Songsters of summer solstice
visit. You have to know all the species by sight and sound, but some human error is inevitable. Until this week I knew the songs of about half the warbler species I expected to encounter. The survey program sent me a tape and I must have listened to it six times.
Over Father's Day weekend, my daughters and I walked along the road behind the cottage and listened carefully. The woods around our property is as complex as anywhere, backing onto swamp and a high, dry ridge. So all the confusing species were present. On short car trips with the girls I replayed the recording until I knew all that I had heard.
By this morning I was confident. But what an exercise for the mind! At a quarter to dawn the woods rings with half a dozen species in any one place and time. To distinguish the different songs and even count individuals within a species took as much concentration as any exam I've ever written. After the first few stops I got back in the car craving a coffee break! But I had to press on. The survey needed to be completed within four to five hours, because bird activity changed drastically once the sun gets overhead. So I only had an average of a little over two minutes to spare between stops.
Solstice spleandour
It was a magnificent morning, with scraps of mist emanating from various lakes. The temperature started at 9 C (58 F) and rose to 18 C (64 F) by the time I finished at 9:30. The clement solstice sun supposedly rose at 5:34, but I didn't get to see its face peeking over a hilltop until nearly 6:15.
The first stretch along Highway 35 was pleasant enough. I rarely saw any birds in the mixed forest, but identified scores by their songs.
Around 7 a.m. I turned onto a quieter leg along Haliburton County Road 12, also known as Livingstone Lake Road. This is my most beloved drive, the cottage road that ambles past my own Lake Fletcher. Warm sunshine had begun to edge over the treetops, birds were still singing but also fluttering around so I could see them, and my mood was content as can be.
The most scenic stop overlooked wide, breezy Otter Lake. The usual white rabble of herring gulls occupied the tiny, craggy islands in its midst. A common loon called from a misty inlet. Warblers and cedar waxwings fluttered in the trees.
This beauty was only equalled a few stops further, by a large pond called Thinbeaver Lake behind the Lake Fletcher boat landing. I
Latest Articles