Enjoying birds even if I don't know what kind of birds they are

Birds come, and birds go from our lakeside property.

When a specific species arrives, it might stay for several days, weeks or even months at a time. That’s been the pattern with a variety of herons, sandhill cranes, ospreys, eagles, belted kingfishers, pied-billed grebes and other avian species that frequent bodies of fresh water in Central Florida.

A pair of sandhill cranes have been seasonal regulars to our lakeside property

Lately, I’ve spotted a new “regular” trolling the shallow water and reeds along the shoreline in search of prey. With its white plumage and fairly large size, this most recent visitor has been easy to notice. What hasn’t been so easy, at least for an inexperienced birder like me, is to confidently identify exactly what species of waterbird I’ve been watching.

The bird's white plumage stands out but IDing this new visit hasn't been as obvious

My first thought was that I’d spied a great egret, a white-feathered, yellow-billed, three-foot tall beauty with long black legs and an almost five-foot wingspan. But I wasn’t sure. Although tall, the bird I kept seeing didn’t seem quite tall enough to be a great egret.

In addition to its slightly smaller stature, the bird I was watching didn’t have the right color bill or legs. Its bill was two-toned, neither completely black nor yellow and its stilt-like legs looked like they were greenish-yellow instead of black like a great egret.

Great egret in the sunlight

From time spent at the beach, I knew it wasn’t a snowy egret, another white-plumed wading bird found in our region of the state. Not only do snowy egrets have distinctively colored legs, feet and bills — black legs, black bills and bright yellow feet — they also gravitate more toward saltwater locations than freshwater habitats. I regularly see snowy egrets by the ocean and lagoons in New Smyrna Beach but, I’ve never seen one hunting in our lake during the 25 years we’ve lived in Groveland.

Snowy egrets are a common sight at the beach where they often hang out by fishermen in hope of gaining an easy meal 

Another white feathered bird I confidently eliminated was the cattle egret. Much smaller than the bird I was watching, a cattle egret is a terrestrial feeder inhabiting newly-mown fields, pastureland, roadsides and dry upland areas. In addition to not being a wading bird, cattle egrets also tend to travel in flocks, and this white-feathered visitor to our lake was traveling solo.

Cattle egrets are small white, land birds that congregate in pastureland, lawns and fields 

Because of its two-toned bill and light-colored legs, I disregarded the possibility that the lake’s newest resident was a reddish egret, which, like the snowy egret, has dark black legs and a matching bill. Although its name suggests otherwise, an immature reddish egret goes through a white-plumage stage. However, reddish egrets are primarily saltwater birds, not commonly found on small inland lakes.

Mature reddish egret

So what kind of bird have I been seeing? Feeling stumped, I sought out answers in reference books and online sites. My research led me to the surprising conclusion that the medium-sized white bird I’ve been observing is an immature little blue heron.

My latest avian visitor might well be an immature little blue heron

At slightly under three-feet tall with a 41-inch wingspan, an adult little blue heron has bluish-gray plumage with a red or purple toned head. However, during the first year of its life, immature birds go through a period when their feathers are completely white. Both adults and juvenile birds have greenish-yellow legs and two-toned bills. And, while they can be found frequenting saltwater locations, they are commonly seen in freshwater as well.

Mature little blue heron

When it comes to matters of plants and animals, I like to think of myself as an aware person. I try to pay attention to my surroundings and learn as much as I can about my wildlife companions. But, as much as I’ve learned over the years, I’m wise enough to know how much more there is to discover.

Birds may come, and birds may go from our little tucked away nature preserve, but the one aspect of country life that never changes is my fascination for all things wild, free and independent.

One day after another

Although I never know exactly what to expect when I head out for a row, I always know I’ll encounter something special. On some mornings, I’m struck by a beautiful sunrise, a colorful cloud show or the rising mist over calm water. 

Calm water and serene sky shows await me in the early dawn hours

Other times, the sound of birdsongs fills me with joy. The plaintive call of an Eastern phoebe, the chattery voices of bluebirds or the crass caws of crows sounding the alarm to other birds that a human has invaded their space. 

I think of crows as guard dogs of the avian world, letting me know with their loud cawing when potential threats are present 

 

As I methodically stroke through clear water, I might catch a glimpse of a soft-shelled turtle swimming by or fish guarding its round sandy nest on the lake bottom. Once I looked over the edge of my boat and saw a young alligator, a surprising find in a lake in which gators are seldom seen.

Alligators lose their striped bodies as they mature  

Seeing unexpected wildlife is one of the things I like best about being in my boat in those in-between hours when it’s not quite light yet but neither is it still dark. 

A bobcat sitting by the lake lets me know he's had enough of being watched and photographed 

Some of my most memorable moments during those early morning rows include chancing upon a pair of great horned owls perched in a pine tree near the shoreline, a coyote strutting across a field before disappearing back into the woods and a bobcat sitting calmly by the water’s edge as if it too was enjoying the morning view.

 

From my rowboat, I’ve seen feral hogs nesting in muddy wallows, and bright colored cardinals trying to divert my attention from their own nests in bushy plants. 

I’ve sighted many belted kingfishers, osprey and the occasional bald eagle. 

I’ve observed sandhill cranes, common yellowthroats and palm warblers. Every now and then I notice a raccoon but more often I see their footprints in the soft sand where my boat is launched.

Footprints in the sand by my boat

A few days ago, I was taking yet another early morning row through the still water when I chanced upon a great blue heron, the largest heron in North America, with a six-foot wingspan. The heron was hunting in the shallow reed-filled water along the southern shoreline. It was very misty that morning and, although herons frequently visit our lake, I hadn’t seen one for several months and was not particularly anticipating its presence. The long-legged, grayish-blue-feathered bird probably wasn’t anticipating my presence either. I think we both surprised each other when my boat skimmed along through the mist only a few yards away from where it was hunting.

Hello welcome friend!

Fortunately, the heron stood its ground and I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t startle the bird any more than I already had. I’ve learned over time not to look directly at wildlife. Furtive glances are fine but blatant staring seems to incite nervousness in most wild animals that often leads to lost opportunities of prolonged observation.

With that in mind, I moved slowly, picked up my camera and began taking pictures. With my boat no longer in motion and my eyes looking into the camera instead of staring directly at the bird, the heron overcame its anxiety and continued its steady patrol through the shallow water in search of prey. 

With its long, sharp beak and strong mandibles, a great blue heron is an adept hunter that prey upon frogs, snakes, fish, lizards, moles and small birds. Adaptable to both freshwater and saltwater habitats, it often hunts alone although it tends to gather with others to roost in the evenings. 

"My, what a long beak you have"
"The better to catch me some fish!"

 


Although I didn’t see the heron catch anything during that morning, I have observed such moments in the past.

 

Great blue heron meets snake
Heron wins

This time, however, simply seeing an unexpected bird during my morning row was satisfaction enough. Small person in boat meets large bird in water. A fine way to begin yet another amazing day.

Bath time for the Great Blue Heron

The Great Blue Heron is a regular in our lake.  I see it everyday stalking prey in the shallow water, resting on the mid-lake platform or perched atop a tree along the water edge.

One of the 'regulars' at our lake

About to eat a snake it caught

Resting on the mid-lake platform

Perched atop a lakeside tree

But this evening while I was out for a row, I saw the Great Blue Heron do something I had never seen it do before...Take a bath!

Pretty cool!

It was such a cool moment, I had to make a video.  It's less than two minutes long and a bit wobbly at the end since I was in the rowboat at the time but I think you'll enjoy it.

A Brown Thrasher provided background music as the heron cautiously cooled off in the shallow water.  Most of the splashing begins at 0:50 and again at 1:34.

A brown thrasher's melodious song accompanied the heron's splashes

When bath time was over, the heron moved over to the tiny island where the Sandhill Cranes had their nest.  The heron stayed there for a while, presumably to dry its feathers before settling in for the night on a perch in a nearby tree.

A tiny island with many visitors

To see another large bird bathing, watch my video of a Bald Eagle taking a bath in the lake.

And what did you have for breakfast?

A Simply Extra

I got sidetracked on my way to breakfast this morning when I noticed a flutter of broad dark wings down by the lake.  I grabbed my camera and rushed outside certain of an imminent wildlife encounter.  

Sure enough, that's what I got.  A great blue heron had just caught and was struggling to swallow a thin, black water snake.  Rather than risk scaring the heron, I stayed back and zoomed in so as not to disturb the heron's breakfast even as mine own meal sat cooling on the kitchen table.

Click, click, click went the camera as I watched the large bird lift and turn its head this way and that to better maneuver its meal down its throat.

Lucky me for being in the right spot at the right time.  Lucky bird for scoring such a filling meal.  By the way, my own meal of hot oatmeal was still warm when I finally came back inside and was ready to sit down.  

What a great way to start the day!

Adapting to the ebb and flow of lake life

An alligator takes advantage of an exposed lump of peat in the middle of the lake

Simply Living
July 9, 2012

The daily downpours from tropical storm Debby have given our lake a lift. Water levels that had fallen to near-record lows during months of drought have gradually risen. The change is far from dramatic but it is definitely noticeable.

I do most of my observing either from the front porch or kitchen window. From both places, I can see that the mid-lake isle of peat, which took months to emerge, is once again submerged. New sights catch my eye daily.

Recently when the island of peat was almost completely submerged, I watched an alligator and a great blue heron share the narrow bit of bumpy ground. Although the gator's toothy mouth was slightly ajar, the heron seemed unconcerned. While the leathery reptile lay but a few feet away, the feathery bird paid it no heed, concentrating instead on its own search for food.

A heron and alligator share a barely exposed island without incident

I, on the other hand, anxiously anticipated a dramatic encounter. Grabbing my camera and positioning myself on the shore, I focused my binoculars on the duo and patiently waited.

And waited…and waited. Nothing happened.

The heron caught supper, the gator caught rays and I put my binoculars away to go inside to make my own evening meal.

On another day — this time when the island was exposed — the pair of sandhill cranes that makes our lake their nighttime home landed on the peat island and hung out there for a while.

"I hope they aren't planning to build a nest," I muttered as much to myself as to Ralph. "It's going to rain again and when it does, the island will disappear."

I spoke from experience.

In 2001, a pair of sandhill cranes had raised a family on that same strip of exposed land during a similar drought. Ever since, I hoped the birds would return but only if they timed it right. As was recently proved, the island is hardly a dependable piece of property. A few weeks of precipitation can alter its appearance to the point of disappearance.

Not the most secure place to raise a family.

The cranes must have thought so, too, for although they spent several hours that day poking around, they eventually flew back to their regular roosting place — a slightly larger temporary island at the north end of the lake.

In addition to cranes, alligators and herons, numerous turtles, ibises, crows, tri-colored herons, lesser blue herons, egrets and the occasional osprey have taken advantage of the mid-lake peat island. I had hoped to see otters — they appeared in 2001 — but they have yet to show up or, if they have, I missed them.

An otter eyes a sandhill crane nest in 2001 when drought exposed a mid-lake island of peat

 In the aftermath of Debby's deluge, tufts of green rising above the water line are the only signs of the isle's existence. During the months when the peat island slowly rose, grassy seeds sprouted, grew and ultimately flourished. The waterweeds don't seem to mind the land's submerged state. Neither do the wildlife. Alligators, birds and turtles continue to flock to the soggy platform, wading through the shallow water to explore, hunt or absorb the sun's rays.

When I was new to Florida, extreme weather conditions caused me to worry. I fretted over high water flooding and became anxious when drought caused drastic reductions in the water level. But two decades of lakeside living have provided perspective. I've come to understand and appreciate the ebb and flow of lake life. Rather than stress over nature, I've learned to relax and accept the moment.

Great blue heron wins war of nerves with osprey

Although a Great Blue Heron is a large but delicate-looking bird, it can hold its own against powerful raptors like ospreys

Simply Living
(First appeared in Orlando Sentinel October 17, 2010)

Which is the more dominant bird — the great blue heron or the osprey?

If you had asked me that question last week, my answer would have been "osprey." I would have been wrong. Here's what happened to change my mind.

I was standing outside enjoying the view. The lake was calm. Most of the morning mist had disappeared, and the osprey that spends nights perched 6 feet above the water on the bamboo platform had flown off to do whatever it is ospreys do early in the morning.

In its absence, a great blue heron that had been quietly fishing in the shallows flew up to the platform. The heron, a tall, slender bird with long legs and a sharp beak, was using the perch to do a bit of preening. From my shoreline observation post, I was thinking about how quickly the heron commandeered the platform once the osprey departed. The heron must have been waiting for the fish hawk to fly off so it could take its place.

While those thoughts filtered through my still-sleepy mind, the osprey returned. The first indication of an impending confrontation came with the osprey's high-pitched, piercing whistle.

"Kew-kew-kew," the broad-winged bird cried as it approached the platform in a low, swooping flight. Once I realized what was happening, I expected the heron to retreat. Instead, it stood firm. As the fish hawk dived down, the heron stretched up, its sharp beak pointed defiantly toward the oncoming assault.

The heron's steadfast response surprised me. Ospreys are large, commanding predators. Their strong, 2-foot-long bodies feature a 5-foot-wide wingspan, sharp talons and a curved beak capable of tearing apart flesh with ease. Given its powerful presence, I expected the osprey to triumph. The osprey must have expected the same because it seemed surprised by the heron's defiant response. Just before impact, the osprey made a quick U-turn, flying off before circling about for another go-round.

The osprey's second attempt to reclaim its post seemed mostly for show. Now that it was prepared, the heron appeared even more determined to stay on the perch. With its long neck fully extended, its sharp beak pointed upward and blue-gray feathers ruffled, the great blue heron headed off the osprey's second attack with a vocalization of its own.

"Kraaaak," it croaked. Although not nearly as impressive as the osprey's shrill shriek, the heron's throaty call effectively demonstrated its determination and dominance. In a strangely guttural tone, the long-legged wader seemed to announce: "I'm here now, so go away. You left your perch, and when you did, you relinquished all rights. Fly off now. Be gone."

The osprey did fly away. The heron remained on the platform, where it resumed preening. Apparently, in the world of fish-eating water birds, a loud voice, sharp talons and sturdy body are not enough to guarantee dominance. Even frail-looking, graceful birds can reign supreme if they muster sufficient mettle.

Before observing the two birds in conflict, I would have predicted an osprey victory. Ospreys are fierce-looking, intimidating predators, while herons appear to be non-aggressive and shy. If I had been on the platform and an osprey was dive-bombing me, I would have jumped off in a millisecond. I guess that means I'm easily intimidated. It also means the heron is not.

I have no idea why the great blue heron was so intent on staying put or why the osprey, having left the platform, needed to make some sort of territorial claim. What I do know is that occasionally steadfast determination trumps unmitigated brute strength and that —– at least in the animal kingdom — differences can sometimes be resolved without either party being hurt.