Rich Peet and I headed north to see what we could see, (or hear), as we were out to record calls of birds not found around the cities. Duluth was our destination until we found winds from the south and the harbor covered in deep fog. We zipped right up to Stony Point, where there were only a few birds passing overhead. A few Lapland Longspurs and 3 American Pipits came over. American Robins were ubiquitous this day wherever we went, flocking and fighting, mostly males. A small male Richardson's Merlin stalled its flight to drop between us and the truck in front of us, its blue back clearly seen. It dropped its legs and looked like a Kestrel until it got through the traffic, then took off like the dart that is designed to be. We made tracks for Grand Marais, stopping to look for sea ducks, loons and grebes along the way, but not a diver was seen all day. We arrived in Grand Marais around 10 AM. The first thing we see in the many fruit-ladened Mountain Ashes are about 60 male Robins and we heard the harsh grating calls of Bohemian Waxwings. Atop a nearby spruce, two Bohemian Waxwings sat, white striped wings and grey bellies clearly visible in the Leica scope. As we tried to get close to record their calls, they took flight, joined by 14 others from the surrounding low ash trees, and they soon disappeared off to the spruces on the ridge to the south. The consistency of the calls leads me to believe these were at least predominantly Bohemes, but we did find some Cedars around later, so it is difficult to be sure. As we walked towards the breakwater, we flushed a flock of 14 Snow Buntings. They alighted on some concrete block stacks and we were able to watch them and record them from about 25 feet for about a half hour. With the Leica's 32x eyepiece, I was able to watch them feed and walk slowly toward us, flushing from about 15 feet. I counted 5 males and 9 females. The beak has a needle point on the top mandible , dark, contrasting to the rest of the pinkish tan beak. The black forehead of the female is a stippling since it is only the feather tips, looks like a smudge and doesn't go as far back on the head as most pictures show. The legs on the bird seem large in comparison to sparrows. I have always marveled at how their calls carry on the wind. The tone shifts and modulates, giving the impression wind effects muffle it and move it. There was no wind at this point and we were a scant 20 feet away. The calls still had that windblown-open tundra-CBC-20-below-zero quality to them. It must be like conch shells still sounding of the sea, you can't take the tundra out of the bird, I guess. I walked to the stone shoreline and came across the boardwalk bridge to get the birds to flush towards Rich for recording purposes. They flew in a loose flock, fluttering slowly within 10 feet of him. They were making their normal clear "tundra chortles", plus another call I find difficult to describe. It was rather like the rapidly ascending buzz of a siskin, but only a short burst of a quarter second. Almost like a spring recoiling in a cartoon. I couldn't tell what birds made the call, male or female, but clearly only a couple of these calls were given from the 14 birds flying. There is always more to know, more to look for, more to listen for, with every bird, all the time. I am thankful for birding with Rich when he records, it slows me down so I can watch the birds, watch them interact with each other and their environment. I am thankful for birding with youths or children, for letting me share their joy and see the birds as they see them. My advice is slow down, actually watch the birds. I know I need to do more of it. Good birding.
Mark Alt Brooklyn Center, MN [email protected] "Birds and their songs are important to me, they add to my enjoyment of life"=20
