Parula and cuckoo
The Breeding Bird Survey was exciting this year. For one thing, I got a life bird.
The weather was unusual. Rain was falling when I got out of bed at 3:55 a.m. If it had kept up I would have had to postpone the run until this morning, cancelling other plans. Birds don't mind a little wet, but we're not allowed to conduct the survey in steady rain. Fortunately it let up, and I only had to contend with sporadic drizzle. The temperature was unusually warm. June nights in cottage country usually drop below 10°C, but it was 20° at 4:56 a.m. when I started the route, and 23° when I finished at 9:40.
I won't know for certain until I've processed the data, but it looks like I counted 54 bird species, my second highest in seven years of surveying (In 2002 I had 55). The number isn't important, but more birds is more fun.
The most exciting part was hearing two species I've never counted on the route before: northern parula, and black-billed cuckoo. In fact the parula (a kind of warbler) was a life bird for me. For non-bird-nerds, that means a new species I've never observed before, so I can add it to my life list. The frustrating part was not being able to see it. We only get three minutes per site, and have to finish 50 sites in four or five hours, so I couldn't go rummaging through the woods in hope of glimpsing the pretty, tiny songster. But the song is distinctive and I recognized it immediately, so was satisfied in knowing my hours of study had paid off. We used to hear and see the cuckoo around our house at Poplar Bluff during spring migration, but I've never heard it in cottage country, so this is the first time I've encountered it on its breeding grounds.
The other species of note was an American bittern, which is probably common along the route, but I only hear it occasionally. Everyone should enjoy experiencing this bird call across a quiet pond in the glow before dawn. It must be one of nature's weirdest sounds. Think of the rudest noise you can possibly make using your mucus membranes. I've been lucky enough to see one performing, which it seems to do by flipping the loose skin under its long bill.
Being out early in the morning, I frequently get good wildlife sightings while conducting the survey (the birds are mostly impossible to see, so identification is done by ear). The star of this year's show was a small, disoriented beaver. I got out of the car and followed him down the road to take this photo. It's probably the closest I'll ever get to a wild one. They're shy, and typically keep their eyes on a quick escape route to water, but he didn't seem to know where he was going. He looked about the same weight as an average house cat, and was probably only a yearling. I shooed him off the road.
