International Rock-flipping Day

The day started well. I was out in the yard looking for the noisy Blue Jay family I could hear in the elms when I saw some other birds flitting to and fro--turned out to be a couple of Scarlet Tanagers in winter plumage, or young of the year or both. Not entirely unknown in the yard during the migration, but always a pleasure to see them. I moved down the lawn watching them and listening to a Pileated Woodpecker who had started to call. Then the Woodpecker flew by me heading east, followed almost immediately by a rabbit running in the other direction. Meantime a couple of warblers (of the confusing fall variety) turned up in the Maple by the house, and then I remembered: Today is International Rock-flipping Day!

So after breakfast I headed out across the scrape, intending to go into the cedar bush and the sometime swamp in its midst. I haven't been there for a while because of mosquitoes, but the morning was cool and its getting late in the season. Once I got to the scrape, considering rocks all along the way, I saw a small raptor in the top a dead tree and was distracted. It flew off as I moved towards it, so I didn't get a good look, but I suspect it was a Sharp-shinned Hawk, given the few features I could make out, and the time of year and location. But back to the rocks. Near the edge of the cedar bush I saw a rather attractive rock--might be a good first candidate. I took this picture of it, as they do on CSI, document the scene before disturbing it. Then, as I bent down to move it, I noticed that it was not alone. On a very small milkweed plant leaning over the right-hand side of the rock there was quite a substantial Monarch caterpillar munching away. So, another photo, and then I moved on: on to the cedar bush.

We had a very dry June here, a nice rainy July and then an exceedingly dry August. The wetland in the midst of the cedar bush was not merely dry, but incredibly overgrown. Elderberries, Clematis, Joe Pye Weed, Jewelweed, Goldenrod, and lots I couldn't identify were tall and densely massed. The landmarks of winter and spring were gone, and I was lost in a few metres. I had pictured finding some rocks that I know are there, that have water running over them in the spring, and would still have dampness underneath them now, but I couldn't even being to look for them. The margins of the spring stream were completely covered up. So I moved into the cedar bush to look for a prospect there. And found this can--in front of a rock, which as you can probably tell was a little too big for flipping without a backhoe. I looked under the can, but found nothing.

Meantime I myself had been found: A couple of chickadees had turned up to give me hell for being back there. I watched them for a while, even pished back, then just as they were getting bored with me a small flock of warblers came on the scene. Some of the "confusing" variety, a pair of American Redstarts, and what I am pretty sure was a Blue-winged Warbler. This last one is always of interest to me, even as a migrant, because of the role it plays as parent to the hybrid Brewster's Warbler, of which I've written often (here, for example, or here). So I spent some very pleasant moments peering up into the cedars, trying to see the warblers before they too moved off. Then I decided to take my quest to the Far Field (that is, the young forest on the western side of my regular walk).

Now this was an interesting rock. It was in the sun and the area around it was relatively dry, but this rock was wet. I could tell that it had been in this spot for sometime when I looked underneath it, but I couldn't help thinking that someone or something had just turned this rock over and left it in place upside down....Who? Why? Underneath it there was a very large cricket that fled immediately and a colony of very shiny, small black ants, including one winged one. Ants are the invertebrates found most often under the rocks around here. I know a little something now about moths and butterflies, I know some of the spider families and a few species, I even know a few true bugs, and other insects, but of ants all I know is that there are many, many species represented around here and I don't know the names of any of them. Under any rock I might see a species I've never seen before, as was the case here, I believe. Still, it was good to finally find a happening rock.


I continued down the Far Field, noticing the beautiful purple asters of fall, and yes, peering into them for flower crab spiders. Of course I found one, not Misumena vatia, but a crab spider nonetheless. You can see it just going over the edge, being camera shy.

At the north end of the Far Field, in a small area that has been bulldozed some, there is a rockpile around the base of a small tree. This is where another year a very vocal groundhog screamed at me without ever showing itself. Nobody took any notice of me today as I peered into the pile and moved a rock or two. I knew that there could be something interesting in there anyway, snake perhaps. But I didn't want to take the pile apart, and then be stuck with trying to figure out how to put it back together again, so I photographed it and left it, capturing one of the more interesting of the yellow butterflies that were so numerous this morning; there were maybe three quite similar species flitting around, too quickly to get a fix on.

Okay, I looked at birds, I looked at butterflies, I looked at flower spiders, but I flipped a couple of things, and better I found that thinking about rocks broadened my attention to include more of the features of the land. In short, it was a good time. Thanks to Dave for proposing it. And watch here for a list of links to the other participants in the event we call International Rock-flipping day!

IRFD Logo: Jason Robertshaw of Cephalopodcast

I'll sing what I want to sing

So I was out in the far field yesterday, getting on for seven in the evening. I was tired from little sleep the night before, but wanted a quick amble around.

At the northwest corner I heard a song duel--very clear, very even, first one bird, then answered by the other, about 20 metres or less apart. I listened for a bit, I didn't know the song, but it was pretty ordinary, a mere trill, with a note or two at either end. But I didn't know it. Didn't sound like a warbler I knew, didn't have a sparrow quality to it. Should I track down one of the birds for a look, or let it go as one of the many mysteries of the field?

One bird was too close, sounded like I'd be able to get a look without much trouble, so I started to move over in its direction, slow, casual like, looking away as much as looking in the direction of the sound. And then it flew up to a bare branch and I got a very good look. I could hardly believe my eyes. It was a male golden-winged warbler, and it sang for me as I looked, so there was no doubt who was singing this song.

As I wrote recently, while reporting the return of the Brewster's Warbler to the far field, I haven't seen a golden-winged warbler back there since the summer of 2004, and so I was some pleased. But what the heck was that song? And who was the other duelling singer?

Caught up in the moment of discovery, I decide to see if I could track down the other bird. It was singing from a denser bit of foliage, fewer bare branches, fewer chances for a real look. I knew where it was, and saw it fly, but we moved around the field some, from tree to tree until finally it let me see it. A Brewster's.

The Brewster's warbler is a hybrid of the golden-winged and the blue-winged, too very closely related species, who are recently coming into contact as habitat changes and other factors are affecting the range of the blue-winged warbler. The blue-winged isn't as fussy as the golden-winged about habitat, and as a result of this (and, again, other factors) there is concern that the blue-winged will eventually swamp the golden-winged out. I've written about this a number of times, as I've watched it happen. But what I saw last night was a first for me.

The song was the song of the blue-winged warbler--at least pretty close to it. When I was collecting data for the Ontario Breeding Bird Atlas (due out in September 2007) I was instructed to only record blue-winged and golden-winged if I saw them, not to make a specific identification on the basis of song alone, because each will sometimes sing the song of the other. The golden-winged I got to know in the summer of 2004 sang a perfect golden-winged song, a nice series of 3 buzzes (the example I've linked is a 4-buzz song--just goes to show).

The Brewster's I've known since, including the one I reported earlier this year, have all sung the same perfect combo song. Of course, it might be the same bird I'm hearing each year.

The little scene yesterday between the male golden-winged and the male hybrid made one thing clear--these guys really don't distinguish (discriminate) between conspecifics and nearly conspecific. But it also raised an interesting question. Is it just a coincidence that these guys sang exactly the same song? Or, as seems more likely, were they singing the same song because they were singing at/for each other? Perhaps one started, then the other came by, heard the first, and matched him, to show he was the better bird.

In any case, now I'm hoping that there's a female golden-winged around who will take up with this male, and start a new, pure line alongside the Brewster's that I suspect have a territory already staked out further down the field. I will report developments.

The Brewster's Back

It's been a couple of days since I got out back--last time, not a warbler to be heard (although I've heard a black-and-white a number of times from across the street over the last ten days or so). Last weekend hummingbirds, house wrens, and chimney swifts arrived in the hamlet--now tree swallows and wrens are squabbling over the two nesting boxes in the yard. Chipping sparrows are getting very serious in their various battles and courting dances. Then this morning, warblers. Out in the far field, my old friend the Brewster's Warbler was singing from the same perches that have accomodated this bird over the last few years. Joining him, one of those American place-name warblers, Nashville, I think. Didn't get the best look, and don't know the song well enough to be sure. In the woods beyond, an ovenbird and a wood thrush sang.

The Eastern Towhee has been back for a while now--but there seemed to be a number of them singing back there this morning. And at least one of them was letting me get much better looks than I normally do of this bird. The towhee has been a difficult bird for me for some reason. It took me years to learn its song. It has a very distinctive call and song, very beautiful. And for several years at first hearing it sounded like something marvellous I'd never heard before. Last year I felt like maybe it'd sunk in. And, voila, this year I knew the call the first time I heard it. Today I was treated to the song as well.

The Brewster's has never been a problem. It's song is distinctive and memorable, for me--at least the song sung by my birds. This bird, a hybrid of the Golden-winged and Blue-winged Warblers, was one of the most interesting things I discovered during my days as an atlasser. The expansion of the range of the Blue-winged Warbler has been a problem for the Golden-winged, or at least has added to its troubles. The birds are very closely related and hybridize happily. The consequence is likely to be the eventually swamping out of the Golden-winged Warbler. (Click here for the Golden-winged Warbler Atlas Project at Cornell) I had a Golden-winged singing in the far field for most of the summer of 2004. Since that summer it's been all Brewster's. The next year, 2005, I saw a Brewster's in the company of a female Blue-winged Warbler, both carrying food for nearby, noisy fledglings. My surmise is that the 2004 bird mated late, with a blue-winged, starting the dynasty that still breeds back there. The bird I saw this morning was singing the same mixed song I know so well, and had the classic Brewster's markings, except that he had yellow under his chin as well as on the top of his head. Others have a different idea of the classic Brewster's, this page has photographs of a couple of interesting examples, and a blue-winged for comparison.

The Golden-winged warbler has recently been designated a "species of special concern" in Ontario.