Shorebirds: The best show of the summer

When Linda and I were first married, we, of course, asked each other the necessary questions:

What is your favorite color? Blue.

Who is your favorite singer? Joni Mitchell.

What is your favorite season? Winter.

“Isn’t it summer?” he asked, not believing me. “I hate summer,” I answered. “The heat, the humidity, the mosquitoes…”

But that was then, before moving to coastal-rich South Jersey.

Growing up in North Jersey, I discovered that the heat of summer cooks the song from the syrinx of woodland birds in mid-June, and that walking through toasted summer woods is made all the more oppressive by that silence. Oh, of course, every once in a while an American Crow crows or a squadron of Blue Jays makes an air ring with brayed insults levied at whatever happens to the afflicted jays at the moment. Usually, it’s just an odd crooked branch or an empty cavity where a screech-owl used to be. But mostly what I heard on the hot summer walk was a silence that added layer upon layer of insult to the sultry, sun-drenched air.

Even the Brickyard Ponds a quarter-mile from the house offered no relief from summer woes. Canada Geese have yet to establish, and the steep cut banks offer no shallows for Great Blue or Green Herons to forage. So, on the hottest days, I just stay indoors and read books, counting the days until the fall migrants enliven my woods with movement, if not song.

Then I moved to Cape May and a whole new world of wonder and excitement. Summer means shorebirds. Failed breeders arrive in late June, successful breeders flood the marshes in July, and juveniles appear in August and September.

Until Cape May, my experience with shorebirds was limited to three species: Spotted and Solitary Sandpipers, which appeared in May, and the Killdeer that tried every spring to nest somewhere near home plate on our school’s baseball field. But Cape May in the summer of 1976 was a summer of discovery. The South Cape May Meadows and Bunker Pond are my windows into an exciting new chapter in birding: shorebirding. Every day found more and different arrivals and ample opportunities for learning.

Greater and Lesser Yellowlegs, side by side, surrounded by Short-billed Dowitchers. It was there that I first noticed the different feeding behaviors that characterize birds at any distance. Greater Yellowlegs are loners that charge around poking around in the water. Lesser Yellowlegs are choosy and more social. Dowitchers cluster and probe with a regular metronome. Stilt Sandpipers plow through the water with quick jabs and (usually) submerged heads. Solitary Sandpipers move through the shallows, with Spotted Sandpipers running along the shoreline.

Peeps? Yes, many. They are more challenging than the larger shorebirds, but even without a spotting scope, it is clear that the Least Sandpipers are relegated to the drier side of the pond and that the Semipalmated Sandpipers like to keep their feet wet. Western Sandpipers? Some, including most adults in heavy molt. Sanderling, Red Knot, and Semipalmated Plover? These species prefer sandy beaches, and the Western Sandpiper sometimes joins them.

Best of all are the members of the grassland guild. The South Cape May Meadows were actually a meadow in those days, the grasses being closely mowed by Les Rae’s greedy cattle. Upland Sandpipers are a daily occurrence. The American Golden-Plover is a rare treat. In August, small flocks of Buff-breasted Sandpiper roost for a day or two. Looking like a golden-brown crop-tailed dove, the beautiful birds allowed a close approach, which they could not do in the terrible days of market hunting when hundreds of thousands of Buff-breasted were slaughtered on the prairies. in the spring, packed in brine-filled barrels. , and shipped to eastern markets.

Early accounts record an abundance of Buff-breasteds. But bountiful or not, annual market hunting has decimated the bird’s range in the north. The Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918 came just in time to save the Buff-breasted and golden-plover from extinction but, sadly, not the Eskimo Curlew. Today, the only curlew that visits Cape May is the Whimbrel, whose flocks begin the fall shorebird season in late July.

Godwits, phalaropes, greenheads

Godwits? Both Marbled and Hudsonian are rare and a special treat. Hudsonian migrates in V-shaped flocks well offshore in early September. Once in a strong easterly wind, I saw a flock whose identification could only be obtained by using a spotting scope.

Phalaropes? Wilson’s is unusual but regular. Red necks are rare. Red? You’ll need a pure heart and a lot of luck, but one year, a well-oiled woman spent the summer in the Meadows. Not too many years ago, I saw a streak-backed phalarope flying over Bunker Pond and shouted to everyone assembled for hawk watch: “Red-necked Phalarope coming in.” Fortunately, or maybe not, Tom Johnson had the presence of mind to photograph the bird as it passed and presented me with a crisp, clear viewscreen image of a juvenile Red Phalarope. Oh, well. I guess I’m still studying shorebirds.

As for summer. I liked it even more because I discovered shorebirds. The New Jersey heat is still oppressive and humidly stifling, but instead of mosquitoes, I now have to contend with the evil greenhead fly, top predator of the coastal marshes. When deer flies bite, you say “ow,” but when greenheads get their fangs on you, you use expletives.

It’s just stupid to wear shorts here in the summer. And greenheads are known for sniping through new denim.

Shorebirds get a taste, but for birders-in-the-know, they’re the best show in town in the summer. But you don’t have to travel to the New Jersey shore to sample the southern passage of migrating shorebirds. Autumn migration is continent-wide. From late June to September, any reservoir hit by drought will draw coastal migrants. The morning after the passage of a cold front is best. Wastewater treatment facilities also attract migrants, as do sod farms and recently mowed fields. Spotting scopes are close to necessary, and The Shorebird Guide by Michael O’Brien, et al., will help you organize the players, although I found the plates in Sibley’s Guide to Birds very useful, too.

I still hate the summer heat, but since I discovered shorebirds, I no longer have an excuse to sit indoors under the AC and wait for fall to move. Of course, if you live near a national wildlife refuge, you can drive the auto loop and have shorebirds and AC too. Keep the car cool, and you can roll down the windows and freeze the hearts out of half a hundred greenheads.

Shorebird distribution is often governed by prey abundance. They went to where the small invertebrates were breeding and calibrated the water level by leg and bill length. At high tide, the birds seek higher ground; at low tide, they go out to look for food.

Probably the best thing about shorebirds are the times they keep. All day, every day as long as the migration lasts. Watch for hunting falcons and harriers to guide you to a concentration. When the hawks roam, the shorebirds soar into the sky, often gathering in tight flocks, and appearing like puffs of smoke on the horizon, a smoke signal to keen eyes that says: hunting here. Look below the herd. Many falcons use what is called a “ringing up” maneuver. Shorebirds are forced to climb higher and higher until a weak member of the flock breaks ranks, and predator and prey become one.

This article was published in the “Birder at Large” column in the July/August 2022 issue of BirdWatching magazine.

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