spectr17
12-16-2002, 12:46 AM
Seth Kellogg, Sunday Republican
Duck flotilla camps on Cape pond
12/15/2002
We took shelter behind the car and tried to steady our telescopes against the howling wind.
Across the pond and also seeking shelter against the far bank was a mass of ducks, more than 1,000 by any estimate, and perhaps as many as 2,000. They were packed in tightly and we scanned the raft hoping to find something other than a scaup duck.
We have visited Surf Pond in Falmouth on Cape Cod many times before. Sometimes the day is calm, the birds are much closer, and we can study every feather in some comfort.
Then we can enjoy the perfect colors and pattern on lesser and greater scaup, canvasback, redhead, goldeneye, bufflehead, merganser, ring-necked and ruddy duck.
There had never been more than a few hundred here, however, so the sheer size of this flotilla was reward enough for our efforts. We could only find scaup duck in this flock, although most of the other varieties were seen at other places and on other ponds that day.
At least the ponds were not mostly frozen and the ducks fled farther south.
A survey of ducks in New England was the goal, but it doesn't hurt to look for other things on a late-fall visit to the coast. Gulls and hawks can always be in the air no matter how cold and windy it is, so we cast our binoculars into the hazy sky.
There was a flock of small birds flying in the wind, constantly broken and scattered, but always reforming to become a cohesive group.
We suspected snow buntings. After all, it was December and that species of arctic sparrow is a regular visitor to our coast in winter, along with all the ducks that breed on the tundra. We moved to that side of the pond where the road followed a narrow strip of beach separating fresh water from pounding surf.
At first we found nothing, then suddenly some birds appeared above us, a flurry of more than 100 magic leaves that never seemed to fall, but always rode into the turbulent air on wings that seemed too fragile.
Only a week or two before, on a mountain top in Granville, there had been a small flock of snow buntings performing such aerial acts.
There were only about 30 of them then, but they too were buffeted by s strong wind as they rose from the ground and flew to a new spot on the bare hill searching for seeds. We expected to see this flock come down and land on the beach, but they never did, instead staying in the air, swooping low over the water or coasting high into the heavens.
Finally we realized these birds were not buntings but swallows, those birds of summer that nest on our rivers and ponds and in our farmyards all the warm days hawking insects from the air that shimmers in the heat. Why were they not far south instead of here battling the frigid winds?
We followed the path of the swallows until we found them hovering near a beach house that nestled in thickly growing bayberry. Many were trying to land on the wires and some were hovering in the tops of the bushes. They could not find many insects in the air this day, so they were snatching berries from the branches.
On the south coast of New England, it is usually warm enough all winter to provide open water where hardy insects still swarm in the air for the swallows to hunt. We have seen flocks do this in winter before, but never as many as this.
We watched them struggle in the wind, finding these were indeed all the expected tree swallows, the hardiest of the clan and the only one found so far north in winter.
That is not entirely true. In the past three weeks, another species of swallow had been reported on the Connecticut coast, one not seen in New England until the late fall of 2001 and 2002.
We kept looking and hoping for one of these cave swallows, a species that lives in the Caribbean and has mysteriously come north to visit us at our coldest and worst.
There were none to be found, but still we marveled at these swallows of summer who rose proudly into the air above the huddled ducks and seemed to laugh at wind and winter. Seth Kellogg can be contacted at skhawk@attbi.com
Duck flotilla camps on Cape pond
12/15/2002
We took shelter behind the car and tried to steady our telescopes against the howling wind.
Across the pond and also seeking shelter against the far bank was a mass of ducks, more than 1,000 by any estimate, and perhaps as many as 2,000. They were packed in tightly and we scanned the raft hoping to find something other than a scaup duck.
We have visited Surf Pond in Falmouth on Cape Cod many times before. Sometimes the day is calm, the birds are much closer, and we can study every feather in some comfort.
Then we can enjoy the perfect colors and pattern on lesser and greater scaup, canvasback, redhead, goldeneye, bufflehead, merganser, ring-necked and ruddy duck.
There had never been more than a few hundred here, however, so the sheer size of this flotilla was reward enough for our efforts. We could only find scaup duck in this flock, although most of the other varieties were seen at other places and on other ponds that day.
At least the ponds were not mostly frozen and the ducks fled farther south.
A survey of ducks in New England was the goal, but it doesn't hurt to look for other things on a late-fall visit to the coast. Gulls and hawks can always be in the air no matter how cold and windy it is, so we cast our binoculars into the hazy sky.
There was a flock of small birds flying in the wind, constantly broken and scattered, but always reforming to become a cohesive group.
We suspected snow buntings. After all, it was December and that species of arctic sparrow is a regular visitor to our coast in winter, along with all the ducks that breed on the tundra. We moved to that side of the pond where the road followed a narrow strip of beach separating fresh water from pounding surf.
At first we found nothing, then suddenly some birds appeared above us, a flurry of more than 100 magic leaves that never seemed to fall, but always rode into the turbulent air on wings that seemed too fragile.
Only a week or two before, on a mountain top in Granville, there had been a small flock of snow buntings performing such aerial acts.
There were only about 30 of them then, but they too were buffeted by s strong wind as they rose from the ground and flew to a new spot on the bare hill searching for seeds. We expected to see this flock come down and land on the beach, but they never did, instead staying in the air, swooping low over the water or coasting high into the heavens.
Finally we realized these birds were not buntings but swallows, those birds of summer that nest on our rivers and ponds and in our farmyards all the warm days hawking insects from the air that shimmers in the heat. Why were they not far south instead of here battling the frigid winds?
We followed the path of the swallows until we found them hovering near a beach house that nestled in thickly growing bayberry. Many were trying to land on the wires and some were hovering in the tops of the bushes. They could not find many insects in the air this day, so they were snatching berries from the branches.
On the south coast of New England, it is usually warm enough all winter to provide open water where hardy insects still swarm in the air for the swallows to hunt. We have seen flocks do this in winter before, but never as many as this.
We watched them struggle in the wind, finding these were indeed all the expected tree swallows, the hardiest of the clan and the only one found so far north in winter.
That is not entirely true. In the past three weeks, another species of swallow had been reported on the Connecticut coast, one not seen in New England until the late fall of 2001 and 2002.
We kept looking and hoping for one of these cave swallows, a species that lives in the Caribbean and has mysteriously come north to visit us at our coldest and worst.
There were none to be found, but still we marveled at these swallows of summer who rose proudly into the air above the huddled ducks and seemed to laugh at wind and winter. Seth Kellogg can be contacted at skhawk@attbi.com