Newfoundland: Day 3

The previous night, before meeting everyone for dinner, I drove Dave G. to the airport, hoping that the airline gods might have deigned to bestow upon a weary traveler his own luggage.  We planned for the worst.  But when Dave G. walked back in to the baggage claim area at the St. John's airport, he found his bag sitting there, seemingly conjured out of thin air.  We must have appeased the airline gods unknowlingly.  Perhaps they're gulls, and they like hot dogs.

With that good fortune, and having had such good luck with the Dovekie and the Willow Ptarmigan the day before, we awoke with more confidence than ever that we would today find our quarry.

We would be taking a few more shots at Quidi Vidi Lake, scanning and scanning for that Yellow-legged Gull, still the biggest target of them all.  But Dave Brown had lots of other great ideas, too...He had other spots picked out that would offer us the chance to see some more new birds, while still sticking close enough to the lake to pop back and survey the gulls periodically.  For some people on the trip, including our leader, Bill, the Yellow-legged Gull was the only potential "life bird," a bird that had never been seen before in one's lifetime.  And for those of you out there for whom birdwatcing still seems a strange and esoteric phenomenon, let me explain the true significance of a "life bird."  It trumps all.  It trumps food, water, comfort, and sleep.  It trumps the existence of roads, paths, or any traversable terrain whatsoever...When a life bird is present, the birder enters an altered state of mind, or perhaps another plane of existence, in which he or she becomes superhuman, and nothing can stand in the way.  The heart rate quickens, the senses sharpen, and obstacles which moments ago seemed like reasonable impediments to one's progress suddenly become little more than toy hurdles to be swept aside.  "We can't go in there!  It's all thorns six inches long, and there's no path, and there are venomous snakes and man-eating baboons, and the rest of the group is waiting for us, and we haven't eaten in six days, and it's getting dark, and there's quicksand, and you've got no shoes on, and you're in labor!"

"But...it's a life bird."

"Fine, but let's be quick."

So although our trip was only half over, the exigency of finding Mr. Yellowlegs was becoming palpable.

We headed to Quidi Vidi Lake, so familiar now with the local gulls that we were sure to pick out the specialty.  But we were dismayed to find that the rain and fierce winds that had passed through the night before had wreaked havoc with the layer of ice atop the lake.  The surface ice on which the gulls preferred to rest had broken up and receded, and was now only visible further away at the other end of the lake.  Where thousands of gulls had been present on Day 1, now only a few stragglers remained, accompanied by the everpresent throng of Northern Pintail and Mallards.

We were able to drive down to the other end, and get closer to the where the flock of gulls still sat atop the shrunken ice, but the number of gulls had declined.  The rest of the gulls were around somewhere, but it would be a tougher challenge now to find them all.  Our chances of finding the Yellow-legged Gull had shrunk as well.  Dave Brown told us that almost every sighting of the Yellow-legged Gull occurs at the end of Quidi Vidi Lake where we had first found the enormous flock on Day 1.  Now, we faced the prospect of having to drive around St. John's, looking for scattered congregations of gulls.  We would have to get lucky.

Dismayed but still optimistic, we headed out to some other of the spots that Dave Brown had in mind for us.  As we drove up to one little pond, through the windshield I could see a sizable number of ducks close to the road.  It looked like a flock of scaup, but when we got out of the car and looked more closely, this is what we saw:

A flock of scaup, and...

See all those ducks?  Do they all look the same?  What do you think?  There's that brown one in the lower right, but she just looks different because she's a female.  What about the others?  See those ducks with the grayish backs?  Those are scaup, a duck we see much of in the winter in New England.  (In fact, there are two different species of scaup in that photo, but more on that later.)  But some of those ducks have black backs...Those are Tufted Ducks, a really exciting find for a New Englander!

Everyone was thrilled with the chance to get up close and personal with a friendly group of Tufted Ducks!  I had only ever seen one before, myself.  And there were more than a few present!

They're all Tufted Ducks...The chocolatey brown ones are the females.

We'll get to the scaup in a second, but first, let's enjoy those Tufted Ducks!  They were quite tame and confiding.  The male Tufted Ducks you'll see in the photos below have black blacks, starkly contrasting white sides, and yes, a wild black tuft of feathers emanating from the back of the head.  Sometimes the tuft is difficult to see, but it can also look stylish...very fashion forward!

You can just make out that unkempt tuft...It just won't stay down!

Ahhh, now there's a tuft!  Can you just make out some green iridescence on the head?

Those little white flecks are water droplets...How to get them off?

Ahhh, that's the ticket!

You can glimpse a portion of the white wing strip there.

Now look closely at the three male Tufted Ducks in the photo below:

No squabbles...We're all friends here.

Notice anything interesting?  You might have to click on it to see the finer details.  Well, for one thing, you can observe how the slight iridescence on the head subtly shifts in color depending on the angle.  The duck in the lower right shows a greenish tint, while the one in the center shows more purplish!  Even more interesting, I think, is that you can actually see not one but two different kinds of eyelids here!  On the center duck, if you look closely, you can clearly see his lower eyelid coming up from the bottom.  This is the eyelid birds typically close when sleeping (along with the upper eyelid).  But with the duck in the lower right, not only can you see the lower eyelid, you can also make out his third eyelid, the nictitating membrane that moves sideways across the eye starting from the side nearest the bill!  Can you see it?  This is the eyelid that birds open and close often to cleanse the eye.  They can also keep it closed when flying to keep out debris or when diving to enhance underwater vision.  And it's transparent, so that blinking won't hinder the bird's ability to find prey or escape a predator.  And some diving ducks even have transparent windows in their nictitating membranes, so it's like they're swimming underwater with high-precision goggles!  These adaptations are so cool...These birds are the real superheroes, and each species has its own superpowers!  Ok, back to the photos!  How about some female Tufted Ducks?

They really do appear chocolatey in the right light.

That tuft is still there, even on the females!  Just a bit smaller...

Not too hard to distinguish the males from the female...

Wait, how'd that Black Duck get in there?!

Serious

Check how that water just beads up on those feathers!

Ok, this guy means business.  Dive!  Dive!

Look at that water on his back!  It just can't penetrate those feathers.

You can see the nictitating membrane close again as he splashes water all around!  See it?

Mrs. Tufted Duck, showing off her loooong white wing stripe.

Mr. Tufted Duck seems entranced...

The Tufted Duck show was fantastic.  But as I mentioned before, there were some scaup in there, too.  One of my favorite aspects of birding is distinguishing similar-looking or similar-sounding species.   The challenge is great fun.  And the two species of scaup, Greater Scaup and Lesser Scaup, can look very much alike.  Both were present, swimming among the Tufter Ducks, and both male and female of each species were accounted for.  What a great opportunity to study these look-alikes up close!  Want to give it a go with me?

Male Greater Scaup

All the male scaup have grayish backs.  The Greater Scaup has this kind of bulbous head...It always looks a little bit dumpy to me.  The bill is a little bigger and thicker, which adds to a "frumpy" appearance, at least to my eyes.  Now compare that to its close associate, the Lesser Scaup:

Male Lesser Scaup

The Lesser Scaup seems a bit more "perky" and alert to me.  His head seems higher and more peaked toward the rear.  Overall, he seems pert, and perhaps a bit happier than his larger cousin.

Let's go again!  Greater Scaup:

Hey, there's that nictitating membrane again!

Lesser Scaup:

Wow, get a loud of those iridescenet head feathers!  Or, should I say, "viridescent"?

The bill on that guy looks a little thinner and slimmer, too.  Ok, ready for your pop quiz?  The pressure's on!  Look at the photo below.  It's mostly Tufted Ducks.  First, find the scaup...a point for that.  Second, which species of scaup is it?  Here you go!

Hmmm...Where's the scaup?

Ok, all set?  Did you find the scaup?  And do you know which kind of scaup it is?

The chocolatey-brown duck near the bottom is a female Tufted Duck.  Every other duck in the photo is a male Tufted Duck, except the the duck in the upper right.  That's a scaup.  Did you pick him?  Yay!  Good for you!

Now, which kind of scaup is it?  See that tallish head with the peak toward the back?  It is a male Lesser Scaup.  Did you get it?!  If you got both points, hooray!  Distinguishing scaup can be difficult!

Another aspect of these scaup I found fascinating was that at this close distance, you can easily distinguish them by the coarseness of the vermiculations along the back.  Check out the photos above, and the ones below as we move along...You'll see that the male Greater Scaup always sports a finer blend of black streaking on the back, so fine that it almost becomes a grayish blur as the thin black vermiculations melt into the white background.  On the Lesser Scaup, the black patten on the back is starker and more discernable.  The coarseness of the vermiculations stands out with more contrast against the white background.  Check it out and you'll definitely see what I mean!

Greater Scaup.  Doesn't he look..."frumpy"?

See what I mean about those fine vermiculations on the back of the Greater Scaup?  They almost become a dirty blur.

Lesser Scaup in the middle.  Doesn't he look...happier?

Now look at the back of that Lesser Scaup.  You might have to click on the picture.  The pattern on the back is much coarser than on the Greater Scaup.  As we move through the photos below, especially through some of the close-ups, you'll definitely notice this difference!

There were females of each species, too.  Unfortunately, the back pattern trick doesn't really work well with the females, but you can still make out the difference in the head shape:

Female Greater Scaup, with slumped, round head and downtrodden posture.

A closer look.  Not quite as "chocolatey" as the female Tufted Ducks.  Would you agree?

Female Lesser Scaup, once again showing a more "enlivened" posture and

a peak toward the back of the head.

Ok, let's just look at some photos!  They're all mixed up here...I'll caption each photo with the right species, but why not try and guess for yourself which scaup is which before checking the caption?  In any case, they're all wonderful ducks!

Lesser Scaup, bearing down.  Look at those coarse vermiculations on the back,

and thinner bill.

Male and female Lesser Scaup.  He just looks so pleased with everything!

Male and female Greater Scaup.  The male looks...overstuffed, doesn't he?

Lesser Scaup couple

Female Lesser Scaup, still looking lively.

Can we tell them apart while they're preening?  Oooh, tough, but I think we can!

Greater Scaup preening.  The white wing strip extends almost to the wingtips,

further than on a Lesser Scaup.

Lesser Scaup preening.  You can still see that peak near the back of the head!

This one's tricky!  It's a closer shot of the same Lesser Scaup.

Notice how the iridescence switched from green to purple!

Female Greater Scaup

I love when you can make out their feet paddling away under the water.

Two Greater Scaup, resting

Beautiful Lesser Scaup!

So now that you're an expert on distinguishing scaup, look back at this photo that introduced the scene:

This is so intimidating!

Can you identify all the ducks in that photo?  Give it a go!

The male Tufted Ducks are the two black-backed ducks in the upper-left and the one at the bottom, right of center.  There are two male Greater Scaup with gray backs, one at the far right and one just above dead center.  The brown duck with white around the bill near the lower-right is a female Greater Scaup.  Finally, the gray-backed duck on the left, next to the two Tufted Ducks, is a Lesser Scaup.  C'mon now, isn't it great fun, if also challenging?

Well, after soaking up the Tufted Ducks and Scaup as much as we could, we made one of many return trips to Quidi Vidi, but still found no trace of the Yellow-legged Gull.  So we headed out into the suburbs, hoping to scour some residential neighborhoods for winter finches and thrushes.  Maybe we would find a house with a bird feeder or a tree still laden with fruit?  It was a nice change of scenery, and a chance to see more of what Newfoundland living was like.

The suburbs were just like what you might find in a typical New Engand town...Tree-lined roads criss-crossing through friendly-looking neighborhoods, parks, and town centers.  We paced up and down the streets through some promising residential areas, at times finding a few scattered feeders attracting American Goldfinches, Black-capped Chickadees, and even a Purple Finch.  Several trees still held on to their crop of red berries, and American Robins were taking advantage.  We were hoping that some rare thrush, like a Redwing or a Fieldfare, might venture in, but no luck.

We were fortunate enough that while driving down the road, a large flock of Bohemian Waxwings flew over and into the adjoining woods.  A parking lot nearby allowed us to stop and walk around, and luckily, amidst the hundreds of European Starlings swooshing through the sky, we were able to find the tree where all the Bohemian Waxwings had landed.  They stayed long enough for us to set up scopes, which was a real treat!

I was walking back to the cars, through the parking lot, when I looked ahead and saw Christine and Mary pointing at me.  Or, were they instead pointing near me?  I turned around but saw nothing behind me.  They pointed more insistently.  What was I missing?  Oh!  Just to my left, a Northern Flicker was sitting on the ground, poking her long bill in and out of the snow.  Fortunately, I had my camera!  I'm not sure what she was doing there...eating?  Picking out salt or small pieces of gravel?  Whatever it was, she was very relaxed, and she didn't change position for fifteen minutes.  She just kept looking from side to side...

Is the Northern Flicker not the most elegant woodpecker?

Contemplative

The wind kept blowing her feathers around.

Just what was she after under that snow?

One more sojourn brought us to a small pond, where among the American Wigeon swam a lone male Eurasian Wigeon, another great bird...not to mention stunning!  From the car, I was able to pick out a female Eurasian among the Americans, too.  We stayed in the car, so as not to disturb then, and my camera was still in the trunk.  I've got to start driving with my camera in my lap!

A final stop at Quidi Vidi and a search of the surrounding fields and golf courses turned up no Yellow-legged Gulls.  They day was done, and it was time for dinner.  The gull had eluded us once again.

But before heading home, the four people in my car decided to drive to the harbor, scan for gulls, and enjoy the views.  We didn't find the gull, of course, but we did drive out to the end of the harbor, park, and walk to a nice overlook.  It was one of those moments where you take yourself out of the game, long enough to realize how wonderful it is to be standing right where you are.  The sun was setting, and the lights in the harbor were coming on one by one.  The entrance to the harbor was surrounded by rugged, rocky hills.

Every now and then, a large boat would sail past, heading for the open ocean.

It was a memorable way to end the night.  I personally had fallen in love with Newfoundland, its landscape, and its atmosphere.  Whether or not we found the Yellow-legged Gull the next day, our final day, I knew I would return.

Newfoundland: Day 2

By the time I went to bed at the end of my first full day in Newfoundland, I had already forgotten about the terrible travel troubles I had experienced just twenty-four hours earlier.  I was thinking instead about the wild and wonderful gulls, the great camaraderie within our group, and the beautiful landscape through which we would be traveling the next morning.  The nightscape outside drew me to my window, just as it had the night before.  But it wasn't raining this time.  The weather had eased a bit, and the lights from the city shone more brilliantly against the harbor.

I fell sound asleep, unperturbed by the reflected lights of the harbor coursing through my window.

The next morning, we awoke bright and early, eager to get a head start on our adventures.  We wouldn't be scanning for gulls today.  Our desire to find a Yellow-legged Gull was growing more intense by the hour...You could see it in everyone's eyes...It was the subtext of every conversation...But that search would be put on hold today.  Instead, we would be traveling south along the coast, entering new habitat, hitting some boreal forest before reaching the extreme southeastern point.  Here's a map so you can see where we were, and how little of Newfoundland we would actually cover!

See St. John's there in the lower-right?  That was our home base, but today, we would be driving south along the coast, all the way to Cape Race and back.  Dave Brown, our guide, reminded us what we might hope to find.  Anything new would be exciting, of course, but many people were thrilled with the prospect of finding Dovekies, cute little alcids (penguin-like birds) that you can only find in the winter.  He put our chance of success at around 10%.  Many people asked about the likelihood of finding a Willow Ptarmigan, an adorable all-white grouse with feathered feet...Dave answered that it was "possible" but not probable.  To a birder, however, "possible" is all one needs to hear.

Because we had arisen before the hotel restaurant had opened, we stopped for breakfast in that ubiquitous Canadian institution, Tim Horton's.  It's kind of like a cleaned-up version of Dunkin' Donuts, just enough to get you going in the morning.  Inside, I had my first exposure to the bizarre array of local Newfounland accents.  For some speakers, their accent was so strong, I questioned whether they were speaking English.  It's this lilting drawl that sounds like a combination of inflections from Maine, Ireland, and Georgia.  Over the course of my four days there, I would often find myself in close proximity to some local residents sharing a conversation, and more often than not, I couldn't understand a single word they said.  Yet our guide, who had grown up in Newfoundland, exhibited little more than a slight traditional Canadian accent (traditional from our point of view).  Newfoundland is quite the melting pot.

Energized and ready to go, we took off and headed south.  Along the way, we climbed in elevation, and eventually entered some beautiful boreal forest habitat, filled with spruce and fir trees.  Periodically, Dave would spot a bird flying across the road, and we would stop and get out, anxious for anything to pop up and put on a show.  A Northern Shrike alit on a tree nearby, but didn't stay long.  A Boreal Chickadee called and also made an all-too-brief appearance.  However, a confiding group of Gray Jays were much more accommodating.

Probably one of the cutest birds out there!

They clearly had no fear of us whatsoever, and as Gray Jays often do, they approached unwarily, perhaps hoping for a handout.

"Maybe if I'm extra cute, I'll get some treats..."

"This should do it."

"Hmmm, time to be extra adorable."

"I can has Tim Hortonz?"

"Ah, the hell with it.  Kamikaze!!!!"

The Gray Jays did not leave empty-handed.

As we continued our journey south, we frequently would stop along the edge of small bodies of water and scan.  A Common Merganser popped his head up, and we tallied several Green-winged Teal as well.  But we got really revved up once we came upon an inlet, offering good views of the shoreline and the ocean beyond.  Many, many Black Guillemots sat calmly on the water, periodically spreading their wings and nose-diving beneath the surface.  Red-necked Grebes, Common Loons, Greater Scaup, and Black Scoter were called out as the group panned left and right with their scopes.  At one point, the blur of a passing shorebird caught our eyes, and after following it down the beach, we were able to identify a lone Black-bellied Plover.  Our hunt for the plover had led us away from the main group, though, and therefore we were some distance away when the call came in over the FRS radio.  A voice crackled, "We have a Dovekie."

We sprinted back, and other birders from our group who had wandered away also came rushing in to line up the Dovekie.  Luckily, it stayed just long enough for everyone to get great scope looks...About a minute later, it took off for the open ocean, and disappeared.

We had overcome Dave's "10% chance" of finding the Dovekie, and so freshly renewed with optimism and vigor, we proceeded south, feeling more confident than ever.

The landscape was beautiful.  Periodically, we would leave the coastline, and then we would find ourselves surrounded by ponds, forest, mountains, or more open flat land covered with stunted shrubs and willows.  Every chance we had to get out of the car was another opportunity to soak in the scenery.

We continued south, but the weather began to deteriorate.  A harsh wind had picked up, and it was beginning to snow.  Appropriately enough, a flock of Snow Buntings swept past us in the opposite direction.  Dave also located a surprise Dunlin, feeding calmly in a small marsh just off the road.  For now, we were determined to push on, though our hopes of reaching and traveling all the way around the southern tip of Cape Race were diminishing.

We hit the shore one more time, and found many of the same seabirds as before.  But a wave-lashed rock a hundred yards away intrigued us, as it seemed to be crawling, ever so slightly, with the movement of tiny creatures.  The rock seemed to be alive, and every time a violent wave would crash down upon it and recede, the rock would then resonate with a flurry of agitation.  We needed to get closer.

Driving down the road toward the sentient rock, we spied a kind of driveway that jutted out into the ocean in the right direction, but which was lined with a shoulder-height wall of concrete.  Still, were we to stand on tiptoe, we might just be able to peer over the wall and stare directly at the rock in question.  We parked and strode down the driveway.  At the end, as close to the rock as we could manage, we approached the wall.  Luckily for us, a narrow "sidewalk" had been built right along the border, and scrunching our tripods legs to fit within this raised platform, we were just able to peek over the top of the wall.  The rock was now but fifty feet from us.  At first glance, it looked like the rock was simply covered with seaweed, which wiggled and writhed with the ebb and flow of the waves.  But then, there was some scampering about...a few short legs here and there...and a closer look through the scope revealed that the rock was covered by dozens of Purple Sandpipers:

You might have to click on the picture to see them.  There's quite a few hidden there!

The Purple Sandpipers would feed as close to the edge of the water as they could, and instead of escaping before the oncoming waves crashed down, they would allow themselves to be ravaged by the onslaught.  When the waves receded, they would shake themselves off, as if only mildly irritated, and immediately resume feeding where they pleased.

We had hoped to go further, but at this point, the weather had worsened still, and Dave Brown determined that it would be safest to return to St. John's.  We were disappointed, as birders always are when their progress is halted, but content with the day's discoveries.  Then again, you never know what a change of plans might lead to...what unpredictable consequence might befall us?

On the return trip home, we retraced our route, and passed again through an area of open flat land covered with rocks and stunted shrubs.  We were driving about 60 or 70 miles and hour, all in a line, with my car at the tail end.  Therefore, shivers still run down my spine when I recall Dave G.'s clarion outburst from the backseat: "PTARMIGAN!"

Without thinking, I allowed my reflexes to take over.  I screeched to a halt and began to turn around, while at the same time calling over the radio to the other two cars, "We have a ptarmigan!  Repeat, Car 3 has a ptarmigan!"  Within seconds, I had spun the car in the opposite direction, and was now proceeding slowly down the road, allowing Dave G. to guide us.  Such a precious opportunity, this chance to find a Willow Ptarmign in winter plumage along the side of the road...And as we approached ever closer the spot where Dave had signalled us, my breath was short.  But Dave G. was right, and just where he had spotted it moments ago, solemn amidst a pile of rubble, sat my life Willow Ptarmign.

Luckily, Dave G. didn't mistake the ptarmigan for a snowball.

He seems a bit wary, but beautiful all the same.

All the cars returned and got to see the Willow Ptarmigan.  In fact, the bird didn't move a muscle the whole time we were there, except only once, when he looked the other way and peered at us with his opposite eye.

He never took his eye off us.

You can perhaps just make out some black at the base of the tail on either side.

Our prior disappointment at having curtailed our progress south was quickly replaced by the joy of such a great sighting.  One of the benefits of having lots of eyes along...You can see in every direction.  Thanks, Dave G.!

We returned to the hotel for a nice dinner and a rehash of the day's events.  We unfortunately sat far too close to the restaurant's "musican," a kindly gentleman who performed loud renditions of old favorites (older than I am) on an extremely out-of-tune piano.  His repertoire hadn't changed since the previous night's meal, either.  But nothing would bring us down that night.  Before long, however, at the end of every day of birding, no matter how wonderful, thoughts and plans for the next day begin to surface...Strategies and predictions begin to emerge...The adrenaline begins to surge...We were still missing one bird.