Missing Tennessees

I'm happy to say that I still have warblers in the yard as I write this. They're all yellow-rumped warblers, the most behaviorally and dietetically flexible of all the wood warblers. Right now, five of them are flitting around a pile of suet dough on the deck railing. I've never had that happen before. A Cape May warbler sampled suet dough briefly in late October, but it was in the company of yellow-rumpeds. And we did have a pine warbler eating it early last spring, but this gobbly little bunch is unprecedented. They've actually figured out how to beg--to get my attention from way in the kitchen.

I thought I'd share some photos of a bathing Tennessee warbler, taken in September.

The post next to the Bird Spa is often the vantage point from which birds make up their minds about bathing. Ooh, looks good. I'm thirsty, and I could use a bath, too.
I'll flutter and ruffle my wings. It will feel so good to be in water!
Ahhhhh!
The durned thing about starting a bath is that everybody else wants to jump in too. Copycats.
A Tennessee warbler has a reputation to uphold. We're tuff.
Hello. I believe I was bathing here first.
And I happen to like where you are bathing.
I'm sorry. Am I in your way?
Don't mind me. I bathe a little large.
Well, excuuuuuuse MEEEE.Better. Much better.
You lazy resident birds need to realize that we long-distance migrants get first dibs on the bath. You can bathe anytime. We have things to do, places to go, people to see. Begone!

Evening at French Creek

Paddling French Creek, I had a wildlife show unfolding all the time.


A little yellow-rumped warbler dawdled around on a black willow overhead, showing me its buttery badonkadonk. Also puttering around in the gallery forest: bay-breasted and magnolia warblers, white-eyed vireos, Carolina wrens, blue jays, flickers and robins.

I found a lovely painted turtle (Chrysemys picta) who seemed not to fear me at all

and a musk turtle (Sternotherus odoratus) who was so alarmed at my approach that he tipped off his basking perch on a dead tulip limb, landed on his back and scrabbled frantically over and into the water. See that pointy nose and rounded dome of a shell? That's a stinkpot. I like them. I'm sure that in Buck's book they're good for nothing (see below).

When I'd done the entire perimeter of the embayment, almost a three-hour paddle, I was about to turn for the boatlaunch when I saw some animals on the shore. The cutest little grulla pony with a smeared strip of a blaze came up to check me out. I don't think she'd seen a one-man canoe before, and the waving paddles intrigued her. She blew and stamped like a deer. The cow with the moon and stars on her flank was less intrigued, and turned her back on me.

Finally it was time to turn for home. There was a man fishing on the boat launch, and he moved his lines so I could cruise in. When I finally came close enough to see, his face broke into a smile. "Oh! A pretty woman!" he said. He grabbed the bow of my canoe and pulled me in so I wouldn't get my feet wet getting out. What a nice man. We talked for a bit and he said, "I like to come down here. It's peaceful. I lost my wife exactly four years and nine months ago today."

"Not that you're counting, huh?"

"What?"

"I said, you're still counting, huh?"

"Yeah. You count for awhile."

His name was Buck and he quickly added that he felt lucky because he had two grown children and two grandchildren living nearby, and they were "the light of my life."

He seemed lonely and he knew a lot about this place so I decided to hang out with him for awhile. I learned from him that there are both soft-shelled (Good for nothing! Can't even eat 'em!) and hard-shelled (snapping) turtles in the embayment. That there are channel cats upward of 40 lb. here. Muskellunge too. He showed me a lure he'd had for 30 years, all beat up, almost broken, that's been his best muskie lure. I told him I'd hit three huge carp with the canoe in the shallowest part of the embayment, and they were big enough to rock the boat. Durn carp. I told him about the drake wood duck I'd heard stumbling through the leaves on a steep slope above the water. I figured he had been looking for acorns and beechnuts until I scared him into flight. I had thought I was hearing a turkey because it sounded like a biped, but it sounded too clumsy for a turkey, so I waited on it and darned if it wasn't a duck walking through the leaves!

Buck said he always brings an extra rod and reel in case someone comes down and feels like fishing for awhile with him. And there it lay, ready to go. I felt bad leaving him, he was interesting and sweet and I didn't even mind his cigarette smoke that much. He asked me why I was carrying my stuff and canoe way up to the car, why didn't I just back the car down the ramp and pick it up? I told him I don't like backing down a steep ramp when I can't see what's behind me and I don't mind carrying everything because it was only two trips and the canoe only weighs 28 pounds and could he tell me why a man always needs to tell a woman a better way to do things? At that he laughed and said "I guess we do, don't we?"

I told him I'd be back again, and that I'd be glad to see him, and I think he'll be glad to see me, too.

Warbler Pileup

After giving a Friday night keynote at the Chequemegon Bay Birding and Nature Festival, I had a field trip Saturday morning, and then a free afternoon. Thank you, Ryan Brady, for inviting me, for letting me do my thing and experience the beauty of lakeshore Wisconsin. I owe you several! The keynote went really well; the field trip was fabulous. There's almost nothing trip leaders Matt and Betsy don't know about boreal wildlife and flora, from fungi right on up to bears. We noticed that there were waves of warblers going along the Sea Caves trail just west of Bayfield, and none of them seemed to want to fly out over the lake. Who could blame them? It was 32 degrees and snowing! This got my wheels turning about where to go Sunday afternoon. Using geography and bad weather to my advantage, I headed out to the two most prominent peninsulae on Wisconsin's north shore. I figured that migrants would not want to cross Superior with a headwind (it was coming out of the east, very strongly, whipping up whitecaps) and with the double handicap of severe cold and scarce food. They'd want to camp awhile, wait out the headwind, and fly when they'd had a chance to refuel and warm up a bit. And most importantly, I knew they would be stacking up on the north-pointing peninsulae, just as they stack up at Crane Creek on Ohio's north shore, and on Point Pelee after crossing Lake Erie. On Sunday, the temperature never got above 42, but it felt like a gift after Saturday, which stayed in the low 30's. Brrrr! I was swaddled in five layers, one of which was prime goosedown, and my best winter hat. I hadn't packed gloves (it just seemed like overkill for late May!), and by midday Saturday I was walking with my hands down my pants--first the front side, then the back--trying to thaw them. Note to self: Buns don't warm hands as well as belly does. Too well-insulated. Every time I lifted my binoculars it was like holding a big ice cube, and it would take my painstakingly warmed hands back to freezing again.
Roman's Point was just the ticket. Densely wooded in spruce, birch, sugar maple and balsam fir, it provided safe haven and caterpillars for more warblers than I've ever seen in one place at one time. When waves appeared, they'd swarm through the trees at all levels. Everywhere I looked was a bird, sometimes several. It was stunning, and I was completely alone to enjoy it. Maybe nobody else thought to go out the peninsulae, amazing as that seemed. It certainly would have been a good time to lead a field trip!
I rolled slowly along in my little rented Impala, snapping pictures out the window. When a good wave came along, I'd decar, and walk silently on the dirt road, moving as little as possible.

Wilson's warbler is quite common in the West, but a bit of a prize back East. We get them every few years on our farm, always in spring. The Wilson's male wears a yarmulke of black, and sings a staccato song that's somewhere in between a Nashville's and a magnolia's. It's one of the ones I have to chase down each time I hear it.

Finally-a Blackburnian low enough in a tree that I could get something recognizable. As cold as it was-42 degrees-these birds were pulling caterpillars out from under leaves with good frequency, and I felt happy to see them fill their stomachs with good food. I would hate to be a caterpillar on Roman's point, in an east wind at 42 degrees. There was a corps of gleaners looking to lay on fat, and they were gong to stay on the point until the wind shifted.
He stretched to grab a luckless caterpillar, giving me a pure shot of flame.

This little female magnolia warbler gave me pause for a moment; I'm always thinking about Kirtland's warblers and hoping for lightning to strike. But she was cute and she didn't have to be federally endangered to captivate me.
Black-throated green warblers were singing their distinctive whistling buzz--zee zee zee zu zee! everywhere I went. Black-bearded warbler would be a good name. It's rare to get one down low like this. Just another benefit of birding in rotten weather.


Asked why he never painted warblers, the great landscape and wildlife painter Francis Lee Jacques said, "The difference between warblers and no warblers in a landscape is very slight." As much as I love Jacques' work (he most famously painted the backdrops for the American Museum of Natural History's dioramas), I beg to differ.. To me, this spruce tree finds its spirit in the yellow-rumped warbler. His jingling song sifts through the spruce needles, hangs on the boughs like tinsel.
Wisconsin for spring warbler migration. Put it on your calendar for next year. Chequamegon Bay Birding and Nature Festival. Terrific people, ambitious field trips, migrants dripping off the trees. You might need to pack a parka and hat. And gloves. But remember: There's no such thing as bad weather, only bad gear. Oh, and you pronounce it Sha-WAH-mah-gun. It only took me three days to get it right. Definitely beats stuttering, "Check-kwa-MEE-gone" and having the locals look at you with real pity. Do yourself a favor. Pencil it in on your calendar right NOW.