The brahminy starling (Sturnia pagodarum) from the Indian subcontinent was named for his black crest because it resembles the sikha hairstyle worn by Brahmins. He looks like a Brahmin when his feathers are at rest (above).
However, he raises his head feathers frequently.
Watch his crest as he sings in this video.
He’s a pushy bird whose shape, behavior and song remind me of our European starlings (Sturnus vulgaris). He’s not in the same genus … but close.
When I saw forty sandhill cranes near Volant, Pennsylvania on Monday, I thought of the time I saw 500,000 in Nebraska in March 2004. Half a million sandhill cranes are a breathtaking, exhilarating, stupendous experience! It has to be seen in person. Here’s what it’s like.
Every spring the cranes leave their wintering grounds in Mexico and Texas to converge on an 80-mile stretch of the Platte River in Nebraska. Their numbers peak in March when 80% of all the sandhill cranes on Earth are there.
Cranes are drawn to this location because the Platte is still “a mile wide and an inch deep” between Lexington and Grand Island. The water is shallow enough to roost in overnight and there’s abundant plant food in local wetlands and waste corn in the cattle fields(*). The cranes spend three to four weeks fattening up for their 3,000 mile journey to their breeding grounds in Canada, Alaska and Siberia.
At dusk and dawn they move to and from the Platte River in spectacular numbers. Their sight and sound is amazing, especially when you’re in a bird blind near the action. They dance with their mates and jump for joy.
I saw their great migration in late March 2004. Before my trip I booked dusk and dawn visits to the bird blinds at the Platte, then I flew to Omaha and drove west to Grand Island and Kearny (pronounced Karney). I didn’t mind the 2.5 hour drive because I wanted to see a piece of the Great Plains and experience this: For over 100 miles there are no cranes at all then suddenly, just as I-80 approaches the Platte River, the sky is filled with them. I’d arrived!
I saw hundreds of thousands of sandhill cranes at dusk and dawn and spent my days at local birding hotspots where my highlights were white pelicans, burrowing owls, lapland longspurs, and a Harris’ sparrow. I had hoped to see a whooping crane but I was too early that year. (Whoopers leave Texas later than the sandhills.)
For more than 30 years my husband and I have traveled to Acadia National Park on Mt. Desert Island, Maine in early September. This year we went later in the month to enjoy cooler weather and colorful leaves. The slideshow above includes scenes from our trip, September 18-26.
As you can see, fall color hasn’t peaked yet in Acadia. The best leaf-color will occur in early October.
Bird Rock is one of many cliffs at Cape St. Mary’s but it’s unique because it’s separated from the mainland by a deep chasm only a few feet from the trail’s end. The birds are safe from land-based predators yet we could see them easily.
The main attractions are 24,000 northern gannets (Morus bassanus) who spend their lives on the ocean but return to Cape St. Mary’s every spring to breed with the same mate at the same nest. Almost as large as bald eagles, their wingspan is 5.75 feet but they don’t weigh as much. I love them for their size, sleek beauty, and their ability to plunge-dive at 50 mph to catch fish in the sea.
From the Visitors Centre we walked the trail across the barrens to get to the viewing area.
Pretty soon we could see the nesting cliffs. The white areas are all gannets.
Near the trail’s end, Bird Rock is in the foreground.
Here’s what we saw when we got there. This 2011 video below (not my own) captures the sights and sounds of the colony. The only thing you’re missing is the fishy smell of guano. It was filmed when most of the birds were still courting, wagging their heads and touching bills. When we visited last week they were further along. Some chicks had already hatched.
The gannets hunt far and wide for fish to feed their chicks. Just around the corner from Cape St. Mary’s in Placentia Bay there are loads of fish near Saint Bride’s. This YouTube video from 2017 (not my own) shows what I love most about gannets. They dive straight down to the sea!
p.s. The white spouts aren’t whales. They’re the splash-back from the gannets’ precision dives.
(first photo from Wikimedia Commons; click on the image to see the original. videos from YouTube. All other photos by Kate St. John.)
What happens when a hurricane hits Newfoundland? I found out last week when Hurricane Chris came to eastern Newfoundland while I was there on a birding trip.
The cold waters of the North Atlantic usually take the fangs out of hurricanes before they hit Atlantic Canada and so it was with Hurricane Chris. Before the storm we asked some Newfoundlanders about it and they said it wouldn’t be bad. “We won’t even take in the lawn furniture for this one.”
By Thursday morning, 12 July 2018, Chris was downgraded from hurricane strength to a post-tropical cyclone — from winds greater than 74 mph (119 kph) to winds less than 40 mph (64 kph).
Nonetheless, it was forecast to hit Cape Race around 8pm on Thursday with sustained winds of 35 mph (56 kph) while dumping 3-4 inches of rain (75-100 mm) near Terra Nova National Park. The map below shows both locations with purple pins: “Cape Race, Day 4” on the south shore and “Terra Nova, Day 6” in the north.
Our birding schedule meshed perfectly with the hurricane’s timing. We left Trepassey near Cape Race on Thursday morning and were sleeping in Clarenville by the time bad weather hit the Avalon Peninsula Thursday night.
Along the way we experienced the calm before the storm — hot and windless. On the Maine coast I’ve heard this called The Hurricane’s Breath because it is so unusual.
When the post-tropical cyclone crossed Cape Race Thursday night its maximum sustained winds were 40 miles per hour (67 km/h) with gusts up to 54 mph (87 km/h). Meanwhile about 3 inches (76 mm) of rain fell near Terra Nova.
Posted by Chris Mooney from the town of Branch, 7/12/2018 at 9:02pm. (Click the speaker icon to turn on the sound.)
… and posted at 9:24pm
Chris remarked that salt spray had already coated his windows so much that he couldn’t see out of them.
And what about the nesting birds on the rock? “We’ll lose a few chicks for sure.”
Fortunately the remnant of Hurricane Chris was a relatively mild storm. When a real hurricane hits Newfoundland it’s devastating. Click here to read about Hurricane Igor in September 2010, the strongest hurricane ever to hit the island.
Last Tuesday morning, 10 July 2018, I took a walk before breakfast at Witless Bay, Newfoundland to take in the scenery and watch the birds. When I stopped by the shore I never noticed the amazing spectacle at my feet. It was high tide and the waves were full of fish.
As I stood gazing out to sea, a local man pulled up in a jeep to see what I was looking at. He got out of the jeep and looked at the waves. “It’s good to see the capelin,” he said.
I didn’t understand what he was saying. “Pardon me?”
“Do you know about the capelin?”
“No,” I said. So he explained.
Capelin (Mallotus villosus) are small fish in the smelt family that form dense schools as they feed on plankton and krill. Their numbers attract the attention of everything that eats them — seabirds, mackerel and cod — and the whales that eat what capelin eat.
In Newfoundland the capelin come ashore every year in July but the exact date varies. People wait and watch for the spectacle to begin. Wikipedia explains:
Capelin spawn on sand and gravel bottoms or sandy beaches at the age of 2–6 years, and have an extremely high mortality rate on the beaches after spawning, for males close to 100%.
The fish flip-flop in shallow water as the females lay eggs and the males distribute sperm.
The number of capelin eggs is incredible. All the white spheres among these stones are capelin eggs, not grains of sand! The eggs can be food for shorebirds.
Some of the capelin don’t make it back to sea and are stranded, dying on shore. This provides on-shore food for scavengers including bald eagles, crows and foxes.
The waves are full of fish, but so is the sea. Here’s my video of the capelin-filled waves with black-legged kittiwakes flocking and diving on them before the capelin can reach shore.
Who else eats capelin? Half a million Atlantic puffins that nest at the Witless Bay puffin colony. Though this bird was photographed at the Faroe Islands, it shows how puffins can carry 8-10 capelin-sized fish in their beaks.
July 10 was the first morning the capelin had come back to Witless Bay and word of their arrival spread quickly. When our birding group came down after breakfast many villagers were already there. Some came to watch the capelin roll. Others brought buckets to collect fish to fertilize in their gardens. Some eat capelin, some don’t.
Come down to the bay. The capelin are rolling!
(Puffin photo from Wikimedia Commons; click on the image to see the original. All other photos and videos by Kate St. John)