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A debate Ensues

1/8/2014

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The Levee Revisited

            While developers claim the construction of a Wal-Mart Supercenter near Chattanooga’s Brainerd Levee will result in jobs and economic progress, the project has raised criticism form a number of area residents, complaining that it will destroy everything from the quality of the environment to historic artifacts to neighborhood small business to that sometimes intangible factor, the quality of life.

On July 7, 2003, in Chancery Court, Chancellor Howell N. Peeples granted a restraining order delaying construction until a full hearing could be held.  One week later, on July 15, 2003, the same judge, Chancellor Howell N. Peeples, ruled that the plaintiffs, specifically the Tennessee Environmental Council and the Coalition for Responsible Progress, had no standing which effectively dismissed the case.  That decision is under appeal, but meanwhile the development goes on.

As construction continues, the developer has made one accommodation to environmental quality, primarily in response to questions that the Tennessee Department of Environment and Conservation raised regarding the destruction of a 2.8 acre wetland on the property.  The small wetland will be destroyed by the construction, but the developer has begun mitigation by construction of an additional 11 acres of new wetland further north.  The mitigation will expand a large existing wetland adjacent to the levee.

The wetland mitigation project replaces inundated wetlands at a 4 to 1 ratio.  Although some residents complain that the mitigation is itself destructive because it involves removal of a large tract of loblolly pines and substantial amounts of soil, construction will, no doubt, increase the numbers of birds in the wetland area, and increase opportunities for wetland bird watching.

On a historic note, the location of the Wal-Mart construction is adjacent to the historic Brainerd Mission Cemetery and includes portions of an historic mission to the Cherokee Indians.  The mission site later became a detention camp for the Cherokee, prior to their removal on the trail of tears. As such, it is a significant site for the Trail of Tears National Historic Trail.

In a letter dated May 19, 2003, and sent on United States Department of Interior letterhead stationery, Jere L Krakow, Superintendent at the National Trails System office expressed concern that this development might impact the historic Brainerd Mission site, including the site of Bird’s Mill on the banks of Chickamauga Creek.

In part, Krakow stated, “Any new development that has the potential to further compromise the extant or archaeological resources of the historic Brainerd Mission or to compromise the present or future ability for preservation, public access, use, and interpretation of the cemetery and historic mission is of significant concern to the National Park Service and the Trail of Tears National Historic Trail.  Current proposed development near the cemetery and historic mission site might have the potential to compromise archaeological resources associated with the mission and or public use and interpretation of the mission.  We strongly encourage all efforts be made, prior to or as a condition of development, to ensure that archaeological investigations are completed and archaeological resources are avoided.  We also encourage that efforts be made to avoid any impacts to above ground and archaeological resources that compromise the future ability for public use and interpretation of the historic Brainerd Mission and Cemetery.  We further encourage that associated tribes, particularly the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma and the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians that have strong cultural affiliations with the Brainerd Mission be consulted as a part of any proposed development with potential to impact cultural resources associated with the mission.”

Mr. Krakow’s comments were echoed by Vicki Rozema, author of Footsteps of the Cherokee.  In a press release from the Coalition for Responsible Progress, she is quoted as saying, “I’m angry that with the building of that access road we have lost the last remnants of the historic mill site and a significant part of our cultural history.”  She continues, “Both the road and the land for the Wal-Mart are part of the Cherokee Brainerd Mission lands prior to the Trail of Tears, that included the mill site, the creek ford where Cherokee and Civil War soldiers alike crossed, as well as the Brainerd Mission Cemetery now isolated by pavement.”

As citizens debate the question, to mall or not to maul the landscape, the construction goes on.  Meanwhile, a few hundred yards to the north, the bird life goes on, and will no doubt quickly take advantage of the new wetland created by the mitigation process.  A recent walk on the levee revealed a large flourishing bird population.  This is what I saw.

            The Blue-winged Teal at Brainerd Levee are in transition.  Of course, many birds spend a good portion of their lives in transition, making a spring migration from their wintering grounds to the summer breeding habitat, and back again in the fall.  The teal though are engaged in a different seasonal change.

            The drakes have spent the summer in the eclipse plumage that makes them indistinguishable from the female ducks.  Now the grayish-brown head is beginning to show the white crescent, just behind the beak, that serves as an identifying field mark for these birds.  It is a beacon for the entire world to know that these are blue-winged teal, not any other duck.

            Of course, their small size distinguishes teal from other marsh ducks, and from any distance they seem half the size of the Mallard Duck, American Black Duck or Northern Pintail.  This field mark eliminates some, but not all possibilities. The small Blue-winged Teal are separated from their close cousins, the Green-winged Teal only by the powder blue patch on the fore-wing.

            The males in breeding plumage are the real key to quick identification of Blue-winged teal, with the white crescent moon on their face, and the dark (nearly black) rump preceded by a white patch.

Soon they will release their near anonymity and assume their winter colors, but for now they glide across the pond in a half changed state, grazing on the water plants just below the surface.  In this grazing, they are joined by their larger cousins, the mallard ducks and Canada Geese.

Feast for the ducks is accompanied by famine for the shorebirds.  Although I have made several trips to the levee this fall, I have seen neither yellowlegs, nor dowitcher, nor least sandpiper.  The rainy summer has kept the marsh filled with water, and there is no exposed mud for migrating shorebirds to search for the small crustaceans and aquatic worms that make up their diets.

Of the many species of shorebirds that migrate through Chattanooga, I have seen only the solitary sandpipers with their distinctive white eye-ring. I saw them on only one occasion.  My viewing of shorebirds this fall is limited to three of these “solitaries,” and the omni-present, resident killdeer.  The killdeer cross the wet grasses near their marsh and give their continuous mournful calls.

While the shorebirds are absent this year, another migrant has been plentiful.  The great egret, also known has the American egret has appeared in numbers ranging from one to thirteen on my many trips out here.  In size and behavior they are similar to their close relatives, the Great Blue Herons, but their plumage is entirely white.  Their size and their black legs distinguish them from other white members of the heron family.

            In hunting, they stand in the water or on the shoreline, as still as any dead tree, as still as death itself.  Death indeed is what they are to any passing fish, frog, or water snake, which they soon annihilate with the stroke of their beak, sharper than any spear and swift as the striking of a coiled snake.

            The egrets will spend the fall here, hunting and storing up food reserves in their bodies, preparing for a fall journey to warmer hunting grounds. They neither winter not nest in this land. They merely stop here on migration. Meanwhile, another, much smaller hunter proceeds with a chase as different from the egret’s methods as the marsh is different from dry land.

            The kingfisher that I normally see at this marsh has been strangely absent from view today.  I am surprised by its absence, since I see the bird on nearly every trip here.

            On my return trip, walking back toward the parking lot, I hear the rattling call of the kingfisher from the willows across the water.  The bird is present, but in hiding, revealed only by its unique call.

            Then it breaks from the cover and flies across the water, low. It is hunting for a fish dinner. I see the kingfisher stop and perch on a fence that runs right into the water.

            The bird perches only briefly, it has made a rest stop on its predatory flight.  Then it is up high, hovering over the marsh like a miniature osprey, preparing to descend and deal death to the fish below.

            Only the hovering is like an osprey through, the kingfisher is not a raptor like the osprey or bald eagle.  They grasp their victims in the talons of their feet and barely wet their feathers. The kingfisher grasps a fish with its beak.

             I see the kingfisher hover and descend. The descent ends with its whole body immersed in the water.  Then it emerges, with no fish in its razor sharp beak, and flies across the water.

            Not easily discouraged, the bird hovers and dives again and again.  Finally it moves to the trees across the marsh, perhaps with meal in beak, though I really can’t tell from this angle.

            As I leave the Marsh, the bird is hovering over the water again.  I am uncertain as to whether it failed in its last attempt, or is simply hungry for more fish.  In either event, the marsh will provide a feast for kingfisher, heron, egret, and duck.  It provides a physical feast for the birds and a psychic feast for me as I leave happy with the day’s observations and discoveries.

As the march of progress continues to assault the natural environment the question remains, will we preserve the unique beauty of this wetland and its bird species both resident and migratory, or will they become only one more monument to “progress.”

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March 1 on the Levee

1/7/2014

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Picture
March 1, 1993

 A slightly Different Version of this Essay appeared in the Hellbender Press, Knoxville.

A Walk on the Levee 



Northern Shovelers are living proof that the design of nature has room for a sense of humor.  The shoveler is a most unusual duck, a rare bird, with the green head of a mallard, but a beak that even from a distance appears to be twice the length of its head. 

They feed on aquatic vegetation, scooped up with their outsized beak, and always manage to bring a smile to my face.  I watch them tip up to forage, and fully expect them to be unable to lift their heads back out of the water.

In Chattanooga, the shoveler is generally a winter resident. The best place to view them, in my opinion, is at the Brainerd levee, right near the airport.  Bird watchers make regular forays here to see wintering birds. I set out with two companions on Marchfirst to do exactly that, to enjoy some of the best duck watching in the region.

            As we rounded the first bend, I felt the chill breeze, and knew that I was not dressed for the weather, but it was a joy to be here even in the cold.  For a few hours I had escaped the computer terminals, the interior of buildings and the crowding that has become the modern human lifestyle.  The cold was only a small reminder that I was here, that life surrounded me.

            Below, a kingfisher took flight and gave her rattling call.  She landed on a dead tree and allowed us to observe her magnificent red, blue and white plumage.  I do not know what possessed a member of such a flighty and nervous species to sit in plain view for such a long time.  It is not unusual to see a kingfisher, but prolonged viewing is highly unusual.

            Meanwhile, a red tailed hawk landed on a live tree near the levee.  Although it faced away for the entire time,  it occasionally turned its head and looked at us, but the white chest remained turned away.  We had no opportunity to view its magnificent soaring, but I knew that in a week or two it would circle above the landscape courting a companion.

            We only spent a few minutes watching the hawk before our attention was drawn to the first pond on the left, filled with Mallard Ducks, Canada Geese,
Gadwall and Green-winged Teal.  None of these are rare, but I was delighted to see them in numbers.  I was hoping to see a few pintail in the mix, as I had just weeks ago, but they made no appearance.  Apparently, they had already begun their northward flight.

            Then, we saw the object of our search.  The pond on the right, actually the flooded athletic field of a nearby school, was filled with Northern Shovelers, more than a dozen of them.  Calmly they glided across the water in the company of Green-winged Teal and Gadwall.  They were not grazing or courting, just being in their calm environment.

            We studied the shovelers for some time, before moving on to the next vantage point, where they were visible in even better light.  As we approached the second turn in the levee, our attention shifted to the trees on the left, across South Chickamauga Creek, where herons were sitting.  Roosting, we thought at first, but actually, they were sitting on nest.

            Now the blue heron is a comical bird in its own right.  In flight it has been compared favorably to the pterodactyl.  I assume that this is due to its large size and outsized beak, as well as its habit of flying with neck and legs outstretched.  While standing upright in a stream or pond, the heron is all seriousness, with a beak and neck that surprise unsuspecting fish, frogs, and snakes with the speed of a striking snake.

            When perched on the nest, the heron assumes truly comic proportions.  It simply seems too big for the thin branches of a tree-top, and they frequently perch high above their enormous nests, waiting to take their turn at incubating, which will come when their mate leaves to hunt.

            In all, we counted six heron nests, and eight birds.  This was truly surprising, because I had not heard of herons nesting there before, but time was passing rapidly. It was time to move on, around the second bend and further down the levee.

            We had walked a substantial distance past the second turn, counting the Northern Shovelers, Gadwall, and Green-winged Teal, when I commented that it was typical to see Red-shouldered Hawks here.  Right then, I noticed that something was sitting high in a distant tree, and there sat a Red-shouldered Hawk.

            The hawk sat for a while, then glided to another tree, and sat a while longer before departing on whatever business takes a hawk out over the wetlands on a March morning.  The Red-shouldered Hawk typically makes its home over wetlands, lakeshores and streams, unlike its larger cousin, the Red-tailed Hawk.  Red tails are birds of meadows and fields, built for soaring.  The smaller Red-shouldered Hawk is able to hunt among the snags and trees for its prey.

            After the hawk’s departure, we soon viewed a great disturbance on the water, far back in the wetland.  Our binoculars revealed two male shovelers engaged in the ritual combat of territoriality.  Shaped by years of success, and certain to continue for centuries into the future, this battle involved rushing at each other, attempting to push the other under water, and pushing each other, sumo wrestler style, out to the edge of the pond.

            Territorial display followed each round of combat. In the display ritual, the males circled with heads held high and then began bobbing their heads as if in greeting.  As graceful as water ballet, this ritual showed both their willingness to enter the battle, and their intentions toward the smaller brown female shoveler, watching from nearby.  Soon the battle was done, and she swam off with the victor in tow.

            That was the appearance, but appearances can be deceiving.  The vanquished male soon followed, and another round of display and combat ensued.  It seems that the rites of spring were not quickly ended. A second female followed.

            These observations would have made any day complete, but we had two more sightings waiting for us, perhaps the best of the day.  As we continued out the levee, one of my companions pointed out Redhead ducks – bay ducks expected on more open water.  I am not certain what they were doing in a seasonal wetland, but there they were, perhaps resting and preparing to move on north.

            Then we saw five Blue-winged Teal.  These small ducks are cousins of the green wings we had been watching all day. They are the second most common duck after Mallards, but they never appear here in numbers.  Possibly they were up from the bayou country on their early migration to northern marshes.  Whatever brought them here, I was delighted to see them on their way north.

            We began the return journey to our vehicles with minds and spirits filled with the joy of nature, as seen in an urban wetland.  Nothing can replace such a day for me, and I hope to spend many more, watching the birds at the wetland along Brainerd levee.

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Kingfisher's Domain

1/6/2014

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Picture
Domain of Kingfishers

In 1993, The Hellbender Press of Knoxville  published my essay “A walk on the Levee,” which included a description of the wintering ducks seen on March first of that year. Later in 1993, “The Levee Revisited,” included a description of threats to this natural area posed by development, and a lengthy description of the resident Belted Kingfisher. I also included brief comments on some Great Egrets spotted there during the fall migration.

In my written accounts of these adventures, I followed a convention common among bird watchers and other naturalists. Proper Names such as Northern Mockingbird and Great Blue Heron are capitalized. Common names such as mockingbird and heron are not.

I visited the Levee several days that fall and realized it was, at least for a time, the Belted Kingfisher’s land. The bird was a regular feature of the marsh. The following brief passages are a record of change from fall into winter in one particular year at Kingfishers Domain.


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Boundaries

1/5/2014

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Picture
Boundaries (of the Marsh at Brainerd Levee)

Death has come slowly to the old tree, yet somehow it is an appropriate symbol for this haven for wildlife within one of Chattanooga’s busiest neighborhoods.  Its drowned roots sit in water at the bend of the levee. It lacks the leaves to snag the sunlight, although its bare branches give it the name snag.


Despite the lack of a life of its own, the bare branches are host to a variety of living birds.  I have seen a Red-shouldered Hawk stop here and rest from its low flights over the marsh in search of mice and other fare for dinner.  A Great Blue Heron perches here while not wading along the shoreline in search of frogs or fish.  A Belted Kingfisher surveys the pond here or stops to swallow and digest its latest catch.


The marsh is bounded on two sides by the levee. The small pond which holds the tree sits here in the bend.  Along opposite shore, the willow trees provide roosts for passing birds. Here the marsh grasses are hiding places for muskrats and Green Herons.  Their larger cousins, the Great Blue Herons fish here, and fly off to the rookery on South Chickamauga creek where they build their nests in tall trees.


Beside the marsh, the levee makes a smooth track.  The grasses on its side are shorter than the marsh grasses that line the creek.  These shorter grasses are hiding places for sparrows and meadowlarks.


Further out, Brainerd road transects the marsh.  This portion of the marsh is less productive as a spot for wildlife viewing, although Great Egrets have stopped here on their migration.


Across the pond, the wetland gives way to mud flats and then to a residential area.  Several homes and a private school sit on this side of the marsh.  The mud flats are a resting spot for sandpipers and shorebirds on their spring and fall migrations. Killdeer cross the mudflats and give their mournful cries at all times of the year.

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Further Adventures on the Levee

1/5/2014

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Picture
November 10, 2003

A Golden Day

 

No two fall seasons are alike. For me, the aspect of fall weather that makes it most interesting is the way it changes from year to year.  I have seen years when people complained about the heat, and no less than a month later complained about the cold.  These are the least pleasant of fall seasons, when the weather goes straight from summer into winter and there really is no fall at all.  These are the years when we seem to have been cheated out of a season.

Then there are years when summer slowly drifts into winter.  The days simply get cooler and cooler, and the golden warmth known as “Indian Summer” seems as though it will go on forever.  I love this “in between” weather that is just warm enough and not too cold.

This year, the fall weather has changed from day to day.  A few incredibly warm days fade into January-like cold.  One day the sun is bright and butterflies flit from flower to flower.  The next day, the butterflies are in hiding, the sky is iron grey, and the last of the fall flowers look as though they will drop their petals at the slightest puff of wind.

Yesterday was a butterfly day.  As I walked the levee, a monarch flitted along the gravel path.  The sky was bluebird clear and the sun warmed my back.  The levee birds were still and silent in the noonday sun, except for the clouds of starlings that passed along the horizon.  In the bright yellow sun, the flocks of starlings were black clouds, changing shape and direction as one. The term for this ability of a large flock to move as one is murmuration. 

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More Adventures on the Brainerd Levee

1/4/2014

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November 15, 2003
Several Successive Posts on this Blog Continue the Story


Cold and Overcast


The American Black Duck is a disappearing species in the eastern United States.  Although they are locally common in the coastal salt marshes, they are rare in the interior.  They may be disappearing due to interbreeding with Mallard Ducks.  They also may be under-reported since they are so similar to female mallards.  Despite the superficial similarity, I know of no other duck with so much contrast between a dark body and a light head.


I was surprised to see an American Black Duck at the Levee today, because I have never noticed one there before.  I know that winter storms sometimes bring unusual birds our way, but it had not been stormy of late.  The weather was simply cold and overcast as I left my truck, at about 8:30 that morning.  The sky was the sort of iron gray that promises snow or freezing rain, but rarely delivers at this latitude.  The wind bit through my light fleece jacket at times, but I managed to stay warm enough.

As I approached the first pond, I noticed that a number of robins were flitting about the trees on both sides of the path.  True to form, they had abandoned their summer behavior of territoriality and nesting.  Now they were foraging in a loose flock of thirty or forty birds.  Their songs were a welcome counterpoint to the rasping calls of the larger flock of starlings in the nearby horse pasture.

Starlings are notorious for winter flocking behavior.  Although this group was only a hundred or so, they have been known to travel in gangs of a thousand or more birds, soaring and veering in unison like a dark cloud that changes shape at will.  They maneuver through our winter skies to collect on frozen fields and in the bare branches of tree-lined city streets.  They twitter in a most annoying way.

On my return trip to the truck I spied another large flock of birds, unlike the robins or the starlings.  Where the starlings are uniformly dingy, the Cedar Waxwings have a handsome jet black chin and eye stripe.  The pale yellow wash on the belly is delicate – not as bright as a goldfinch or a meadowlark.  The beautiful cedar waxwings flitted from tree to tree. They are fruit eaters, but I have no idea what berries or fruits they were eating on such a freezing cold day.

Further out on the pond, the ducks seemed immune to the cold water, which would have made me hypothermic in a few minutes.  They happily paddled on the water of the open marsh.  The Green-winged Teal had reached full breeding plumage, and so the males displayed the dull red heads with bright green eye stripes.  Likewise, the Northern Shovelers showed red sides and white breasts.  The resident kingfisher rested on the branch of the dead snag while mallards, gadwall, and teal circled beneath.  A Pied-billed Grebe cut a swift path across the marsh, past unperturbed ducks, Great Blue Herons and Belted Kingfisher. 

Further out on the marsh, I saw the American Black Duck and a male Northern Pintail.  The pintail is a delicately beautiful bird with a chocolate brown head and a white chin.  The white extends up the side of the head in a narrow stripe.  The central tail feathers are black and extend far beyond the normal length of the duck’s tail. I suppose it serves as an ornate decoration.  I have only seen a few pintail in my life. They have become rare in the East.


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Fog on the Levee

1/3/2014

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Picture
November 17, 2003
(another entry from my journal of ten years ago)
Warm and Foggy

It was one of those days when the air warmed after a brief cold snap. Wisps of fog drifted about, adding an air of mystery to the landscape. The fog shrouded the land with a vagueness that made objects hard to identify at a distance until they “popped” into view with clarity of form and color.  This was my third visit to the levee in a week, and each day was unique.

The smells and sounds seemed to hang in the air, magnified as sounds are when one cups a hand behind an ear, or as sounds must have been by an old time ear trumpet.  The marsh smelled of the rich scent that marks the decay of plants and other living matter, and promises fertile growth in the coming spring.

As I walked down the gravel path, the call note of a towhee, years ago known as the ground robin, reached my ears.  I could clearly identify the bird, even though I saw neither beak nor feather.  Likewise, I heard the call of a killdeer as I approached the first turn.  The killdeer was observed, but not seen.

Having noted the presence of towhee and killdeer, I rounded the first bend of the walkway and noticed three small birds perched on an overhead wire in the distance.  These birds gave no song or call, and in the dim light I could not be certain of their identity, although they were the shape and size of bluebirds.  After a few more steps, I gazed at them again with binoculars. The blue back, red breast and white belly of the eastern bluebird were clearly visible. These bluebirds shone through the misty morning as beautifully as the dew sparkles when the sun burns away the morning mist.

Beyond the bluebirds, the open area on the left was dry.  The mud flat was gone, waiting for the renewal brought by more rain.  To the right, willows surrounded the large pond, a glassy panorama. The willows presented a bright green contrast to the surrounding fall landscape.  The ducks and geese floated motionless on the mirrored surface, impossible to identify from this distance.

A Red-shouldered Hawk perched on the central dead snag, where it displaced the resident Belted Kingfisher from its customary perch.  As I approached the second bend in the walkway, the hawk lifted off and glided to the shore on my left, where it disappeared into the tall grass, perhaps to dine on some hapless mouse or even a grasshopper.

Soon I rounded the bend, and walked along the shore where the hawk had disappeared. The ducks were now closer and I could resolve identifiable images with my binoculars. They included the expected Mallard Ducks, Gadwall, and Green-winged Teal, but no Northern Shovelers.

Just as I had identified these ducks, the Red-shouldered Hawk flew out from the levee, almost under my feet, but three or four yards below.  With motionless wings it crossed the pond to alight in a distant tree and resume sentry duty.

Only after I had ceased following the hawk with my eyes did I notice the muskrat swimming parallel to the shore.  Muskrats are secretive animals, and my observations of them have always been accidental rather than planned.  I have never seen a muskrat when I intentionally went looking for them, and my attempts to photograph them have been wholly unsuccessful.

Today, the muskrat was either in a mood to be seen, or was heedless of my presence on the misty levee above its home. It kept pace with me, and swam vigorously enough to leave a substantial wake behind, until we nearly reached the narrow creek that lacks sufficient slope to drain the pond. It disappeared into the marshy grasses on the opposite shore.

I frequently encounter other visitors to the levee, the many walkers or joggers who use this space for physical exercise and weight loss, and occasionally one is disposed to stop and talk.  Among these, a few have mentioned seeing otters in the pond, but on closer inspection of their stories, I am always certain that they actually encountered a muskrat. 

Muskrats and beavers are rodents with the characteristic buck teeth, while the River Otter is a member of the weasel family, related to ferrets, skunks, wolverines, and long tailed weasels, to name only a few of their kin. They are shy animals even more rarely observed than muskrats. 

I recall my last opportunity to view otters at a pond in Rhode Island many years ago. They swam and played in plain view of a large crowd, not exhibiting their characteristic shy behavior.

I once tracked a River Otter through the snowy New Hampshire countryside, only to see the tracks disappear in a slide into an ice covered creek.  This marsh is a more suitable home for muskrats and beavers than otters.

The creek beyond the pond is a heaven for Mallard Ducks, swimming and courting in anticipation of spring.  Green-winged Teal and a solitary American Black Duck have also settled into this protected waterway, as well as a small flock of Northern Pintail.  Some Ring-necked Ducks were there also, two males and two females. 

The return trip to my truck included an encounter with the resident Belted Kingfisher, back at its usual perch, now that the Red-shouldered Hawk was gone.  As I approached, the bird left its perch and flew straight for the opposite shore, giving its rattling call the whole way. As I passed the final corner of the pond, the Red-shouldered Hawk sat in the tallest tree silently surveying the landscape below.

Another Red-shouldered Hawk sat on a fence post at the edge of the horse pasture opposite the marsh.  It descended to the ground, perhaps in search of a mouse or grasshopper and immediately returned to its perch.  This ritual was repeated three times as I approached, and then, when I was too close, the hawk flew to another post, perhaps twenty feet more distant.  Down to the ground and back up, and down again the bird swooped.


I was uncertain; was the bird capturing insects or was it hunting mice?  Was I witnessing one missed opportunity after another?  Young raptors take time to learn the art of hunting.  They are just catching on at this season, when suddenly the number of prey animals is declining.  In the scheme of nature, prey animals reproduce early in the spring and throughout the summer, at just the time when parent hawks are hunting overtime to feed their young.  Their hunting keeps the prey species in check, and prevents overpopulation by mice, rats, chipmunks, squirrels, and other small mammals. 


Then the fall season arrives, and the production of prey animals declines.  The underdeveloped hunting skill of newly fledged raptors collides with declining prey density.  Many of the young hawks will starve, and not survive until another plentiful spring.  Many succumb to hunger and begin to hunt roadsides, taking advantage of the easy pickings of maimed and road killed prey, sometimes becoming road kill themselves. Only the best adapted will survive, but those who do may live several years and leave many descendants.


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Birds Take Wing

1/2/2014

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Exit From the Levee

November 20, 2003

The sky was clear when I left my house, but the marsh was enveloped in a dense fog. In the distance a small shrub could appear to be a heron.  In the middle distance, it was impossible to tell a gadwall from a mallard. A spider web covered with drops of dew enveloped each stalk of red topped grass. AS the fog lifted, they sparkled like gems in the mist.  When I reached the marsh beyond the large pond, the sun was finally burning off the fog, and the ducks became distinguishable as individuals. I could identify them as members of particular species.

Soon the sky was clear and the ducks and geese made a mass exodus.  It began with a pair of ducks flying over. This excited the ducks and geese below to rise on the water and flap their wings in anticipation of their own departure.  Soon the excited honking of the geese and the wild quacking of mallards filled the air.  As the geese lifted off, the white and brown bands of their tails flashed in the sun.  Likewise the green wing patch of the teal sparkled as they reached eye level.  Soon, only a few mallards, shovelers and pintail remained on the water.


AS they left, I noticed a white spot on the top of a dead snag.  On closer examination, it was a Belted Kingfisher, a bird that seldom remains for close examination once spotted.  It launched off and flew to the center of the large pond.  Another kingfisher appeared and the two engaged in an aerial ballet.  As they swooped above the water, frequently diving at each other, I was not certain if I witnessed a territorial battle or a courtship, though the time of year would indicate territorial maneuvering. 

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Kingfisher's Domain

1/1/2014

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Written ten years and one month ago,after visiting the Brainerd Levee.


December 1, 2003

11:00 AM
 
            Many of the kingfisher’s dives were false starts.  The bird would plunge earthward and then stop and hover.  Perhaps the fish would move to the side or dive deep.  Perhaps it was too small to be worth the effort, or too large to swallow.  In any event, the kingfisher made many aborted dives before it finally plunged into the water with an audible splash. 

Then the bird was gone.  I could not tell if the hunt was successful or not, but I later discovered that it was a male bird with  none of the red patch on the stomach characteristic of a female Belted Kingfisher. The blue band on the chest, which gives all members of the species its proper name was clearly visible.

            Further along the trail, I saw a large brown bird cross the levee and land in a nearby dead tree.  At first, I thought it was the resident red shouldered hawk, but as it landed, I saw the long tail with alternating light and dark bands that identified it as a Coopers Hawk.  As the raptor sailed across the marsh in search of a smaller bird for dinner, I noticed its short wings, also characteristic of the species.

            As I turned and began the journey back to my truck, I passed the tall upright snag in the center of the large pond. I spied the kingfisher on his customary perch.  His beak seemed larger than usual. With binoculars, I saw  he was holding a fish.  The meal was nearly half as long as the bird, and nearly as wide from dorsal fin to belly as it was long.  The thickness from side to side was considerably less, so the fish had the saucer shape of smaller members of the sunfish family.  From the distance, I could not tell if it was a green sunfish, a bluegill, or a shell cracker.

            Whatever the species, the fish looked far too large for the bird to swallow.  The kingfisher turned his head first one direction and then the other, shifting the fish in his beak.  I didn’t believe that the bird would try to swallow so large a fish, but soon the out sized meal was pointed head first into the beak.  In this position, the bird could swallow the fish without fins, spines or scales opposing the motion and damaging the delicate tissues of the throat.

            With a quick upward thrust of the head and an opening of the beak, the fish’s head was lodged deep in the bird’s throat.  Then the real work began, and several powerful thrusts of the head brought most of the fish into the bird’s digestive tract.  Only the tail remained protruding.

            The bird thrust its head again and again, but the mandibles remained parted with the tail lodged between them.  I began to wonder if the bird would ever be able to swallow that last little bit of fish.  Perhaps it would be doomed to starve with the fish tail preventing it from ever swallowing again.  Perhaps it would digest the head and swallow the rest later, much as a King Snake does when it eats another snake too long to swallow.  Then, with one energetic thrust of its head the bird raised its beak skyward, opened wide, and engulfed the last of the fish.

            As I strolled back to my truck, I imagined the bird, resting and digesting.  Perhaps it would remain immobile for a few hours, much like the guests at a Thanksgiving dinner.


 

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