothing of that future. My mind made up, it was in no time at all that I found myself seeing for the first time a clip to add to my birding history about three minutes long that will be forever graven into my brain (unless of course I forget it). In general it was a fairly unremarkable three minutes for the average muggle but to me these three minutes, which were more than likely just a prolonged one minute, were quite special.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In Minute Number One I take my bike out the garage and slowly wheel it down our dead-end road on which for most weekends dwell I. On reaching the base of the road the bike, for no reason whatsoever neatly topples from under me and sends me and all my geeky-ness sprawling. I not-so-neatly pick myself up, scramble back onto the seat of the bicycle and turn right heading for the center of town. My wheels complete 70 or so rotations at regular cadence before with barely a screech the bike again comes to a halt. This time although the vehicle tumbles the ground, I do not. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Minute Number Two is played out something like this: after the bike comes to a halt I release the handle bars and extract myself from the device. I then proceed to call my younger brother back from in his position in front of me (he had, to my annoyance, insisted on accompanying me on this ride although, he bike-less, had to jog the route). I turned my attention, which at this point in time was employed through my ears, to my right and began to analyze the sound that had so rudely disrupted my revery of the still spinning bicycle wheels.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The noise in question was obviously the call note of a passerine. It was a soft purring chip resembling what you would vocally get if you bred a Great-crested Flycatcher with a House Sparrow (if such a thing were humanely possible). It was at this point that my brother reached me and we first set our eyes upon the golden form of the Evening Grosbeak. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It's golden colors were so brilliant that I had to remind myself not to scan the surrounding trees in hopes of seeing perched in one of them Yossarian, stark naked and eating chocolate covered Egyptian cotton being handed to him by the ever hopeful Milo Minderbinder. (As an abrupt aside, might I suggest that anyone observing me now should quickly rewind at this point to the Mediterranean island of Pianosa, circa 1944, on the day of one Snowden's funeral attended by the tree-d Yossarian. For not only is it undoubtedly the strangest funeral you will ever go to it is also at the exact location that Pianosa's only endemic bird is observed for apparently the first and last time (and was described as a brilliant gold not unlike my grosbeak).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Minute Number Three runs its course in a startling 60 seconds. In this time I watch the grosbeak flutter about in a Sugar Maple where it's distinguished plumage sets off a seeming blast of flames; its colors blending with the red and yellow of the maple's last few brilliant leaves. I can almost hear the crackle of the fire.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In the last thirty second dash before my three minutes run dry I witness a flash of white as the wings of the bird open and close and send it whizzing into the air where it blends with the drifting gold of so many leaves caught and tossed in the wind. I lose the grosbeak in the falling foliage but then I see the flash of white again and this time it is joined by five similar, dancing white and gold comrades. They drift to the top a of tree where they perch. Their huge bills stand out prominently against the overcast skies. The gray light falls on them softly and it bleaches the colors out of their feathers, replacing the vibrance with a dark imitation. They blur into the background, and, for a moment, I see them as the last six leaves on a bare tree and I watch as the fall breeze plucks at these leaves and pulls them free from the grasp of the tree but the leaves float up instead of spiraling downward as any self respecting leaf should. I see flashes of white once more and realize my mistake as the six grosbeaks disappear over the treetops. </span></div>
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<a href="http://www.aba.org/boy" style="display: block; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; margin-top: 8px; text-align: center;" target="_blank"><img alt="ABA Bird of the Year" height="150" src="http://www.aba.org/boy/images/2012-BotY-Badge1-150x150.png" width="150" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">For anyone wishing to see more birding excitement stick around on this date for a few more hours and you will see me watching a pair of Lark Sparrows a five minute walk from my house. </span></div>
John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-59392890227665893072012-10-26T09:09:00.001-07:002012-11-02T15:56:20.954-07:00Wood Sandpiper - Marsh Meadows Wildlife Preserve, Jamestown, RI - Oct/15/2012<br />
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">After the billows of winds had picked him up and carried him, his inner compass had not been quite sure what to think. He had known there was water below him, an endless expanse of sickening blue, land had appeared after days at sea, the water seemed calmer and the winds gusts were less forceful, he had put down in a marsh surrounded by roads, cars and noise, apart for some cormorants and egrets he had remained alone, with the one nagging thought that he had no clue to his whereabouts. He was quite sure he was now completely lost. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The birders didn't think he was in Africa either. After his initial discovery, he had, in minutes, seemingly become a celebrity. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The bird was, as with most things still in early life, unsure of what to think of this new popularity. He suspected he enjoyed the attention but wasn't certain, mainly because he didn't have a clue why he was suddenly so liked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The birders knew the answer to this question, to them the answer was simple, this bird did not belong here. He was in fact the first Wood Sandpiper ever in recorded history to enjoy the delights of fresh Rhode Island seafood.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Once the sandpiper was informed of the rareness of himself, he was quite willing to be enjoyed by all. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My mothers favorite feature of chasing a rarity is not the watching of the bird, but the antics of the mass of birders.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I must admit that the beauty of this quaint little shorebird exceeded my expectations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On the fifteenth of October, two days after it had been discovered by RI birder Carlos Pedro (the discoverer of an equally confused, first state record Little Stint earlier in the year) we finally had the time to make the 45 minute drive from our house in the center of East Providence down to Jamestown's Marsh Meadows Wildlife Preserve. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Our arrival at first seemed ill-timed and although there were twenty or so birders along North Road, which cuts directly through the marsh, the bird had remained hidden all morning. We were now faced with three options: the first was to wait with the other birders on the road. The second was to go for a short walk along the rocks at Beavertail State Park and hope that the birders had turned up something when we passed back along the road on the way home. The third plan involved us driving to the other side of the marsh and trying our luck on the sanctuary trails that abutted the marsh and which gave great views of the wetland. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A birder observes the first Wood Sandpiper ever discovered in New England.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This third plan was soon agreed upon by us and in no time at all we were walking down the wooded trails of the refuge. The first loop we made of the trails turned up nothing unusual, other then the terrifyingly exciting sight of all twenty birders who had just minutes before been chatting quietly with one another as they scanned the marsh with their thousand dollar optics, now dashing along the far side of the swampy terrain. Needless to say we freaked out and sprinted away as fast as we could while being weighed down by binoculars and cameras and in my case a scope. Thus began a harrowing 20 minute sprint. First we tried running down the grassy verge of highway which goes past the entrance to the trail we were on and was in the general direction the birders had been running to. When we finally decided that the marsh and highway were not in fact connected at any crossable point we turned around and sprinted equally as fast back to the trail head and circled another loop of the wooded trail. This time we tried to find away across the marsh to the birders who had now stopped running and were instead happily observing something.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The first observation platform which was more of a bench really, seemed not to have any safe route to the marsh as did the second. The third was surrounded on all sides by phragmites but here it appeared that others likewise minded had cut through the tall grasses and made it safely to the marsh. We followed this rough trail until we reached the point where the phragmites was replaced by by a lower, native grass. Here the trail seemed more defined and we had no trouble walking the short distance to the birders and the Wood Sandpiper. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Needless to say the bird was there and it was beautiful. We watched it for at least 45 minutes while our mother (who had steadfastly refused to walk through the muck and mire) grew slowly more impatient for our return. The only disappointment of the day was the loss of my notebook which now has been laid to rest somewhere in a deep puddle in the marsh. </span><span id="goog_2134265951"></span><span id="goog_2134265952"></span></span></div>
John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-55496658613841922962012-10-23T06:47:00.001-07:002012-11-02T16:01:05.833-07:00A Book Review of the Birds of Europe<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">text by Peter J.Grant and Lars Svensson, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">illustrations by Dan Zetterstrom and Killian Mullarney, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Princeton Press, 1999<span style="font: 12.0px Helvetica;"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A while back I attempted to compile a list of book reviews describing my top ten favorite guides. I failed this milk-run of a mission and tossed up only 8 such reviews, the last two have remained unwritten. I've decided to temporarily skip #2 (The Shorebird Guide by Michael O'Brien, Richard Crossley, and Kevin Karlson) and cut right to the last, and in my opinion, best guide. Enjoy:<span style="font: 12.0px Helvetica;"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Have you ever ID'd a scoter by the way it dives? Or a Red-throated Loon by how it's neck moves in flight? Or distinguished the offspring of a Pochard male and a Tufted Duck female from the young of a Pochard female and a Tufted Duck male? No? Well that's probably because you haven't read this guide. This Princeton Press field guide is the ultimate bird guide: 400 sturdy pages of birding knowledge. Complete with amazing illustrations, 4-color range maps and comparatively long species texts, it covers everything from the Red-throated Loon to the Indian Silverbill. What other book fits illustrations of 20 Common Buzzards, 18 Honey Buzzards and 1 Marsh Harrier into one average sized page while still being completely visible? On top of the amazing quantity of the illustrations each picture is surrounded by field identification notes. Every description gives size, habitat, scientific name, the scarcity of the species in England, identification details and voice. The book include 848 species, 23 of which are introduced and 103 of which are vagrants. Indeed every species recorded in Europe before 1999 is covered. Nearly every species has a illustration of a certain behavior, gives a side-by-side comparison with another similar species, or merely shows a habitat preference. Whatever the case, in the way of illustrations, this book is not lacking! One feature I particularly like are the family introductions. Most of these are just a paragraph long but a few, like the intro for the gulls, are excessively long (but not in a bad way). The gull introduction contains 7 paragraphs on IDing gulls, their food preferences, their molt cycle and general observation tips. Along with these 7 paragraphs 30 individual gulls of numerous different species are illustrated. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> The back of the book has a partially illustrated chapter on vagrants, a list of accidentals (rarer then vagrants), and partially illustrated chapter on introduced breeders.<span style="font: 12.0px Helvetica;"> </span>In short I have nothing wrong to say about this book. It really is the perfect field guide. All field guides at least attempt to set themselves at the top, but so far all but this one have succeeded in nothing more then failing when compared with this pinnacle of birding knowhow. </span></div>
John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-12409816982982437802012-09-21T08:17:00.000-07:002012-11-20T09:18:13.224-08:00August 16, 2012 - North Common Meadow, Petersham, MA - Sunny, cool - 7:36 am-8:46am <br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">First off, I have to apologize for my attempted poetics in this post. I have to confess that I've been reading way to much Ray Bradbury of late. I think all the Bradbury fans out there will sympathize with my current effusive writing syndrome. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The pipits skipped over the turf, tails wagging to the rhythm stepped out by their dainty, pink feet. Their cheerful faces breached the emerald tufts of newly mowed grass, only to sink, smartly, back down into grassy depths. The day was cool, skies forgiving, the grass still glistening with a thousand dew-drop jewels, and at that moment I was enjoying one of the worlds most exhilaratingly peaceful pastimes: <b>birding</b>!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">At first the distant brown blobs were mistaken for shorebirds. Still suffering from the shorebird deliriums of late summer, my first guess to their identity liberally encompassed a wide group of meadow stocking species; the Buff-breasted, White-rumped, Baird's and Pectoral Sandpipers plus maybe a few smaller peeps. It was with dejection that I watched this first beautiful thought shatter, only to see the shards, so recently a mixed flock of shorebirds, morph into the crisp forms of three, sprightly pipits.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">They bustled back and forth over the waves of grass, occasionally snatching up an insect, seemingly unaware of their bipedal watcher. They were, I am happy to inform, my second, third and fourth pipits seen since time began, an eternity ago, and more recently: me.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The brittle scent of fall was in the air as were the vocalized chips of dull-plumaged warblers. My legs started chugging and again I was moving. Passed my face in a swiftly flowing river of green, gold, blue and a VanGogh-ian rainbow of other colors, swept on life. A Chestnut-sided Warbler ... now a yellowthroat ... fades into a the gray of phoebe ... no more phoebe but now a flock of grackles holds my gaze, their cackling, bends and twists until ... no longer harsh but the ringing call of the Red-shouldered Hawk, that mingles until indistinguishable from the cries of the Pileated Woodpecker. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I stop, take photo of a tree, and see a chickadee. Next a nuthatch and the whisper of a waxwing. Above me floats a sleeping swan, a billowing leviathan, below the scudding white, go crows and goldfinches their voices playing with the silence of the cloud in clear, sharp, beautiful contrast.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The cloud coats the world in a cool, gentle shadow. It swallows the meadow, engulfs the birds, the insects vanish with the coming of the adumbration.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The cloud is gone, back to its fairy realm it drifts, with it die the avian voices and I find myself back at the steps of our house, hearing not the woodpecker but the family behind the doors. Just in time for breakfast!</span></div>
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John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-60189409837262388892012-08-20T10:27:00.001-07:002012-08-20T10:27:34.964-07:00Plum Island, Newbury, MA _ June 13, 2012 _ 11:48-4:50pm _ Raining http://ebird.org/ebird/view/checklist?subID=S10973166<br />
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The sun shone down lovingly on the gray clouds above but its brilliance did not warm us. It was raining that cool soft drizzle, that beastly destroyer of expensive optical devices. It was in no way a pleasant rain but nor was it unpleasant. It was there and nothing anyone could do would change it.</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was the type of day that fell into line with Charles Dickens opening lines to <u>Bleak House</u><i> "London. [...] Implacable November weather. As much mud in the streets, as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill." </i>After that the two wet<i> </i>days slid out of sync, Dickens describing a murky, creeping fog, while we were at that present moment experiencing damp that fell into the category of rain. Oh well, at least quoting Dickens sounds cool.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbs-pZyUj6QIDb9RtjpAr7EIxYryYU84IyH5uebLVk5vWN3dAg4nFscufGzaxQ9MeqZlMc3qSaQf7iCIDKArNfqYsbTpPZyT1VKiUpKowgwnIy7GGqBDHoXMtVfUeE0AIeiZgggRjrSVo/s1600/7625288094_bcb1237718_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbs-pZyUj6QIDb9RtjpAr7EIxYryYU84IyH5uebLVk5vWN3dAg4nFscufGzaxQ9MeqZlMc3qSaQf7iCIDKArNfqYsbTpPZyT1VKiUpKowgwnIy7GGqBDHoXMtVfUeE0AIeiZgggRjrSVo/s1600/7625288094_bcb1237718_z.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbs-pZyUj6QIDb9RtjpAr7EIxYryYU84IyH5uebLVk5vWN3dAg4nFscufGzaxQ9MeqZlMc3qSaQf7iCIDKArNfqYsbTpPZyT1VKiUpKowgwnIy7GGqBDHoXMtVfUeE0AIeiZgggRjrSVo/s320/7625288094_bcb1237718_z.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The depressing drizzle did not deter the hardy avifauna of Plum Island, and in mere minutes we had picked up our lifer Wilson's Phalarope. It was a stunning bird - long, black, dainty bill, gray body and rusty neck giving it a fashionable appearance. It was small, barely larger then a White-rumped Sandpiper, dwarfed by its feathered alarm system, a pair of Greater Yellowlegs. Both were double its size, and although both were handsomer then the phalarope they were no competition to the regal appearance of this long-legged wader. After pleasing our eyes on this rain-soaked lifer we continued our slow and extremely enjoyable drive down the road which would take us the length of the island. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In a blur of black-and-white along with a little gray the Willets trapped the eye, the ear and the imagination. Their wild yodeled whistles resounded throughout the refuge's long, birder-covered, road. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSd78MFIfKHqBcTPlJOUw3-a9TAOiGjT99ZaotlT7D1CHMGb8skxDh-ptoy4_OPCWPvjCDbvll7VJdOliI7NDMUzYOfYd0dws4GI7-K9HsS-QBdubuxBbF8yCTYWZ2uY3xG_NrPbPn9gE/s1600/7625314002_484fd771ed_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSd78MFIfKHqBcTPlJOUw3-a9TAOiGjT99ZaotlT7D1CHMGb8skxDh-ptoy4_OPCWPvjCDbvll7VJdOliI7NDMUzYOfYd0dws4GI7-K9HsS-QBdubuxBbF8yCTYWZ2uY3xG_NrPbPn9gE/s320/7625314002_484fd771ed_z.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Hellcat held its usual wonders today, a few Short-billed Dowitchers, White-rumped Sandpipers, Black-bellied Plovers, Green-winged Teal etc. The highlight here was unquestionably the pair of Yellow-crowned Night-Heron, 2/3s of this species that have been recently reported at this most admirable location. Other pleasantries seen included my year bird Bank Swallow, numerous Marsh Wrens and a Black-crowned Night-Heron. I was surprised to see the nests of those <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>dainty creatures, Marsh Wrens, lined the sides of the boardwalk that wound through Hellcats phragmites marsh. They were at the current peak of avian architecture in the western hemisphere, creating a strongly woven ball, hollow in the center, one passageway leading into the warm, dry, interior of the nest, the same portal leading out - back doors seem not yet to have crossed the mind of the wren.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Our next stop was Stage Island Pool Overlook where we scored a few Mallards, Gadwalls, American Black-Ducks and Green-winged Teal.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A day is never capped of better then with a few endangered species. We were able to find Piping Plovers, Least Tern, which abounds on the island, and a lifer Roseate Tern, mixed in with a few Common Tern. All three of these awesome species were lazing on the beach at Sandy Point.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What an awesome way to end a day. Three threatened birds all on the same beach. Sadly with the storm which blew through recently, came the destruction of many of these birds nests, which were unmercifully swept away by the crashing waves. Luckily the birds have started building their nests again. Apparently, before the storm it was the biggest year for Piping Plovers on the island yet recorded - I believe that 32 nesting pairs were counted. I am unsure what the number is at now, after the storm, I can only pray that the figure has not fallen.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thanks is in order to my grandmother who was kind enough to take us to this most beautiful of places, despite the possibility of coming face to face with a<i> Megalosaurus!</i> </span></div>
John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-87199606234127062762012-08-10T10:59:00.003-07:002022-01-14T22:58:54.124-08:00Parker River NWR, Newburyport, MA - April, 21, 2012<br />
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Here's another belated post for anyone interested. Hopefully this blog will pick up some steam as the deadline for the 2013 Young Birder of the Year Contest chugs ever closer and I become increasingly worried with how little work I've done. By request of Jennie Duberstien (editor of the ABA Young Birders Blog) I need to tell you that this post is currently posted on the aforementioned blog (aka "<a href="http://birding.typepad.com/youngbirders/" target="_blank">The Eyrie</a>").</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Peering through our binos we silently waved our optics over the mudflats that confronted us and on which sat hundreds upon hundreds of birds. We were standing on the side of Water</span> Street in Newburyport Massachusetts, five miles from the New Hampshire border. Before us was the mouth of the Merrimac River, currently experiencing that well known happening caused by the moon: low tide. </div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Screaming gulls wheeled pellmell over the mud. Below them paced dainty tarsused <b>Greater Yellowlegs</b> which dwarfed the<b> Dunlin</b> that scuttled shyly below them. Behind them in the open water floated <b>Gadwalls</b> and at least 500 <b>Long-tailed Ducks</b> decked out in their summer plumages, the males in a black and brown which made for a sharp contrast next to the white cheeks and belly, while the females were plain and unadorned. It was 7:30am and in the 19 minutes we spent scanning the water we scored 19 species. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I had been waiting for this day for weeks, our grandparents, the Goodchilds, had kindly volunteered to take us to that famed marsh Plum Island, and now we were only five minutes from its main entrance. But we had one more quick stop to make before passing over the golden bridge (which is not literally golden). </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The birds called and we had to obey. Pulling up into the parking lot of Joppa Flats Audubon Sanctuary the aforementioned calling birds were clearly visible on the preserves namesake mudflats.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Joppa Flats is comprised of a parking lot, an <b>Osprey</b> nesting platform (currently unoccupied and up for rent), 40 or so square feet of land and a whale sized visitor center. It is a well known attraction for birders, drawing them in like hummingbirds to a blossoming grove of scarlet blooms. Like the birds the birders love the mudflats which rise up from the mouth of the Merrimac when low tide comes around again. Of course the water is the substance rising and falling - the mud just gives the appearance of doing so.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The aerial gulls floated overhead dwarfing the <b>Tree Swallows</b> that flitted here and there. The <b>Long-tailed Ducks</b> were still clearly visible in the open water further out. Closer at hand the <b>Dunlin</b> and <b>Greater Yellowlegs </b>scuttled. Seeing that the view from here was pretty much the same view our eyes received while scanning from Water Street, we started the car’s engine up and as the rubber tires whirred over the tarmac we passed over the salt marsh that cuts Plum off from the mainland by way of a bridge and entered Newbury, the town which contains most of Plum Island and almost all the birds staying or living on it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The next few hours passed in a blur of feathers and binoculars. Singing <b>Savannah Sparrows</b> and a flock of <b>Dunlin </b>at the main entrance were quickly followed by a pair of <b>Brown Thrashers </b>by the salt pannes, next a pair of <b>Fish Crows</b> and a flock of <b>Yellow-rumped Warblers </b>whizzed passed our creeping car.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>Towhees </b>sang from the side of the road, outnumbered by the jousting <b>Song Sparrows, </b>who, in their turn, were outnumbered by the <b>Grackles</b>, who flew hither and thither in chaotic disorder. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We picked up the <b>Snowy Owl </b>at Hellcat Swamp mere yards from where we had seen the same bird along with another of these omnipotent aves last December. It was quite amusing, considering the birds namesake, to look at this beautiful creature, resting proudly on a pole in the marsh, then looking past its brilliantly white feathers we saw heat waves writhing and twisting in the distance, giving the far side of the marsh and the few dilapidated shacks that rested there, a watery and opaque semblance. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We were awakened from our reverie of the feathered snow king by the cluck of a gobbler. A female <b>Turkey</b> had, as we watched the owl, snuck up behind us and was now peacefully feeding in the grass on the dike’s eastern side. She was a beautiful creature and although she didn’t get the wild-eyed audience of the birders full attention that the owl claimed, it was with a fascinated gaze that we watched as the big tame bird in her wanderings along the dike, and, where the grass had been worn away, take a dust bath, sending particles of loam free-wheeling into the air. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Forty five minutes and 1 <b>Hermit Thrush </b>later, we reached Stage Island, arguably the highlight of this trip. Floating in the salty waters of the Stage Island Pool were 4 <b>Northern Shovelers,</b> always good birds in New England, and a knob of <b>Green-winged Teal</b>, a flush of <b>Gadwall</b>, a team of <b>American Black-Ducks</b> and a daggle of <b>Mallards. </b>We couldn’t find the Redheads reported that day in the mass of waterfowl.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUbF9sFeeRMlgwW_ghG5Fn7dTk7tWENhYSAvGSnfkJ8FX3J-S2_4YV-zlC1WrKJGpTRTrOwDSwQ8sMXpl7RE9Y86xBC6TiQqdQDjoris7wWb8v2YFpaKvud9DYLogYK2yCFKDlbV-xhb4/s1600/7113151527_c681b7da77_c.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUbF9sFeeRMlgwW_ghG5Fn7dTk7tWENhYSAvGSnfkJ8FX3J-S2_4YV-zlC1WrKJGpTRTrOwDSwQ8sMXpl7RE9Y86xBC6TiQqdQDjoris7wWb8v2YFpaKvud9DYLogYK2yCFKDlbV-xhb4/s320/7113151527_c681b7da77_c.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We reached Sandy Point all to soon for my liking but here we took a short walk down to investigate the beach. We didn’t see the nesting Pipers, but we did have some more <b>Long-tailed Ducks </b>and a few <b>Common Eider</b>.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Returning back down the road we picked up a brace of <b>Ruddy Duck </b>hiding in the reeds of Stage Island Pool and only visible from Cross Farm Hill. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It was a memorable trip and one that in many years will still be fresh in my mind.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">To cap off the wonderful day we stopped by the Parker River Wildlife Refuge Visitor Center. After looking at the displays and watching a long, boring video on the ecosystem of Plum Island (during which not one but both of my grandparents fell asleep), we regarded the checklist of birds occurring on the NWR and were shocked to learn that such birds as Wild Turkey, Ruddy Duck and Tufted Titmouse, all species we had seen that day, were as supposedly as rare as Gyrfalcon on the island. How mind-bogglingly peculiar!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The days lists: </span></div>
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-http://ebird.org/ebird/view/checklist?subID=S10509176 </div>
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-http://ebird.org/ebird/view/checklist?subID=S10509129 </div>
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-http://ebird.org/ebird/view/checklist?subID=S10509147</div>John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-47700224590232586682012-07-29T09:21:00.000-07:002012-07-29T09:21:53.734-07:00Swan Point Cemetery, Providence, RI _ May/15/2012 _ 6:55-10:00am _ Sunny - 50` http://ebird.org/ebird/view/checklist?subID=S10749552I know I'm pathetic: here I am posting stories that should have been up on your screen in mid May and now when I finally get around to it in late July! We've had a great time recently. Earlier in the month we were up in Stowe, Vermont and we just got back from Cape Anne, Massachusetts. Our next expedition will bring us through the northern mountains of New Hampshire and will continue along down east Maine. Anyway, here's a stale post for anyone interested.<br />
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May 15, 2012 - Swan Point Cemetery, Providence, Rhode Island, USA - <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"><b>6:55-9:58am</b></span></h5>
http://ebird.org/ebird/view/checklist?subID=S10749552<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We took the usual route through the cemetery today. Starting at the North Woods where quiet reigned supreme. From there we made our way down to the water where some of us were called away to chase a Yellow-throated Vireo and never actually reached the river (although others in our birding party did and came up empty handed).</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Our galavanting after the vireo was at first fruitless despite the directive song of the bird: "Here I am _ where are you? _ over here...". </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When we again met up with the main group of binocular wearers we (aided by the number and skill of these bird watching machines) were able finally locate the vireo. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We would locate the bird by its song but then not be able to see it hidden among the fresh green leaves. Then all would then fall silent from up in the tree where the golden throated bird had just spruiked from only to hear it give away its new location now another fifty feet down the road. We finally decided that there were at least two birds Yellow Throated Vireos singing and there could have been as many as five. We finally found one in the end.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Other highlights near the river included Northern Waterthrush and Rose-breasted Grosbeak neither of which I saw but both of which I heard.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_gN0ejrFPNg0_ZlrPZGb8tfhH-q6j09NfiJNW0PQ9nPgzy5BzUUaQL9_kWCROGrJV_MJDuhuVi2XwHpjzIXIPQZC9sLNEzTbEDwM6zi02V5Rc1e2DNWj1-savB-U0irA-aOl7xbXBXV8/s1600/IMG_9499.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_gN0ejrFPNg0_ZlrPZGb8tfhH-q6j09NfiJNW0PQ9nPgzy5BzUUaQL9_kWCROGrJV_MJDuhuVi2XwHpjzIXIPQZC9sLNEzTbEDwM6zi02V5Rc1e2DNWj1-savB-U0irA-aOl7xbXBXV8/s320/IMG_9499.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We then made our way back up to the Blackstone Boulevard side of the cemetery. One birder thought she heard an Alder Flycatcher which caused a brief stampede of shuffle-running birders. We shuffle-run as opposed to gracefully dash due to the groups average age of over fifty and the extremely expensive optics that coat us. The Alder was not heard again although the Alders identical twin, the Willow Flycatcher, was easily visible on a sapling by the mulch piles. To add to the year bird Willow we were gifted a brief look at a black-capped Wilson's Warbler. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEseIgYrXNOzt_rTIYpW5VjtZIgMvwNAy8kVsBoJnhxVLbHXORKfBheWFqzsXfTQrScrqFxDVIwti4v5iVrDIgxz3H74uXr0wHnS44WYvzKlpeu9os2k7LmMfGE-wWBx6F-2TwBpt7mmU/s1600/IMG_9522.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEseIgYrXNOzt_rTIYpW5VjtZIgMvwNAy8kVsBoJnhxVLbHXORKfBheWFqzsXfTQrScrqFxDVIwti4v5iVrDIgxz3H74uXr0wHnS44WYvzKlpeu9os2k7LmMfGE-wWBx6F-2TwBpt7mmU/s320/IMG_9522.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After that we spent thirty minutes listening to a bird which everyone hoped and thought was a Worm-eating Warbler (and which everybody wanted even more to be a Prothonotary Warbler which sings a song nothing like a Worm-eating Warbler but would be way cooler). It turned out to be no more then a slightly deranged Chipping Sparrow. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This waste of precious birding time was made up for by another Wilson's Warbler and a Canada Warbler which was identified by it's distinctive chip before each bout of song.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After that most of the birders left the cemetery for Miantonomi Park in Newport with hopes of seeing the Summer Tanagers and Blue Grosbeak along with a load of other great species. We had just seen our first Summer Tanagers a few days before on the cemetery grounds. Miantonomi is a place my mother has vowed to burn to the ground when next the opportunity appears; her dislike of it's dumpiness and it's distance from our disheveled abode</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We were left to fend for our selves and chase the high pitched voices of Blackpoll Warblers around, praying that one of them might turn out to be a much needed Bay-breasted Warbler which none of the Blackpolls sounded anything like.</span></span></div>
<br />John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-10447981975769407082012-07-07T07:19:00.000-07:002012-09-21T16:42:53.466-07:00Petersham, MA - May/26-28/2012 This weekend, being a day longer then usual, we were able to spend an extra night with our grandparents up in Petersham, Mass. This vacation may have been the most exciting one - nature wise - that I have taken in this peaceful little town. We arrived on Saturday afternoon and in less then two hours I scored both a Black-billed Cuckoo and a year bird Alder Flycatcher. Both of these handsome birds I found in the North Common Meadow across the street from our house. I believe that both are nesting there. I know that the flycatcher nested there last year.<br />
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The next day my brother and I were up at 4:30am planning to walk down East Street at least as far as Maple Lane. Having not calculated the distance I was unprepaired for the long walk. It turned out that it was (only) a 5.2 mile stroll.<br />
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The first robin's cheery song filled the still dark air at 4:15am. I had awoken at four to start our walk as early as possible but considering the dark I decided it would be better to wait for the sun to rise and the birds to wake. In the fifteen minutes that I spent waiting on the porch I heard at least four Barred Owls calling and a Tree Swallow flying over head.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqpe4DfUzY5D90DrE8zqxbVaTNIug23GhdieRp8uDAlcC5-15VNQpj4OdrRhFHoMocU-GpbPiwUTwho1F2b32ILUejsWy_EcUiVehm5Prlp89NjWUVvGIwj440epCtUiRSJUr-B3lQiA/s1600/IMG_1231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqpe4DfUzY5D90DrE8zqxbVaTNIug23GhdieRp8uDAlcC5-15VNQpj4OdrRhFHoMocU-GpbPiwUTwho1F2b32ILUejsWy_EcUiVehm5Prlp89NjWUVvGIwj440epCtUiRSJUr-B3lQiA/s320/IMG_1231.JPG" width="320" /></a>Starting down the road we took a short cut through the North Common Meadow. Here we picked up a few singing Bobolinks, a peenting woodcock and the Alder Flycatcher from the day before.</div>
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The trail joins up with East Street, no bush-wacking required, and we continued down the street. Our next stop was the East Street Cemetery. It is a small cemetery protected on the eastern side by thick pine woodlands and on the northern side by a beaver filled pond.</div>
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Here the only animals present other then the nesting Tree Swallows were four large beavers returning home to the lodge after a hard nights chewing.</div>
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Continuing down the strip of pavement, listening to the singing Ovenbirds and Veery we were confronted by a large stallion who followed us in a trot as far as his pasture stretched down the road. Occasionally he would stop to stare at us, quite menacingly if you ask me. I was thanking God for the fence between us.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOfPusDfhYrYHLe8fE89zfZ50om6hrkOPI1VWTephh7oMA7wtC0bNXtf83Jmmwh6xsn4SGW-7FDI_BV_BuRA953PXg8ZoPuBH_T_pJr1aLiSWTXT_sA3g47sUx4YG6xwRyvNL7WTimBI/s1600/IMG_0617.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOfPusDfhYrYHLe8fE89zfZ50om6hrkOPI1VWTephh7oMA7wtC0bNXtf83Jmmwh6xsn4SGW-7FDI_BV_BuRA953PXg8ZoPuBH_T_pJr1aLiSWTXT_sA3g47sUx4YG6xwRyvNL7WTimBI/s400/IMG_0617.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqrojPI1bdL4YSttOnKuyqKD36uGgDp5brA_FWl3u_SP-GWpqtycahOSpxEs8Ok3VsQMJfBSXRrrC80sEg0Vi8FW7qLE2BqShxhWYnKMuNBGGUzKaZCw0fhg5t-CE7VP77DgloC__t58/s1600/IMG_0614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqrojPI1bdL4YSttOnKuyqKD36uGgDp5brA_FWl3u_SP-GWpqtycahOSpxEs8Ok3VsQMJfBSXRrrC80sEg0Vi8FW7qLE2BqShxhWYnKMuNBGGUzKaZCw0fhg5t-CE7VP77DgloC__t58/s400/IMG_0614.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
We turned right at Browns Pond, a fairly large, mud, snake and Snapping Turtle infested swimming pond, and started up the hill. Having mounted the steep hill's summit we started down the other side passing a few houses and lots of woodlands. At Maple Lane and it's large farm fields we took a right but feeling kind of uncomfartable about walking down this road which we knew dead-ended in a private residence, we soon decided to turn around. It was with lucky chance that we did for among the numerous Bobolinks that flew over those fields, spilling out their rapturous burbles, up went a small sparrow who whizzed across the road and briefly landed deep in the bushes on the right hand side of the street. It was all but hidden from view and then it winged away again to land in the small trees surrounding a house where it was instantly swallowed by greenery. But in that flash of time we were able to pick out a few details; mainly the bird's long tail, apparent greenish tinge to the back, yellowish sides and rapid wing-beat. Although half of these field marks, the greenish and yellow ones specifically, can be placed on no sparrow, the other two can. Seeing that one of our goal birds for the walk was a Grasshopper Sparrow, and ignoring it's longish tail, we decided that the only option was a Grasshopper (a life bird). No matter how weak our identification I was amazed to find that, in the thirty seconds the bird had spent hidden in the bush, my brother had managed to take an awful but ID-able photo of the ave. Indeed it was a bird - past that nothing could be certified! I decided not to count it on my life list.<br />
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We continued on down the road, turning down Quakers Lane for a brief and failed search for Louisiana Waterthrush along a fast flowing stream. We did however bag a modestly plumed Swamp Sparrow.</div>
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In the end we hiking all the way down to Glasheen Road where one of our numerous pairs of aunts and uncles reside. Across from this street and justly barely visible was a marsh which swarmed with Red-winged Blackbirds. Closer to hand sang a few redstarts, Yellow and Chestnut-sided Wablers, a Baltimore Oriole, yet more Bobolinks and a couple of Least Flycatchers.</div>
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On our way back up East Street our only highlights were a few Wood Ducks.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCI_Z8-737_L2I6HMpeIsxzVZzyJydcpA88m8BYbktXudolgPNHYVvTsqgrj8vm-3bJtkcWDg5ykkSMeGH1zGEEYGboZ43wzGlihPYtJIwPmK7NmfR5W01uile26bmi7hQREQL2YAdpd0/s1600/IMG_0604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCI_Z8-737_L2I6HMpeIsxzVZzyJydcpA88m8BYbktXudolgPNHYVvTsqgrj8vm-3bJtkcWDg5ykkSMeGH1zGEEYGboZ43wzGlihPYtJIwPmK7NmfR5W01uile26bmi7hQREQL2YAdpd0/s320/IMG_0604.JPG" width="320" /></a>The next day we took a similar walk at a similar time but this hike turned it into a slightly longer loop by going up Quakers Lane which meets up with Rt. 122. We walked up hill a little way until we came to South Street which we followed back to Petersham center.<br />
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The birds were pretty much the same as before, but we had a few nice species including Louisiana and Northern Waterthrush, probable Ruffed Grouse (a whir of wings from the branches of a pine where all we got from this bird), possible (although unlikely) Worm-eating Warbler singing on South Street, and a bird that sounded kind of like an Orchard Oriole on South Main Street.</div>
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Other interesting finds included two nesting Snapping Turtles; one on the bridge over the fast flowing stream on Quakers Lane and another by Browns Pond.<br />
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It was a extremely enjoyable weekend and one that I hope can soon be repeated.</div>
John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-14637523636192405222012-06-05T17:28:00.000-07:002012-06-05T17:28:35.087-07:00RISD Beach, Barrington, RI _ June/01/2012 _ 2:05-3:13pm _ Sunny 83' http://ebird.org/ebird/view/checklist?subID=S10893014<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">The sand crunched beneath our feet as we made our way down the beach. Today was the first of June and I was desperately trying to bring my eBird month list up to the month of May's numbers (141 submitted checllists of at least 150 species).</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I had already found a few nice birds including the usual “Semi's” of both families: Sandpipers and Plovers, a few Least Sandpipers, a Black-bellied Plover, a couple o' Killdeer and a year bird White-rumped Sandpiper (the first one I have seen in breeding plumage!).</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Green Heron</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I spotted a Killdeer perched on the bank of a stream that flowed from the bay into the marsh with the incoming tide. I tried to snap of a few photos of it but my shutter-pressing finger was outpaced by the bird's wings which eased it into the air. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We continued down the beach scanning the water of the Narragansett waiting for a Common Tern to whiz by. Our scanning of the waves was quite rudely interrupted by screams only feet from our feet. “Killdeer-killdeer” said the black-necklaced bird eying us from below. It was the same Killdeer whom we had seen on the bank of the stream. It was quite obvious that this bird was nesting somewhere quite close by. Photographic interests possessed me and I hunkered down and was able to take some eye-level shots of the bird. I didn't even need to zoom in (although I did so anyway). After taking a few amazing shots (if I do say so myself) I backed off a little way as did the bird who retreated back a few birdy-paces to it's nest on the barely discernible mini-dunes. </span></div>
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Peering at the bird from a more reasonable distance, taking a good long squint at this beautiful creation, I was able to make out four rock colored eggs sandwiched in between her grey legs.<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Killdeer</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See her four eggs?</td></tr>
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I can only pray that an unsuspecting beachcomber doesn't turn this vunerable scratch in the sand into a pan for sun frying squished eggs.<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White-rumped Sandpiper</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Saltmarsh Sparrow</td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Upon returning back down the beach it was with amazement that I saw the small flock of shorebirds fly-in. It was the largest gathering of White-rumped Sandpipers I had ever seen, in addition to the WRSA who continued its wild poking of the marsh, they evened out to a smart "time-step" (look it up) of ten. Adding to that they were extremely tame, as many shorebirds in a flock often are. I was able to get to within 6-feet (more or less) to the handsome birds. What an awesome way to end a walk - ten White-rumps; any one of which I would have been quite pleased to find on any given day!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I ended the walk with 33 species although I did miss some quite common species like Common Tern, it seems to me that my average number for a list is ever rising. Last year at this time I would have been quite proud of myself for hitting this number in a single walk as usually at that time my list would tended to hover around 23 species. Now 33 is common. I believe it is mainly due to my new and improved ear birding skills.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I think that spending the month of May walking with the mighty experienced ones at Swan Point really helped me learn the songs. They are able to pick out a Waterthrush a mile away despite their constant moaning about their collective deafness. I am still trying to <b>hear</b> the Black-throated Blue which can call from the bushes an arms length away.</span></div>John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2762734516532406153.post-60448839863387792582012-05-08T12:43:00.002-07:002012-05-08T12:45:08.370-07:00May 6 in Petersham<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVtT3i-bjQenDr_aB5CKo4BOP9PPN15FGEKkuYLdEKZl5rnqqdvrLVzFB7dQfAuxrCU2lTJgyW1a-hx0ahHwjzWwoB1w_hTRZ5yh_vv-2_IYFFBcXEVov_bCQ6c_Dbk9FaELR0YkehW0Q/s1600/IMG_8377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVtT3i-bjQenDr_aB5CKo4BOP9PPN15FGEKkuYLdEKZl5rnqqdvrLVzFB7dQfAuxrCU2lTJgyW1a-hx0ahHwjzWwoB1w_hTRZ5yh_vv-2_IYFFBcXEVov_bCQ6c_Dbk9FaELR0YkehW0Q/s400/IMG_8377.JPG" width="400" /></a>The grass was damp from the early morning dew. From down the grass covered hillside blackbirds, warblers, and sparrows screeched, whistled and jingled. Bobolinks' black and yellow heads peeked up from the green depths of the meadow. It was May and I was loving it!<br />
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I was standing on the top of a slope, below me was a meadow behind which was a three tree apple orchard, a small lily pad covered pond and a thick woodlands filled to overflowing with Ovenbirds and Pine Warblers. I was accompanied only by Theo (the dog of the family).<br />
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As I started down the hill my mind flipped through the photos I had recently captured. Most were of Blackburnian Warblers (of which I had seen at least ten in the last couple of days) but other species were featured in my mental playlist, Yellow-rumped Warblers, Wood Thrushes, Chipping Sparrows and scores of other species.<br />
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I was distracted from my internal photo album by the burbling of a House Wren which was joined by a Gray Catbird and a pair of Black-and-white Warblers. None of the birds showed themselves but I didn't mind - their songs were enough for me. I looked up as a pair of Scarlet Tanagers flew over calling. The male in a vibrant red suit, the female a dull olive yellow.<br />
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A Chestnut-sided Warbler sang from my left "<i>very pleased to meet cha</i>" and was answered by a Common Yellowthroat "<i>witchity-witchity-witchity witch</i>" (I thought that was rather unfair to the friendly Chestnut-sided who's never deserved such a harsh label).<br />
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A Wood Duck flew up from the pond and whizzed overhead wings whirring, vocal cords vibrating to form the classic squawk of the woodland dwelling duck.<br />
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I momentarily stopped scanning the skies, although I kept my ears peeled, to photograph my beautiful surroundings. The pond, the grass and the flowers that surrounded me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit2emPvrxCP39GGcWi7n8tmNt0Ds1uKgqdl1nYEwVBYrlen6wOc-aF5VTbE6ua_yhXaoWcWR_j5T5cvTD2IaEqd1Ybdib75ohLPpdcDO4vWs47GgNV1x4mCGTCATEXE6cRf3eILCZYres/s1600/IMG_8061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit2emPvrxCP39GGcWi7n8tmNt0Ds1uKgqdl1nYEwVBYrlen6wOc-aF5VTbE6ua_yhXaoWcWR_j5T5cvTD2IaEqd1Ybdib75ohLPpdcDO4vWs47GgNV1x4mCGTCATEXE6cRf3eILCZYres/s400/IMG_8061.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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I was unable to find some of the main species we had seen the day before, mainly Least Flycatcher and Eastern Meadowlark, so I decided it was time to try a different spot. </div>
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Here's a full list from the North Common Meadow http://ebird.org/ebird/view/checklist?subID=S10653755.</div>
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I returned to headquarters (my grandparents house, but headquarters sounds way cooler) after about an hour of birding. It was now 6:30 am. I entered headquarters only briefly to return the pup then I started out into the back woods.<br />
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I didn't get far before stopping to listen to the roar of birdsongs; Ovenbirds, B.T.Green Warblers and American Goldfinches were everywhere. With them I could hear catbirds, robins, crows, jays, sapsuckers, woodpeckers, Blackburnians, Black-and-whites and Chestnut-sided Warblers. The woods echoed with their songs.<br />
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Finding a pair of Ovenbirds by the path that leads deep into the Harvard Forest I stopped and decided to try to call them in close using recordings. My ploy was successful and I was instantly confronted by the male bird, hackles raised he flitted by my head chipping and then landed in a tree where he sang his informative song "<i>teacher teacher teacher</i>". He flew to another tree where he sang again. Around and around the handsome bird went. Determined to best this unseen rival aka my ipod. Twice he flew to within five feet of me only to fly from his perch seconds before I had my camera focused.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZVlUHuCNghYatNIiM-OhuckYLkrf2m_U06T5NCTFwVWWnxRof99GHpciLIOdh_Yc8IXS5HcEutje8anSbsIdIE2bxp_2S9Kxn9yBe9qUy8PtTEX6weUOd-ejIdGJ-SFu_FXPmsSDecc/s1600/IMG_8222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZVlUHuCNghYatNIiM-OhuckYLkrf2m_U06T5NCTFwVWWnxRof99GHpciLIOdh_Yc8IXS5HcEutje8anSbsIdIE2bxp_2S9Kxn9yBe9qUy8PtTEX6weUOd-ejIdGJ-SFu_FXPmsSDecc/s400/IMG_8222.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhterM1CYxS6pXnVDihXPXDx5TXyG8HcYkfJYZtuFwNuETNkeLCw32uBbVgAukpKTCFSVbBcX3vaikhtYdk94GC2rn0_fDWo-8Vhx4XG6ozj9ArMODfqFuhrTyt0-gmZNOJNspNEe1QAJc/s1600/IMG_8206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhterM1CYxS6pXnVDihXPXDx5TXyG8HcYkfJYZtuFwNuETNkeLCw32uBbVgAukpKTCFSVbBcX3vaikhtYdk94GC2rn0_fDWo-8Vhx4XG6ozj9ArMODfqFuhrTyt0-gmZNOJNspNEe1QAJc/s400/IMG_8206.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The male Ovenbird protecting his territory fearlessly </td></tr>
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I spotted the female meandering under the fallen trees and over the fallen leaves. Sneaking after her, careful as to not get too close I was able to snap off a few shots of this shy little bird.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgp0KRjS9zRCGZQEdXQyCqINp3pVMmitxG1lEy-ZnjCXomiHC9llNaClbK9k7ErSfj6CRLM3bOUOMse8-RUF62CFPsVkGXviRbC2sh-Ve-jiEbEsKdFbWcSrCdbA5xqgtyjg80PMMBjbc/s1600/IMG_8239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgp0KRjS9zRCGZQEdXQyCqINp3pVMmitxG1lEy-ZnjCXomiHC9llNaClbK9k7ErSfj6CRLM3bOUOMse8-RUF62CFPsVkGXviRbC2sh-Ve-jiEbEsKdFbWcSrCdbA5xqgtyjg80PMMBjbc/s400/IMG_8239.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The female Ovenbird watches the camera warily as her mate sings</td></tr>
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I was happy to hear a Great-crested Flycatcher calling in the distance, along with the Blackburnians this was a new yard bird.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4K_PE3C7lOf9Cgwk1TRTOVykdPdzRV-fB8h3bp3jHq2IAl4zQSGhskzt_9heOUO6p_llI9jFq6Or2uVN7Xf0xRKhbXbuPnV3Pg1UKx_70LyGC_ZNz8acC_NmmM6MGzYvqF1zPw0PKvyU/s1600/IMG_8416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4K_PE3C7lOf9Cgwk1TRTOVykdPdzRV-fB8h3bp3jHq2IAl4zQSGhskzt_9heOUO6p_llI9jFq6Or2uVN7Xf0xRKhbXbuPnV3Pg1UKx_70LyGC_ZNz8acC_NmmM6MGzYvqF1zPw0PKvyU/s320/IMG_8416.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A male Blackburnian Warbler</td></tr>
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I spent two and a half hours out in the woods watching and photographing the feathered ones before returning back tick coated and starved to headquarters for lunch. </div>
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Here's a link to my eBird checklist from the walk http://ebird.org/ebird/view/checklist?subID=S10654266.</div>
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Later that day on a run through the Harvard Forest I picked up a Northern Waterthrush singing somewhere in the midst of a small beaver city. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7sxXy8QWpCwB3RsjtvSPr0ue7IBD2zMie82fBxCguMArrZT7q42vVrQusAjgYhrfaRl34wUniVO9AbcIgF5CB-WcdG4adT86KZiz8vPHSIAvt6PjqOLu9VybBCTFbHnmno40Ukd4AJI/s1600/IMG_8508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7sxXy8QWpCwB3RsjtvSPr0ue7IBD2zMie82fBxCguMArrZT7q42vVrQusAjgYhrfaRl34wUniVO9AbcIgF5CB-WcdG4adT86KZiz8vPHSIAvt6PjqOLu9VybBCTFbHnmno40Ukd4AJI/s320/IMG_8508.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Da Mink on da log!</td></tr>
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On the return trip back to Providence in the afternoon we stopped by Wells State Park in Sturbridge where we found yet another Northern Waterthrush (also in a small beaver city), a Prairie Warbler and a Blue-headed Vireo along with a Mink!</div>
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Petersham is not the only place that has given us some awesome Spring species, with our daily, early morning forays to Swan Point Cemetery we have picked up such species as Wilson's, Tennessee, & Canada Warblers, Swainson's Thrush, both species of Cuckoo, Eastern Screech-Owls, Least Flycatchers and a bunch of other great birds such as Blackburnian Warbler and Northern Waterthrush. Disappointingly we've missed a Kentucky Warbler and an Olive-sided Flycatcher and <b>I</b> managed to miss (though my brother got them) a pair of <i>probable</i> Mississippi Kites.<br />
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Well done to anyone that ID'd the Wood Duck in the last photo quiz. Here's your next quiz:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmTYZFDDhnCEgMZSKgJvs0N43kA1SO35lkC6U9AVtW2O-tUjbri-K8uic2KznvPL-lCgCYxTE7xPyleFuMB-FvinqRjMUsIPfVs9YTcLrxVpI8pk4REHO5ViDG9Y73ZVe9kSzYfW9Bqw/s1600/IMG_4488.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmTYZFDDhnCEgMZSKgJvs0N43kA1SO35lkC6U9AVtW2O-tUjbri-K8uic2KznvPL-lCgCYxTE7xPyleFuMB-FvinqRjMUsIPfVs9YTcLrxVpI8pk4REHO5ViDG9Y73ZVe9kSzYfW9Bqw/s320/IMG_4488.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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This one was taken this April at RISD Beach. It should be easy but good luck anyway.</div>
<br />John Shamgochianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10405631475354577254noreply@blogger.com0