Lillian on the Hawk Deck with Mom by Josh Haas

A short, 6 hour drive from home and we make the trek to Whitefish Pt. each spring to enjoy the splendor. Counting in the fall for the Detroit River Hawkwatch, this yearly weekend is my way of getting my Hawkwatch fix after being away from it for months. This would be the first year for baby Lillian and also her first real trip. She was an angel and even found herself on the deck one day, although she was asleep! The weekend was oddly warm in the UP and completely void of clouds, which makes Hawk-watching tough. Many birds are almost stratospheric and stream by undetected but for the ones at lower altitudes, making the 17.5-mile journey across to Canada from the point is no easy feat. While many migrating songbirds will cross huge spans of water, Raptors don’t prefer it. As long as the winds are right and the birds have some guts, they’ll go for it. For some, however, this takes some time.

Juvenile, Red-Shouldered Hawk by Josh Haas

While watching the movement of Raptors, it’s especially important to look for distinguishing characteristics in individuals to keep track of them. Many of the birds (especially juveniles) will start the trip across only to turn around and return to the point. This can go on all day, which begs the question: “How do counters keep from counting these birds multiple times?” Every Hawkwatch has a counting protocol specific to the site. The protocol takes into account such activities to keep the data consistent from year to year. For Whitefish Pt., one example of protocol is with Buteos (ex. Red-tailed Hawk, Rough-legged Hawk, etc.) They are tallied at the end of the day as the greatest number seen in a given hour. For more information on possible Hawkwatch sites near you, check out www.hawkcount.org.

Dark Morph, Red-tailed Hawk by Josh Haas

Red Admiral © Kent McFarland

If you live in eastern North America, it would be surprising if you had not noticed an invasion of butterflies this spring. For us in the upper Midwest, it was most notable after strong south winds in mid-April, when one weekend saw a tremendous influx of Red Admirals. While this species often prefers to feed on sap or rotten fruit, dozens gathered on blossoms of flowering crabapples, Eastern Redbuds, and other trees which were blooming earlier than usual due to the very warm weather we had in March. Many hundreds of Red Admirals also passed overhead, speeding north.

Red Admirals tend to stage these large northbound movements every so often. While we had seen some years with big numbers, this year has been unprecedented. One factor believed to trigger these movements is high overwinter survivorship. Like many other butterfly species, Red Admirals overwinter as adults; this occurs in the southern states in North America. Mild winters like the last one favor many adults making it through until spring.

Red Admiral, caterpillar © Leroy Simon, David Liebman

Red Admiral larvae feed on nettles. I have only found them on stinging nettles and consider their hosting Red Admiral larvae as one of their only redeeming values! I’ve recently found the tell-tale rolled up nettle leaves that indicate a small Red Admiral caterpillar is sheltered inside. A fresh generation will soon be on the wing.

Two close relatives, the Painted Lady and American Lady, have also staged good movements this year. We saw a few in April, but by mid-May we were beginning to see them much more frequently. Finally, our mild winter also meant good survivorship for local species that overwinter as adults, in particular Question Marks and Commas.

At a time when I often lament the dwindling abundance of common species, especially in the urban areas where I live and work, the super-saturation of butterflies this year has simply been a joy to behold.

Red Admiral © Rick Cech

Mahogany Seed by Jungle Pete

When the fruit fell from the tree it clanged on the hood of the car with the force of a well hit baseball. It rolled off the grill, falling to the pavement with the sound of the crack of a bat. The rock hard exterior of the fruit had cleaved into four neat quarters, each maintaining a slim connection to the adjacent quarter. Inside, several dozen reddish-brown, winged seeds had separated from the core, while a few had been ejected upon impact. Today, this is a commonplace occurrence in department store and grocery store parking lots of South Florida where the West Indian Mahogany (Swietenia mahagon) has been planted.

The long sought-after hardwood is native to many islands in the Caribbean as well as extreme South Florida. Over harvesting has reduced the range and abundance of this tropical species, which most likely found its way to Florida millennia ago on the winds or waves churned up by tropical storms or hurricanes.

Shoppers might find it hard to believe the seemingly ubiquitous tree that has been planted prolifically is recognized as a threatened species. Most wild specimens are found on the hardwood hammocks (aka tree islands) of the Everglades. Mahogany can grow to fifty feet in height with a sixty foot spread. It’s an excellent shade tree and as landscapers recognize the importance of using native species, the mahogany is found more and more in urban areas.

The adage “never park beneath a coconut tree”, which is understandably a useless sentiment for most of North America, should apply to the West Indian Mahogany as well. The problem though, is the popularity of this species in parking lots and the inability of most people to identify it. The main telltale clue is the brown mahogany fruit growing upright on a tufted stalk. At this time of the year, a good sized tree could have fifty or more. They don’t all fall at once. Some ripen, split and expel their seeds while still attached to the tree. But the rest? Bombs away.

Horned Lark © 2012 Sheri L. Williamson

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert-
That from Heaven or near it
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

–Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ode to a Skylark

Though it doesn’t share the soul-stirring, poet-inspiring vocal talent of it’s famous cousin, there’s much to love about the Horned Lark. That face, for example. The upswept tufts of black feathers worn by adult males combined with the striking face pattern are worthy of a superhero or luchador.

Our only native American Lark brightens up farm fields, pastures, and golf courses as well as prairies, deserts, and alpine and arctic tundra. It’s one of the world’s most widespread and adaptable songbirds, with various subspecies nesting from northern Canada and Alaska southward to tropical Mexico and across northern Europe and Asia (where it’s known as the Shore Lark).

This dapper songster sings in flight, a behavior shared not only by the Sky Lark of Europe and Asia but by a few other North American songbirds. If you guessed the Lark Bunting and Lark Sparrow are two of these, you’d be right, but the dun-colored Cassin’s Sparrow of the southwestern grasslands also delivers its trilling song from high in the sky.

-Sheri Williamson

Yellow-headed Blackbird by Tom Wood

Sometimes it can be challenging to identify a bird over the phone, but this was an easy one. The caller described a “black bird with a yellow head”. “That’s a Yellow-headed Blackbird!” I explained. There was silence on the other end of the line. I think the caller thought he had reached the biggest smart-alec in Arizona. “No, really. That’s what they are called.” I wish all bird names were so descriptive. As if the name Yellow-headed Blackbird were not obvious enough, the scientific name, Xanthocephalus xanthocephalus , literally means “yellow head yellow head”.

Actually, it’s a good thing this blackbird has such a striking field mark. If the head were not so bright or the wing patches so distinctive, the bird might have been named after another subtle field mark seldom mentioned. The bright yellow cheerio of color around the vent could have given us a truly tasteless common name.

Checklists and field guides remind us that taxonomically orioles and blackbirds are closely related, but the Yellow-headed Blackbird truly shows that affinity. You never, however, see flocks of thousands of orioles wheeling overhead and settling into a marsh. A raucous flock of Yellow-headed Blackbirds are nowhere near as melodious as an oriole or even their red-winged brethren. Here in southern Arizona we only see Yellow-headed Blackbirds in the winter, often in the same marsh where we watch Sandhill Cranes. We’ve seen bare trees so full of Yellow–headed Blackbirds they looked like lemon trees. We’ve also often seen them in the San Luis Valley of southwestern Colorado, at the Monte Vista National Wildlife Refuge where they nest in the cattails along the Avocet Trail. The males will mate as many as six or seven females, but will only help tend one nest. They often nest in mixed colonies with Red-winged Blackbirds. In late summer when they arrive in our area, some show only a glimpse of their breeding season glory. But by next spring they will be unmistakably a “Yellow-headed Blackbird”.

-Tom Wood

Lewis Monkeyflower or Pink Monkeyflower by Lisa Densmore

Location: Sylvan Lake, Montana

I was looking through some photos from a hike I did two summers ago to Sylvan Lake, a remote mountain tarn in the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness. It was a 5-mile hike to the lake where I caught my first Golden Trout. The journey proved as colorful as the goal. The entire mountainside was abloom with wildflowers. It took an extra two hours to get to the lake because of all the photographs I took. One of the showiest trailside species was this Lewis Monkeyflower (Mimulus lewisii).

Also known as a Pink Monkeyflower or a Great Purple Monkeyflower, these vibrant perennials common to mountainous wetlands in the Sierra Nevadas, northern and central Rockies and western Canada were first recorded in 1805 at Lemhi Pass, Montana during the famed Lewis and Clark expedition. Meriwether Lewis did not name the plant. It was named after him about 10 years later by Frederick Pursh, the botanist who identified most of the plant species the expedition discovered.

I’ve always found this flower’s name, monkeyflower, to be curious considering there are no monkeys in North America. It’s Latin genus, “Mimulus”, comes from its five petals which resemble the lips of a grinning mime. Its common name, “monkeyflower”, may be because Lewis or Pursh though it looked like the smiling lips of a monkey.

Of the 100 plus species of monkeyflowers, 70% are native to California and are either tender annuals or bright yellow. Lewis Monkeyflowers are easy to recognize due to their large pink blooms that come back year after year.

I’ve since come across Lewis Monkeyflowers on backcountry camping trips in Montana’s Crazy Mountains and in Banff National Park. They are among my favorite wildflowers. Though it’s barely the first week of spring, I’m looking forward to this summer and seeing more of these lovely blooms when hiking near backcountry lakes and streams. Do you have a particular wildflower that you can’t wait to see?

Osprey Nest Platform by Josh Haas

Last year, our local area was lucky enough to have an Osprey pair take residence atop a power pole along the Kalamazoo River. For those not familiar with the Kalamazoo River, in 2010 we had a major oil spill in the river that is obviously still grabbing attention all over the area. To have Osprey continue nesting along the river even after that horrible situation is pretty inspiring and can also attest to the clean-up efforts thus far.

Ospreys have definitely made their comeback along with Bald Eagles, but they tend to be a bit more picky when it comes to nesting. A few weeks back a friend of mine approached me to help him do some video work for an up-coming documentary he’s working on (When Hope Hatches, http://whenhopehatches.blogspot.com/). This documentary will tell the story of the Osprey pair and also bring awareness to viewers of the importance the Kalamazoo River plays on local ecosystems. A major step in the process of this film was to document the erection of a new platform as the old power pole was being taken down. This would be all about preparing for the return.

Osprey by Josh Haas

The process began with capturing the current pole being torn down. This had us a bit worried given the unknown of whether returning Osprey would use the new platform or not. Knowing the current pole had to come down, there was nowhere to go but forward. A couple hundred yards away was a prime location, however, for the new platform. Constructed of cedar, this platform would be roughly 15 feet high with an excellent view of the river and surrounding area. Partnering with the Kalamazoo Nature Center and local volunteers, the platform was pre-built which made erecting it much easier. Once in place, sticks were added and it would then be time to wait.

Osprey by Josh Haas

On April 4th, the wait was finally over as the cellular nest camera started sending photos that included Osprey on the platform. While it’s still early, we are all extremely excited about the outlook. Not only does it look like the Osprey may indeed use this platform, it looks good for the documentary to continue moving forward. I will continue to share blogs regarding how the Osprey are doing as well as links to view photos/videos throughout the season. In the meantime, if anyone is interested in donating to make the documentary happen, feel free to contact Matt Clysdale (www.mattclysdale.com).

White Pelicans by Jungle Pete

What do James Joule, Daniel Fahrenheit, Charles Richter, Heinrich Hertz, Isaac Newton, Georg Ohm, James Watt, Allessandro Volta and Shaquille O’Neal have in common? They all have units of measure named after them.

When the largest Burmese Python (Python molurus bivittatus) ever found in the Everglades was discovered, the Washington Post described the 17 1/2 foot exotic beast as “more than twice as long as former basketball player Shaquille O’Neal is tall.” Technically Shaq stands 7” 1’ – so really the snake would be 2.5 “Shaqs” long. Naturally I pictured an engorged constrictor with two and half of the fifteen time, NBA All-Star in its belly. Eating a 325 pound Shaq might be a stretch, although another Python was captured recently that had consumed a 76 pound White-tailed Deer.

The American White Pelican (Pelecanus erythrorhynchos) stands an impressive .60 Shaqs (5 feet) tall but more incredibly has a 1.25 Shaq (9 foot) wingspan. That’s the second largest wingspan of any bird in North America. Only the 1.4 Shaq (10 foot) California Condor has a greater wingspan.

Most of the White Pelicans are heading out of Florida. They’ve spent the last few months feeding along the coast in a manner entirely different than their Brown Pelican (Pelecanus occidentalis) cousins who dive for their food. White Pelicans work in groups on the surface of the water and round up fish in the shallows. When the fish are trapped, they dunk their bills into the water and scoop up their prey.

Brown Pelican adult, breeding, Eastern © Arthur Morris/VIREO

As we progress through spring, developing thermal updrafts allow for the pelicans to migrate en masse to their breeding grounds in the mid-western United States and central portions of Canada. Their massive wingspan allows them to rise quickly in the thermal column and soar for long distances at high altitudes. Flocks of hundreds can be spotted travelling together at this time of the year

Who’s to say if this unit of measure will stick? Consider the measure of a man is not by his free throw percentage but how he stacks up next to enormous snakes and gigantic birds.

Ring-billed Gull adult, breeding © Arthur Morris/VIREO

My research focuses on how birds use urban natural areas, especially during fall migration. One aspect is whether or not they eat the non-native fruits that are so prevalent in disturbed urban areas (they do) and if they can gain mass on this diet (they can). Fruit is designed to be appealing to consumers so the plant’s seeds are dispersed. Birds, of course, are important fruit consumers and seed dispersers, distributing seeds through their droppings.

In North America, songbirds like thrushes and their relatives are some of the main fruit eaters in fall. Although they can be pretty omnivorous, gulls seem much less likely candidates to eat fruit. But one day my husband observed a common urban species, the Ring-billed Gull (Larus delawarensis), picking up and eating the fallen fruit of a Callery pear (Pyrus calleryana) in a parking lot. This tree is from China, and some of the original cultivars offered for sale had sterile fruit. Now non-sterile forms are being sold, and they and their hybrids produce large crops of viable fruit. Callery pears are now considered invasive in many areas.

As it turns out, quite a few people have noted Ring-billed Gulls (and a number of other gull species) eating fruit. Many accounts noted the gulls actually plucked fruit from trees so long as they were able to hover near branches or snatch exposed fruit during a fly-by. Russian olives (Elaeagnus augustifolia) – another non-native invasive species – were mentioned more than once in literature I reviewed, as were fruits from date and Sabal Palms. Crabapples, persimmons, mountain ash, olives, and cherries were just some of the other fruit mentioned.

Since gulls are highly mobile, they can be long-distance dispersers of seeds. Very little research has been done on the topic, but a few studies suggest gulls are important dispersers of seeds in coastal habitats and especially on islands.

Callery pears have marble-sized fruit, so I usually only see larger birds like starlings and robins eating them. These species are also most likely to brave the generally open and busy areas where the pears tend to be planted around here: along streets, in parking lot islands, or peppering corporate, municipal, or retail campuses. Gulls also favor many of these urban “habitats.” Seems like that makes Pyrus calleryana and gulls a good pair.

Weeping Willow © Kent McFarland

As Fats Domino used to say: “The wind in the willows plays a sweet melody.” But their service to mankind is much more than musical. They provide crossword puzzlers with an easy answer. Every couple of weeks you’ll find the clue “willow” in a newspaper puzzle; if you don’t know the answer by now (osier), you are not paying enough attention to NY Times crosswords.

You probably also know that Acetylsalicylic acid, i.e., aspirin, comes from Salicin in willow bark. So, the next time you get a headache, give thanks to the willow.

Willows are also great for kids. The poet Robert Frost may have been a “swinger of birches”, but I was bouncer of willows when I was young. Because their limbs are close to the ground, they’re easy to climb onto. And the limbs are, well, limber rather than stiff; the bottom limb of a huge willow near my house was as close to a trampoline as I got at age ten.

I even convinced my dad to plant one in our backyard when we moved. But the shallow roots grew faster than the actual tree. When they spread under our fence and attacked the new swimming pool next-door, the tree was doomed. Our grumpy neighbor poisoned it.

Because they are so fast growing, willows (there are over 400 varieties!) are more beneficial than my neighbor and I imagined. They “sequester” carbon (especially when young), absorb nitrogen, soak up wastewater, and they can purify polluted soils by taking up heavy metals (a process called phyto-remediation, in case you ever get that as a crossword word). They’re as voracious and omnivorous as teenagers.

With their domed structure, their silvery bark, dangling branches and slender leaves, willows are beautiful summer trees. In springtime it’s a different matter. Their dangling, fragile flower clusters (“aments” – another good crossword word) fall to the ground on the easiest breeze. They make yard clean up an extended chore. Every May I remember why I like to look at them in other people’s yards. They’re beautiful, valuable nuisances.