Fine Dining in Durham

On a whim I arrived at the local waterfront just before dusk in search of Canvasbacks that had been reported the day before. I was dismayed to see a thin layer of ice forming up once again around the pier limiting the waterfowl population, so was prepared to head home empty-handed for my target species. 

The harbour was totally deserted as it was quickly getting dark ahead of our next round of snow grrrrrr , with the exception of this fine specimen of a feisty Mink feasting on a fish!

The only sound heard was the occasional "crispy crackle" of the fresh ice, when I suddenly realized it was the weight of the Mink and its meal causing the ice crackles!

It was never a matter of if , it was a matter of when the Mink would haul the fish up off the ice and carry it away to secretly stash:

..but the size of its meal was challenging:

The Mink rested for a moment, perhaps pondering its caching strategy as it took another lick of its meal: 

...but then off it went again, this time with a dragging versus carrying strategy:

...which was still not all that successful, as the Mink bounced up off the ice at one point with the fish firmly gripped in its mouth. I'm killing myself laughing at this point, as admittedly it was pretty amusing to watch:

In the fading light the Mink managed to grasp and carry the fish again, almost tripping on it at times as the crispy ice was creaking under their weight: 

With gravity working against it, the Mink even tried to unsuccessfully drag it up on the snow. It suddenly disappeared, though, silently slipping away into a small patch of open water for not more than ten seconds, and then climbed back out, having stashed the fish right under the ice! 

It cautiously walked around on the thin ice a bit longer:

....then gave itself a good shake to remove the icy water off its beautiful coat before disappearing into the darkness: 

Another wonderful ten minutes of yet another unexpected wildlife encounter!

A Grayer Shade of Pale

It has been no secret to those that know me well that the Great Gray Owl has been my nemesis bird since beginning my birding adventures the year after the last major irruption of them in Durham Region when these magnificent beauties were apparently trash birds in south Whitby. Constantly reminded of this on numerous occasions by my so-called birding buddies (thanks, guys, love you too!), I secretly wept each winter as they continued to elude me. Double-digit "dip trips" were made to Algonquin during the fall and winter of last year when they were frequently seen by everyone else except me, so I eventually stopped trying.


Until last March when one was quietly reported offline in eastern Ontario, so off I went with Master John on a Sunday afternoon with absolutely no expectations (yeah, right), for finally a brief and distant glimpse of this Lifer bird for me:

It seemed like perhaps my GGOW drought had ended, but alas no, as I returned to this remote location a few more times throughout the following week, with the hopes of another sighting to further study this species, all to no avail. But at least I finally had a wonderful memory of this Life, formerly Nemesis Bird for me.


Until a few weeks ago when another Great Gray Owl was reported, but this time a mere ten minutes from home. I arrived at dusk with no expectations, and was greeted with this dramatic view without even leaving the car, gorgeous!

I was in total awe of this beauty, shaking like a leaf as I crawled to the back seat of my car for a better glimpse, only to look back up at its perch to see it had flown away! So imagine my surprise when I realized it had in fact flown in closer, landing on a fence post almost next to my car:

As it grew darker and darker, the Great Gray eventually took an amazingly silent flight to a tree further back in the field. Here's an eerie, almost ghostly view of it as it flew by my car window, admittedly not a great shot but it somehow still resonates with me:

By now I somehow found myself alone with this beautiful Great Gray as the few other birders there, including Master John, had departed in the darkness. Perched in its distant tree, the Great Gray was now magically silhouetted against a rising, almost-full moon, a precious memory that will endure forever in my mind.






A week later, a hasty decision on my part was made to return for a Golden Hour glimpse, again with no expectations, but its ridiculously close proximity and golden lighting made for spectacular views:

Its feathers being caressed by the frigid arctic breeze:

...an occasional doze in the brutal arctic temperatures:

Five minutes in total were shared with this Great Gray Owl, before leaving it in peace as the day came to an end.

I continue to be humbled by its magnificence.

A Few Prickly Situations

 

Today's goal was to enjoy another summer sunrise and perhaps gain some new sunrise photo opportunities of a re-discovered marsh fifteen minutes from the cottage. It was hard to tear myself away from the view from the dock, though;

 

But off I went with Tessa, my new back-roading companion who finally, at the ripe old age of nine, seems to have outgrown her car sickness. We arrived at the marsh and were greeted by a nervous family of Wood Ducks, along with a Great Blue Heron, a foraging male American Redstart, noisy Gray Catbirds, singing Swamp Sparrows, and a view to die for:

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was magnificent, and all the more enjoyable today by a lack of mosquitoes that greeted me the last time I was there:

 

 

 

 

 

So mission accomplished, I was already pleased with how the day had begun but quickly became angry with myself when it was discovered I had left behind my binoculars at the cottage, so back to the cottage I went to retrieve them. That's when one of those unexpected magical moments occurred, not even a minute from the marsh. 

 

 

 

But first let's go back in time to early April, before the leaves were out on the trees, making it easier to spot a massive Porcupine in a tree on one of my favorite roads just minutes from the cottage:

 

 

 

 

 

Sadly, most of the time one ever sees Porcupines is as road kill, so to see a live one yes, that sounds weird , in the day time, and with its eyes open was rare, so imagine my surprise two weeks later that I find one again along the same road, perhaps even the same individual?  It didn't seem particularly interested in me as we exchanged loving glances with each other through my camera lens:

 

 

 

So fast forward to late-June, it was another wonderful day that took me seven hours (versus the usual one hour) to get home from the cottage when yet again I happened upon this jaw-dropping moment of disbelief along the same back road, in broad daylight.

 

 

 

 

 

Twenty seconds of being in absolutely the right place at the right time:

 

 

 

 

Porcupines don't move very fast, in fact it's almost painful to watch them on the ground as their claws are so incredibly long it must hurt them to walk, or rather waddle! Twenty seconds later it was gone:

 

 

 

 

 

So back to this morning at 6:02 a.m.: I'm heading back to the cottage for my binoculars and see this dark shape on the road ahead of me. Now remember it's still early dawn and it's still dark out, and I say to myself  "IDIOT, WHY DID YOU LEAVE YOUR BINOS AT HOME?" convince myself that it's a pair of Crows on the road, right? Of course if I had had my binos with me it would have been easy, but nooooo, so I continue on and see this, through my camera lens as I don't have my binos, so it must be a Raccoon:

 

 

 

 

Or not. It's another Porcupine, what is up with me and Porcupines this year??

 

 

 

So I slowly get out of the car, fully expecting it to take off (as quickly as a waddling Porcupine can do so, that is) but no, it keeps coming straight towards me:

 

 

 

 

So by now my heart is racing as I figure it's about to head off into the bush here:

 

 

 

  

 

But nope.

 

It keeps coming straight at me, my initial thought between adrenalin rushes  was that it was a young one, due to its size and behavior of being unafraid of me, and in fact curious:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I stayed close to the car (with Tessa still inside, no doubt snoozing, a good thing, in hindsight) but it continued to follow me, I could not believe it was happening!

 

 

 

 

 

Closer and closer it came! None of these photos are cropped, and at times I had to move away from it as it was too close to focus on:

 

 

 

 

"Mommy?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I kept reassuring myself that it was a myth that Porcupines have the ability to throw their quills at their enemies.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then it raised itself up a bit to check me out:

 

 

 

 

 

But all was fine, we both shared a special moment with each other:

 

 

 

 

By now, a mere six minutes later from my initial sighting of it, there was finally sunlight and golden lighting to boot, and onward it marches!

 

 

 

 

By now I'm on my knees thanking mother nature for another rare encounter to get at eye level with it, as I knew our time was almost up:

 

And then it was gone, just like that.

 

 

 

I have had enough wildlife encounters these past few years to recognize that this one today was indeed very rare and special. I kept thinking the whole time it was going to immediately disappear, as that's just what wildlife does, and then the moment would be over, just like my twenty second encounter with the big guy a few weeks ago, but this time it did not, which made it all the more special and memorable for me!

 

 

 

As for Tessa's take on the encounter?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HASP for the Holidays

Christmas came a few days early in the form of another potential lifer for me when Dan Bone phoned to advise me of a Harris’s Sparrow coming to a private feeder in the Kawarthas. Asking if I would be “at all interested” in joining him and a few others on Christmas Eve day to see this unexpected visitor who should be wintering in the central region of the United States, I reluctantly declined but secretly prayed that it would still be in attendance on Boxing Day. Thankfully, it was, not only for me but for several others whose Big Year was quickly drawing to a close.

My interest in birding began only five years ago but has quickly developed into a passion, and, if nothing else, I have learned to expect the unexpected in nature and that timing is everything. Recent examples of One Week Wonders (or less!) include Whitby harbour’s Smew in 2011, Presqu’ile Provincial Park’s Thick-billed Kingbird and Oshawa’s Western Tanager in 2012, so my initial fear was that this Harris’s Sparrow would fall into this category, but at the time of writing, it is still enjoying a Canadian winter at an extremely well-stocked feeder in a sheltered yard, amongst numerous American Tree Sparrows, Dark-eyed Juncos, and the occasional Evening Grosbeak.

There was no immediate sign of the Harris’s Sparrow on Boxing Day when John Stirrat and I first arrived at the feeders with Susan Blayney, but we didn’t have to wait too long as we briefly saw it tucked away in some bushes, but clear views of it eluded us.

With more patience and the generous hospitality of the kind property owners who invited us into the warmth of their home, we quickly learned what to expect if there was a total absence of birds: wait and watch for American Tree Sparrows to fly back in, one by one, then wait for them to drop down to the ground, also one by one. Eventually the chunky Harris’s Sparrow would surreptitiously arrive, usually staying somewhat concealed in the bushes, but, with time, it would venture out into the open, affording better views as it foraged on the ground. At times during my second visit there, two days later, as part of the Kawartha Christmas Bird Count, it amused us by creating a snowy landscape, madly kicking away at the snow to forage for seeds using an effective “double-scratch” technique.

 

The Harris’s Sparrow (as well as the Harris’s Hawk) was so named by John James Audubon after his friend Edward Harris, an American amateur birder. It is also one of only two Canadian breeding endemics (the other is the Ross’s Goose) and is quite a striking sparrow, especially when in breeding plumage, with its black crown, face and throat. Based on the amount of black on its throat, this particular Kawarthan individual is an adult, and despite its non-breeding plumage was really quite lovely to see against a pure white backdrop of snow.

By coincidence two days later, I discovered a Durham region connection with this species when Doug Lockrey and I stopped in at Betty Pegg’s home in Claremont during our Pickering Christmas Bird Count. Chance would have it that Edge (co-founder of the Pickering Naturalists) and Betty Pegg also had an over-wintering Harris’s Sparrow at their feeders for five months, between December, 1998, and May, 1999. Almost three hundred birders that year had views of it, and Edge and Betty were awarded a letter of recognition from the Ontario Field Ornithologists, signed by then-President Jean Iron, which was included in the photo album shared by Betty.

The Harris’s Sparrow is now officially my 301st species since I began listing, as well as the best bird of the Kawartha Christmas Bird Count for 2012, not to mention the most unexpected!

Dan's notes, as my OFO News editor: Since Janice wrote this story the Harris’s Sparrow has disappeared. Perhaps it just moved on or maybe the Sharp-shinned Hawk got it, but it has not been seen since early Sunday morning, January 6, 2013. It was first observed on December 22, 2012.

Despite the no-posting agreement and through the cooperation and trust of a network of birders, 15 birders recorded it as a life bird. Kevin Shackleton got it for #299 on his Ontario big year list and #970 on his life list. It is a new bird for the official City of Kawartha Lakes checklist. At least one birder completed the zonotrichia quartet for Ontario. (Can you imagine such a musical quartet? The Golden-crowned Sparrow could sing bass-- the White-throated Sparrow would carry the air, as it always does.)

If the bird had stayed longer, a controlled-visit strategy was in place to include many more birders. The property owners did not want the bird to be posted for security reasons as the secluded residence could not be seen from the road and the driveway was narrow, winding and uphill with restricted parking. The strategy consisted of arranged visits at set times with parking away from the residence and carpooling in to reduce parking pressure. A member of the Kawartha Field Naturalists club was always on hand at the parking area to guide the groups to the feeder.

The property owners and all visitors had a very positive experience. All agreed they would use this strategy again in similar situations.