Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Today dawned - well, at 10am - with thick clouds, like it was raining somewhere(s), and might here.
There is a small creek (Grant's Creek) flows into the headwater area of Mississinewa Reservoir.
At summer pool, it is the reservoir, standing water, little bridge, creek bottomland, and a high vertical bluff at the confluence - dizzying, by glacial till standards. Grant's Creek bridge is the easternmost extent of Mississinewa windshield birding, and a true destination, about 2 hours round-trip if one wishes to note the iridescent blue of the Indigo bunting when passing one perched on a wire.
On the reservoir they plant three crops: corn, soybeans, and sunflowers. Much of the corn is left to stand, I assume for deer forage. A further guess is the soybeans are harvested as cashcrop, but a real consideration is crop rotation, as legumes fix nitrogen in the soil.
The sunflowers are another story. Names are submitted to the IDNR (Indiana Department of Natural Resources) and drawn for firing-line positions for the annual September 1 & 2 Dove Hunt. Mourning doves are shot as they fly in to feed on the heads.
If you have ever driven by a full-flower sunflower field, you have noted they acknowledge the passing of the sun, fully facing Sol from morning to evening. Dependent on time of day, every flower in the field is facing the same direction. The larger the field, the more arresting the phenomenon, and the beauty.
But this morning they were all facing down, a most fitting commentary on the weather.
And I hadn't seen a bird. A few Northern Cardinals, which are both extraordinarily beautiful and easy to identify, a one-two combination impossible to ignore. (I read about a bird woman from England who was dumbfounded by the complacency her host showed to a cardinal, and said, more or less, "You must understand: in England, we have no red birds, and nothing at all this brilliant. If this bird showed up back home, cars would be backed up for miles to see it.")
As I drove over the bridge, I caught sight of that magnificent head: a belted kingfisher. As I watched she sailed upstream, mere inches off the water. Trip saved.
I turned around and came back minutes later. She was perched on a salient, a knobbed stick about 18 inches above the water. She allowed herself to be viewed for fifteen or so seconds, then left in some hurry. As she left, I noted the rufous underwing marking she a she. I decline juvenile, respectfully.
Red Bridge is located 4 - 5 river miles upstream from Mississinewa Dam. Just around the corner is a small stand of trees. On the south side of the road (Wabash Co. W950S) is a dense wooded area. On several occassions I have observed an accipter in the tallest dead tree on the east end of the little stand.
I would have bet even-money on A. striatus, but identification is an antonym of guess.
Driving towards the intersection, I see a form on a branch hiding behind a stick (Bare Naked Trees would be a great rock-band name, but you would probably hear from Bare Naked Ladies and Screaming Trees). So I'm glassing this bird for 5 minutes.
Okay, I do not ever intend to disturb the birds, but it seems I usually (always?) do. A lack of morphological accumen is the problem, but how else acquire that knowledge?
Reading the books and guides is essential, but, armed only with this information, good luck with that first American Robin.
So I waded in wearing clown shoes, but with the most unanticipated results. The bird made a series of high, almost plaintive cries: meuw, meuw, meuw. And the call is answered from the thick woods. And the female (much the larger, which is always a problem with raptor ID for a novice - me) flies across the road and takes a perch, the male retracing her route within seconds.
Okay, I was stunned (and awed, and overwhelmed, and blessed). The birds continued to call, the female moving about in a state so agitated even I figured it out. And headed home.
Later, as I checked books to find the meuw call, I noted that sharp-shinned hawks nested well into August. I had found a nest.