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Princess Point, Hamilton. ON. February 4, 2024.  A bright crisp Sunday morning gets the winter weary out and I was no exception. I decided to walk a stretch of harbour-side trail as much for the exercise as the chance of an interesting bird. It was barely a degree above freezing and where there was shade there was the risk of an icy slip and fall. I stayed upright the whole time.

It’s an interesting stretch of urban waterfront known to produce surprise birds now and then. I always hold out hope of a remarkable discovery, but not today although several Hooded Mergansers and a couple of male Gadwalls held my sustained attention.

The male Hooded Mergansers (above with a female) have an almost soldierly look as if dressed for a parade,  in contrast to the more funereal plumage of the Gadwall.  Here’s a photo showing the Gadwall’s coal-black butt, pale gold highlights across the back and fine wiggly lines detailing his breast and flanks.

Other than those two nice ducks, it would not have been a particularly noteworthy bird walk had it not been for the fleeting appearance of this Northern Mockingbird.  It buried itself deep in a thicket and disappeared into the denseness, I was afraid that my first glimpse was all I was going to get, but then it popped up, paused, and posed for a while, long enough to allow me a couple of photos. This is one.

Southern Ontario is at the northern limit of the Mockingbirds’ extensive range throughout the lower 48 United States. For us it is uncommon except in a few spots where they seem to have a toe-hold; this urban waterfront trail is one of those places. Members of this small outlier colony are not totally unexpected and are more often heard than seen; today I got the visual.  It was My Bird of the Day icing on the cake this morning.

Hendrie Valley, Burlington. ON. January 29, 2024.  I think a hint of spring is the best and most precious commodity possible in January; it doesn’t have to be much. This mid-winter has been gloomy and wet, unseasonable; not steely bright-white and cold as Ontario Januarys have always been, or should be. Today delivered sunshine and a puff of warmer air, and as I left the house I could hear bird song – of a sort.

I had a chunk of time in hand before a meeting, so decided to walk a circuit around the valley.  Bird-wise there was nothing unusual, nor should there be. It was a classic list of species-that-stay, including Carolina Wren, Black-capped Chickadees, White-breasted Nuthatches, Dark-eyed Juncos, Mallards and Blue Jays.

More Blue Jays than I would have expected, and they set me wondering:  were they all just winter locals of the wider area who happened to be in the valley today; perhaps just a band of wanderers; could they be early spring returnees; or are they a sign of climate changes and didn’t feel the need to go further south?

Notwithstanding the un-remarkableness of today’s birds, I think My Bird of the Day was an American Tree Sparrow, just one, and just a glimpse. Ten years ago, they were common winter visitors from much further north. It’s a pretty little sparrow, to look at they’re much like summer’s Chipping Sparrow and the coming and going, switching places by the two species seems almost coordinated, like a shift change.

Goodness knows we are aware of changes in the presence and absence of species over time. Carolina Wren and Turkey Vulture are both common now, though uncommon 40 years ago.  Red-shouldered Hawk was once a frequent spring migrant passing-through, but no longer.  And we’ve watched the virtual disappearance of Red-headed Woodpecker while Red-bellied Woodpeckers moved in in droves, almost as if to replace them. I’m sure populations and distributions have always ebbed and flowed, and this is not intended as a treatise on bird population changes wrought by climate change; a topic far too big.

Here’s a photo of my best bird, an  American Tree Sparrow from 2016.

Dundas, ON. January 25. 2024.  There was nothing winter-inspirational about today’s weather forecast. A lot of ‘Near zero visibility in fog’ and ‘Dense fog patches’.  Better than some of the stuff January can throw around I suppose.

As I drove to a class this afternoon, I made a mental note to see just what birds are about – or even visible.  I wasn’t expecting much of course.  An American Crow probing busily for something in the roadside detritus, a trio of sleepy Canada Geese and scores of Rock Pigeons strung along utility lines just about summed it up.  An individual Rock Pigeon, regarded closely with an eye for appreciation, can be a rather gorgeous creature, but by the hundredweight they’re really just pigeons.

When I reached my destination and having paid for parking with a phone-app, (What an advance that is! If ever there is/was a barrier between provider and customer, it is the wretched pay-for-parking machine.) and as I made my way to class, I watched a Turkey Vulture slide out of the fog and settle on a nearby parapet wall.  This iPhone photo is the best I could manage.

A January Turkey Vulture in southern Ontario is notable, at least it was but, as part of the inexorable expansion of the Turkey Vulture range and the marked shift in our winter weather from much bone-numbing cold to ‘Dense fog patches’, these birds have managed to establish a winter toe-hold.  My Bird of the Day, a bit of a surprise but not entirely unexpected.

(p.s. Frustrating setbacks by technology mandarins and a few personal priority shifts had put My Bird of the Day on ice for a while. I think I’m refreshed.)

Hendrie Valley, Burlington. ON. September 1 2023.   Today marked the start of another two months of counting birds.  Our small team has been doing this for nine years: our task is to accumulate consistently gathered data suitable, we hope, for analysis or research on bird populations. We cover four defined transect routes, all on the properties of Canada’s Royal Botanical Gardens, all on untended natural lands, and each transect is distinct in its own mix of habitats.  On a transect, our small team of competent birders will record all birds seen and heard. Today’s transect took me along a narrow, flat-bottomed valley with forested sides. The valley holds four shallow ponds, a modest creek and a few hiking trails. I call it simply ‘the valley’ in these posts.  To see where it is, on Google Maps type: 74WG+GG Burlington, Ontario

It was a Blue Jay morning in the valley today.  The air was full of them and their calls, shrieks and mutterings, and they were flying across and around the valley, catching-up, socializing and congregating, I suspect in readiness for moving south. Whether they’ll move on tomorrow, next week or next month I don’t know.  I suspect they’ll wander around for a while being under no urgent pressure to move.  Food is plentiful and they’ll eat anything, animal or vegetable, something that made them unwelcome around nests with young, or anything smaller than themselves a bit earlier this year.

Still, Blue Jays are beautiful birds and I was pleased the share the morning with them.

Better though, and more driven migrants was a small group of Magnolia Warblers. Life for them was about more than socializing, it was about feeding, urgently refuelling for the long journey ahead to Central America.  I watched them foraging through the thick branches of trailside trees. They don’t sit still for many moments so I was lucky to get the photo above of one which, by the almost non-existent spotting on the flanks, I believe to be a first fall female.

This, in contrast, is a spring male.

The Magnolia Warblers were in the company of a couple of Red–eyed Vireos and Great–crested Flycatchers, all doing the same thing, fattening up and moving along.

This first-of-the-season two-hour transect ended up with 29 species. Not bad, but there will be some much busier days ahead.  I’m happy though with Blue Jays and Magnolia Warblers as My Birds of the Day.

Hendrie Valley, Burlington. ON. August 27 2023.   When I immigrated to Canada several decades ago I was thrilled to see an Osprey – a lifer. I have no recollection of exactly when or where, but it was a near-impossible, undreamt-of sighting for me.  Throughout my British growing-up, Ospreys were absent and wrapped in vague mythology that had much to do with Britain’s centuries old land-ownership system.

Osprey is the only raptor that plunge-dives to catch live fish as its main food source. In the U.K in the 19^th and early 20^th centuries, its highly successful catching technique put Ospreys squarely in conflict with British land-owners unable to tolerate the idea that ‘their’ salmon was being fished by someone else. So, they shot them and destroyed their nests, or at least instructed their gamekeepers to do so. And then Ospreys were extirpated, all gone.

That is yesterday’s Osprey persecution story, and I wonder whether the battle really was fought over salmon, surely the rivers and estuaries held other less exclusive species. Perhaps the Osprey was never particularly abundant in the British Isles. In any event they were gone.

Then, sometime in the mid-1950s, a pair of Ospreys showed up to nest in Scotland. It caused quite a welcoming fuss, attitudes towards wildlife had changed and the Ospreys were back. Even so, these returning Ospreys were inaccessible to ordinary folks: the nest was on private land and somewhat remote, also it was closely guarded, protected from many still-active egg-collectors. Nevertheless, it was a very good news story and there are now some 250 Osprey pairs breeding in the U.K.

Today’s Osprey persecution story touches on wireless technology; wouldn’t you know it.  Ospreys build a large platform nest on high vantage points, places like commanding tree-tops and telecommunication towers. Service personnel dislike their workspaces being cluttered with fishy remains and other ejecta that accompanies with child-rearing, so owners of those towers recently started installing ingenious Osprey exclusion devices. The devices work well and Ospreys have been persuaded to leave the once productive and fishy hunting ground around here.  I miss them, and that takes me to today’s Bird of the Day.

Walking the valley this morning with everything wet and recovering from a heavy overnight thunderstorm it seemed there were few birds anywhere.  It was the sort of silence characteristic of the late summer pause when it’s time for fuelling up while food is abundant. Dodging slippery puddles, I glanced up and was very pleased to spot this Osprey. Maybe a pair has found somewhere to raise their young despite the best efforts of the guardians of technology.  My Bird of the Day.