A Summer Day at Jamaica Bay
It’s few days before the official beginning of summer as my wife and I walk the west side of the Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge. She quickly spots a delightful avian puzzle. It’s a sparrow-sized, brownish bird with two prominent, long white, eye bars on its rust colored head. The bird is perched on a bare branch in a clearing. Focusing binoculars we see that the bird’s thin curved bill is open and it’s repeatedly calling “tee it, tee it.” After a while the bird stops calling and sits there looking tired and cute. It’s a Carolina wren, a resident of the Eastern U.S.
Gray catbirds are suede smooth with small coal black eyes and have a distinct catlike call. Agile and athletic, they fly from one tree branch to another, landing as if on cats’ paws. One dives straight down from a height, lands and another comes up from the ground and chases it. Play time?
By contrast, yellow warblers are a bright lemon yellow in the morning sun. A clear yellow breast characterizes the female, while the male’s is red streaked. These mercurial five-inch birds weigh 0.33 ounces. They don’t perch for long and even less often in the open. This morning’s an exception. Just as I get a female in my binoculars, a male chases her. The female settles into plain view but suddenly there’s a large diving yellow blur in front of her. It’s the male. There are several times however when both are perched on nearby branches and visible in our binoculars. The sight is “spectacular” says my wife and it makes her day.
In the marsh, a little blue heron stands on slender light green legs with its neck and head upside down. It’s preening. Overhead flies a glossy ibis with its long down-curved bill, bent neck and trailing legs. It looks like a prehistoric flying pterodactyl. The color isn’t dark reddish brown with green iridescent hues, but appears brown. This is the effect of light, and it makes the bird look alien. Out of a tree comes a male red-winged blackbird, one of the refuge’s habitués, who flies on a downward trajectory to the marsh. As it reaches some grasses the bird abruptly turns left with its back now facing us and shows two red epaulets on its shoulder that resemble hearts on playing cards. The bird disappears behind the grass.
In the marsh is a lone brant goose. A shorter, stockier version of the Canada goose, it has what I call a white “lipstick kiss” on its black neck. The bird slowly paddles in water swollen from yesterday’s rain. It’s white at the tail and tan along the sides but its thick black neck has the look of smooth carved wood. Indeed it resembles a wooden bird. This is the only brant we’ll see here today as the others have gone north to their nesting grounds but will return in late October or early November.
A few hundred Canada geese, resembling a defeated army, line the shore of the huge West Pond. There are four common terns standing in the shallow water and on shore. Nearby are small curved white feathers and broken shells. Their caps are black; the bills are an orange red with a black tip. Lovely. Three ospreys stand in their platform nest in the marsh, their head feathers raised by a million-dollar breeze, which makes the humid day more comfortable.
We notice a cactus called prickly pear that has a waxy, cup-shaped, yellow flower. The shape and texture are intriguing. My wife, who has a long-term delight with wildflowers, points out salt spray rose, reddish flowers with what resembles a tiny green tomato, rose hip, which is the flower’s fruit. Amazing. She also identifies honeysuckle, a plant of sedate beauty.
My wife goes back to the car with the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle and I go to the East Pond. In Big John’s Pond is an immature night-heron standing on a branch, preening itself. It is a nondescript brown with light green legs and a slate gray heavy looking, dagger-like bill. The eye is amber and the eyelid resembles a tiny two-toned shell that seems to close from the bottom up. Occasionally it looks around for possible danger, head up and staring. This survival instinct will serve it well. From a blind overlooking the pond, with my new camera, I get a number of pictures of it. Later they help identify the bird as an immature yellow-crowned night-heron.
On the far side of the enormous East Pond, there are 60-70 mute swans. It’s a convention. I don’t notice at first, but mere yards from me is an adult mute swan and three “fuzzlings.” The adult is vigorously preening, showing its striking orange and black bill. Under the adult’s watchful eye three chicks, two tan, one white, go from the water to shore and walk in back of tall grasses near where I’m standing. It’s a behind-the-scenes view.
One of the chicks is preening itself, then stands on not-yet steady legs. I notice what appears to be an appendage on its side. It’s a wing just “sprouting.” How long will the wingspan be as an adult? Now all the chicks are preening. Just then another adult comes close, and it too is preening. Is this the other parent? I take image after image to which the swans appear oblivious. I’m enjoying this scene of domesticity after the mating season. Sweaty and tired, it’s time to go. I make my usual note to come to this spot first next time but somehow I never do.
For my wife and I, a trip to Jamaica Bay has a ritual quality. Now, it’s time to finish by going to a local diner and while sitting in our favorite booth, discuss what we’ve seen. I can taste the food already.
