Local birding report

Across Cape Elizabeth, the tin horn notes of a particular little creature ring through our forests. It has been an exceptional year for the less common of our two breeding nuthatches—the exceedingly active Red breasted Nuthatch. This scrappy bird gleans its way up and down trunks and branches in search of insects and arachnids, rarely still for more than a moment.

Red breasted Nuthatches are strikingly patterned: a black cap with a bluish gloss, a bold white eyebrow, a black eye stripe, and an underbelly washed in brilliant rusty cinnamon. Males and females differ subtly in tone, but the easiest distinction to commit to memory is their voice. Compared with the White breasted Nuthatch’s lower, more nasal yank, the Red breasted’s call is higher pitched and sharper. Unlike other members of the nuthatch clan, the Red breasted uses a soft, musical song during courtship. In flight, both species show an undulating pattern, but the Red breasted—smaller overall— turns readily in pursuit of insects despite its short tail.

On the last day of August, while swimming off Little Chebeague Island, a single Wilson’s Storm Petrel flew past me—an unforgettable encounter. Maine serves as a summer feeding ground for these tiny pelagic seabirds, though they breed far to the south on sub Antarctic islands and Antarctic coastlines. Barely larger than a Barn Swallow, Wilson’s Storm Petrels spend nearly their entire lives on the open ocean, feeding on plankton in cold, nutrient rich waters where deep currents upwell. Their migrations carry them across the equator into nearly all of the world’s oceans, though they remain rare in the North Pacific.

Several silent Swainson’s Thrushes slipped through my yard on September 4, and a young female Rose breasted Grosbeak stopped briefly at the feeders. Her plumage was still cryptic—streaked flanks and breast fading to a whitish belly. It’s astonishing to think that, come nightfall, she would launch into the sky and begin her journey toward Central or South America, arriving several weeks from now if all goes well.

On September 5, my two sons and I paused along a trail in Winnick Woods, transfixed by frogs perched atop a neon green algal bloom. A Green Heron suddenly flew in, apparently intending to land on a fallen birch in the pond. At the last moment it saw us, uncrooked its neck, and wheeled away. In flight, this usually compact heron can appear oddly front heavy, but the close encounter offered a fine look at its deep green back and rich chestnut neck. Green Herons hunt by standing motionless at the water’s edge, typically on vegetation or solid ground; unlike larger herons, they seldom wade.

Late in the afternoon on September 7, I spotted a Wilson’s Snipe in Willow Brook, a piece of property protected by CELT. The bird stood at the edge of a marsh inlet, its silhouette lit by the low sun. Elusive yet fascinating, this robin sized member of the sandpiper family blends seamlessly into wet meadows, marshlands and bogs. With eyes set far back on the head, snipes can see in nearly every direction. Their long, flexible bills, roughly one third of their body length, allow them to probe deeply into soft soil for invertebrates. In doing so, they aerate the soil, enhancing nutrient cycling and supporting plant growth. Their presence is a reliable indicator of wetland vitality; habitats like Spurwink Marsh are among the richest ecosystems on the planet, and protecting them is essential to sustaining biodiversity.

During the breeding season, male snipes fly high over marshes producing haunting, wind borne whistles known as winnowing. Henry David Thoreau once described hearing his first snipe of the year as “a lulling the watery meadows, fanning in the air like a spirit over some far meadow’s bay.” Though they rely heavily on camouflage, snipes can escape danger with astonishing speed. Their oversized pectoral muscles—more than a quarter of their body weight—allow them to reach flight speeds of up to 60 mph, zig zagging erratically to evade predators. Interestingly, the word sniper originated among British soldiers in India in the 1770s, who used it to describe hunters skilled enough to shoot a snipe.