Pandion haliaetus; the Osprey

 

 An osprey perched in a tree near its nest. Image by the Author.

Identification: The osprey is a large bird of prey, larger than the average hawk but a bit smaller than most eagles. Adults can have a length of near 25 inches and wingspan near six feet. Osprey are usually seen over open water or nesting. The osprey has brown feathers over his back and wings, and a largely white underbelly. In the northeast, osprey have a mask-like band of dark feathers crossing their eyes. Their diet is mostly fish, and they can be seen over both fresh water and salt water.

Lord of hawks, the osprey wields aquiline majesty with a kestrel's grace. He conducts maritime hunts in plain view; soaring, hovering, and plunging along coasts, slow rivers, and ponds. The sight of an osprey diving from 100 feet and submersing himself entirely is matched only by his uncanny ability to emerge clutching fish from the most unlikely bodies of water. Many a fisherman has cast away the hours without nibble or tug, only to see an osprey drop in from above, pluck a fish from the seemingly barren waters, and fly off crying piercing notes of victory.

Giant Hawkbird? Most Likely an Osprey

One thing the osprey has going for him is the relative ease with which you can spot him. Rather than skulking in the woods, or lurking amidst tree tops, osprey spend much of their time above the open water, where they are clearly visible. True exhibitionists, osprey build their homes in readily viewable spots atop pilings, buoys, and utility poles. They construct sprawling stick nests and occupy these for much of the spring and summer. In these nests the osprey can be observed tending eggs, and raising chicks, much to the delight of nature centers everywhere. If you google "osprey cam" you will be treated to your choice of live feeds featuring footage of nesting osprey. 

Although most people in the northeast have regular contact with the osprey, I have noted a marked reluctance on the part of non-birders to commit to an osprey identification. On numerous occasions past, my assistance has been sought in establishing the exact species of large birds of prey. In almost every instance the answer has been "osprey." One summer after receiving an unprecedented number of these queries I mused to my wife that I could probably answer all nature related questions with "it's an osprey" and be correct most of the time. However, this year I encountered a curator of a local nature center who had evidently put this idea into practice. As I cheerfully began explaining that I had just seen a juvenile bald eagle fly over the parking lot, and that I've always found the juveniles more handsome than the mature specimens despite their popular appeal and so on and so forth which is normally a topic of much appeal and edification I was interrupted.

"Osprey," she said, before i had progressed much farther than "I just saw." Her eyes glassed over. Clearly she was retreating inward, shielding herself from the darts of the hundred misidentifications and wives' tales naturalists no doubt suffer daily. An understandable practice yes, but unbecoming nonetheless. True, when in public I wear no insignia proclaiming my status as author of a highly regarded animal blog. True, to her I appeared no different than the commonest of boobs who mixes his phoebes and kingbirds. Still, I was stung by her brusque dismissal. At this moment I vowed to drink silently from this bitter cup, savoring the sour taste with which this wretched encounter seasoned my nature center visit as the saints did season their repast with wormwood, to turn what might be an occasion of mere earthly satisfaction to one of most sanctifying mortification. I vowed that I would never dismiss another question or comment regarding the natural world without first hearing it as though uttered by Carl Linneaus himself. Only then; if it proved to be wholly lacking merit or common sense, might I address its author's statement with anything less than the utmost generosity. 

I digress. Despite my initial misgivings, the curator turned out to be a lovely woman, quite knowledgeable about turtles. I must return to the subject of osprey identification. I think it likely that the hesitancy to throw caution to the wind and wholeheartedly label osprey as osprey has a two-fold origin. First, one must consider that for many people the osprey population was considerably depleted during their childhood. While osprey are plentiful now, during the mid 20th century their numbers suffered greatly due to use of DDT. This pesticide famously caused birds of prey to lay fragile, easily destroyed eggs. So perhaps some still recall the osprey as a rarely sighted visitor to the northeast. Perhaps during these times the man who proclaimed, "look an osprey" was as likely to be laughably mistaken as he who shouts, "look a northern goshawk" at every raptor who visits his suburban feeder. I don't know. I wasn't there. It may be that one of my gentle readers can clear this up for me.

I think the second reason underlying reluctance to identify is ironically the ospreys omnipresence at nature centers and atop buoys. It is possible that some are so familiar with seeing an osprey on top of a buoy or sitting on a stick nest, they have come to consider him a bird who does only this. They rarely see more than the top of his head peaking out over twigs. Thus, he remains hidden in plain sight. When he soars out over a bay a new view is afforded that differs somewhat from the bird huddled on his nest. The flying, hunting osprey is rarely captured on "osprey cams." 

Osprey from Beneath. Image by Steve Hillebrand courtesy of Fish and Wildlife Service

Do not be intimidated. If you too have previously only thought of the osprey as a nesting bird, you can easily learn to identify him in flight. First of all, don't be thrown off by where he chooses to fish. He is just as likely to appear over your local pond as over the coast. A large bird of prey over the water will most likely be an osprey, but you can look for a few simple clues to clinch the identification. He will have a mostly white underbelly, thus distinguishing him from the larger bald eagle which is only white on the head and tail. He will circle, and every so often hold his position in one spot by beating his wings. This frequently, but not always precedes a dive. When he dives he will go completely under water just for a moment. If he catches a fish, he will fly off with it turned forward so that it runs like a line going from his head to his tail. This adaption allows him to fly with less wind resistance. The most distinguishing feature on specimens in the northeast is a mask of dark brown feathers. This cuts across the eyes giving him an appearance not dissimilar to that of Darryl Hannah's replicant in the film Blade Runner.

Using these principles you will soon be on the fulfilling road to successful osprey identification. You will find this quite rewarding, and rarely spend a day at the beach in which you fail to sight at least one of these majestic creatures.  

Further Reading

Siala sialis; The Eastern Bluebird

Identification:
The Eastern Bluebird is a small thrush with mostly blue feathers. It is light reddish brown on the chest, and has a white belly. Adults are a little over five inches. It has a cheerful call which can be heard here. Females are a bit more dull and grayish than the males.


Bluebird Habits

The bluebird is a lover of border regions. He particularly likes to perch at the edges of fields, meadows, or lawns. He can be seen making numerous short flights across these spaces hunting for insects. Numerous bluebirds are often spotted near specially constructed houses or "blue bird boxes" built to accommodate their needs. These are sometimes grouped along trails, allowing for ample sightings. the Sialis diet is not too different from what you might imagine for a typical songbird; various bugs, seeds, berries, the odd worm etc etc. Common wisdom maintains that meal worms are a species favorite, and that providing these can be instrumental in attracting bluebirds to a yard.

The bluebird is a year round inhabitant for much of the lower northeast, but ranges farther north in the summer. He is not averse to roughing it a bit, and can be seen enjoying snow in quite a few photos. His mating arrangements are rather liberal, resembling what some might call "open marriages." Pairs generally keep up appearances by sticking together for the kids, but take bluebird lovers on the side.

The Bluebird of Happiness (or Despair)

It's no wonder the blue bird has been pegged in the collective imagination as herald of all things joyful. The sight of an energetic sialis in full flight, his plumage sparkling in the morning sun, can soften even the hardest heart. Watching his short bouncing flights from fence to roof, to branch to wire over cropped fields stirs our spirits. We recall, or even feel for the first time our own sense of resilience and optimism. This is all well and good.

As you first begin to engage more fully in nature, quieting your movements and opening your eyes to your surroundings, the presence of bluebirds will become more apparent. You will spot them where once you saw only trees, wires, or "birds" of a generic and undistinguished manner. So many are content to stop here. The bluebird will make you smile. Its giddy call will be ataractic, lulling you with the seductive whisper "all is well."

My friend, all is not well. Nature's avian display of innocence and light bears us bittersweet tidings of joy and grief. While he seems well established and secure in his numbers now, the bluebird's history is one of tragedy and loss. To know the full measure of his sorrow, we must hearken back to earlier times.

Centuries ago the eastern woodlands of North America were variegated with a dazzling array of brightly feathered birds. On late summer afternoons flocks of sunny goldfinches weaved through the balmy air, narrowly avoiding collisions with scarlet tanagers and blindingly orange northern orioles up for their seasonal visit from the lower Americas. The azure bluebird was right at home in this psychedelic avian mix. True, here and there some duller sorts crept in. The grackle was never far off. The loathsome brown-headed cowbird ever threatened the sanctity of nests. Yet by and large this was a perfect time to be a charmingly colorful songbird.

Alas, this idyllic landscape was soon marred by the encroachment of some particularly reprehensible European birds. Notable among these are the house sparrow and common starling. Both were intentionally introduced in order to bring a bit of old world culture to the "new" continent. In the starling's case, their introduction was part of a deranged scheme to bring all birds mentioned in William Shakespeare's work's to America. If only one of Shakespeare's eloquence were alive to lament the darkening of our skies with dismal flocks of these unsavory creatures.

These winged stormtroopers of drab were relentless in their advance. They bullied, harassed, and overran our native species with gleeful abandon. They were particularly cruel to our innocent bluebird, usurping his nests and driving him from his ancestral home. Had they mastered the use of tools they would no doubt have put his young to the sword and salted his fields.

The bluebird population declined. He became less and less visible. Soon children were born for whom he was but a story, a portrait in a field guide. Fortunately, conservationists and bird enthusiasts found new hope for our embattled friends. Specially designed birdhouses were erected that keep out the hated starlings and house sparrows, and provide sanctuary to bluebirds.

Gradually the bluebird's numbers increased. Nowadays they can be seen flitting about by any observer with a bit of patience and knowledge of where to look. Still, all is not well. Our backyards still teem with invasive sparrows. While the bluebird maintains a healthy population, his sightings fall within the more common backdrop of plague-like starling flocks, sometimes stretching from horizon to horizon.

Thus, the bluebird bruits happiness, but also sorrow. We feel rightfully blessed when seeing him alight, but our joy contains the seeds of grief. We know his life is precarious, and he perches upon a razor's edge. On one side life; carefree, full of song and delicious insect meals. On the other; oblivion. We see this and it tasks us. Will we look within ourselves and see our own mortality? Will we see the fleeting nature of worldly pleasures? Will we learn to live fully, allowing both the joy of creation and the grief of loss to flow through us like ocean waves? Or will we fall? Perhaps raging against the starling horde, and the house sparrows' song of death. Or perhaps blinding ourselves to the pain; contorting our faces into pantomimes of grotesque but inauthentic happiness; ignoring the gorgeous frailty of nature in favor of chipper platitudes or modern convenience. Though the perils of obsessive gloom seem well marked, we must recall the Dane's sage warning that "for despair the most cherished and desirable place to live is in the heart of happiness." And so, the bluebird sighting does more than just momentarily lift our spirits. It brings face to face with ourselves, and calls us to probe the deeper mysteries of humanity.

Further Reading

The Sickness Unto Death: A Christian Psychological Exposition For Upbuilding And Awakening (Kierkegaard's Writings, Vol 19) (v. 19)

Dryocopus pileatus,The Pileated Woodpecker

Identification: Around 18 inches long, black feathers with white under the wings, white stripes on the neck, and a pointed red crest. The males also have a red mustache.

The Pileated Woodpecker; an Exceptional Bird.

All woodpeckers are nice. There's something quaintly endearing about smacking one's face into a tree day in and day out. Furthermore, they tend to be presentable birds, donning various combinations of black, white, and red feathers to good effect. True, some add yellows and browns, but always tastefully. Of these already likable avifauna, the pileated is the stand out specimen. His size alone sets him apart from others, and his brilliant red crest provides an easily recognized mark of distinction.

Outwitting the Fates

If my theory is to be believed, the pileated woodpecker should not even exist. Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself. To better support this bold claim, I'll provide some background.

After a life spent familiarizing oneself with the natural world, it often follows that one develops not only a deep reservoir of factual knowledge, but also some ideas about the underlying trends, patterns, or rules shaping the universe. Newton discovered gravity. Darwin helped launch the much maligned theory of evolution.

Although I'm no Darwin, I have made a few observations about one peculiar pattern that seems to hold sway in the animal kingdom. It goes something like this:

The more interesting a species, the greater its probability of being extinct.

It's true, the natural inclination is to dismiss this as a facile platitude. Does blue whale not chug along in the depths? Are not the sloths in the trees? Does chubby nerpa not cheerfully navigate the cool waters of Lake Baikal? Please, carefully consider my arguement, and do not let these colorful outliers becloud your judgement. Consider:

Animal Status

Tyrannosaurus Rex: Extinct
Giant Sloth: Extinct
The Dodo: Extinct
Giant Wombat: Extinct
Marsupial Lion: Extinct
Elephant Bird: Extinct
Triceratops: Extinct
Megalodon: Extinct
Saber Tooth Tiger: Extinct
Flesh Eating Kangaroos: Extinct
Sphinx: Extinct/Never existed

I do not wish to belabor the point. My gist is this; a reasonable man should no more expect to see a giant woodpecker with a blazing crest allight on the branches of the temperate deciduous forest, than he should have to worry about velociraptors devouring his young. Yet the pileated woodpecker persists. How is this? I will tell you. Although magnificent, the pileated is nonetheless the drab cousin of two more flamboyant woodpeckers. The raven sized Imperial Woodpecker dwarfed his pileated brethren for centuries before departing this world for good. The Ivory-billed woodpecker outdid the pileated in size, striking plumage and elegance of beak. If he has not yet vanished from the North American forests, his continued existence is certainly far more precarious than that of the pileated. Thus the pileated woodpecker has managed to escape so far the cruel wrath of mother nature, who hews her fairest children that they might not too long stand above the rest in a very mixed perhaps unworkable metaphorical sense.
Numbers alone have been in his favor. Had he not been blessed with two more glorious cousins to slake the jealous appetite of wondrous Nature who suffers not the exquisite to dwell long on the earth, he too would surely have met his end. For now, the day of reckoning is delayed.

In General

Although these higher truths should always be the end of our inquiries, one does well to master the more trivial information pertaining to any beast, tedious as this may seem. The pileated woodpecker loves to eat ants. He bores massive holes. He prefers older taller trees, and can often be spotted with his mate. A true gentleman, he mates for life. He is particularly at risk from larger owls, and destruction of habitat. On Christmas Eve he can speak in the tongues of man.*




*not yet confirmed by scientific observation.

Carduelis tristis, The American Goldfinch

American Goldfinch
How to identify: It's really bright yellow, with black wings and a black spot on its head. It's about 4-5 inches long. In the winter it's a dull greenish brown color. Also, the females are duller without the black spot on the head. There's not much point in learning what females and winter goldfinches look like because it's boring and no one will care.

If you want the most bang for your buck, look no further than the American Goldfinch. It has an abundance of excellent qualities which perfectly suit the needs of the dilettante naturalist. First of all, it is incredibly yellow; when in the sun, almost blindingly so. Secondly, it is common. Take a stroll around the block, and chances are you will encounter a goldfinch. Most importantly, despite these two characteristics, a good number of people have absolutely no clue that goldfinches exist.

Hard to believe, yes, but I assure you, it's true.

I first discovered the goldfinch when I was eight years old. My parents sent me to nature camp where I learned to identify local wildlife, and quickly became cognizant of the fact that suburbia was teeming with these cheerfully painted little organisms. Even better, I learned that my mother was unaware of their presence, and frankly prone to disbelieve my claims that a bright yellow bird with black wings inhabited these regions (This was not an unjustified disposition, for as I child was was somewhat given to exaggeration if not fabrication). But ha! imagine my triumph when able to point out a male of the species dallying on a wildflower just yards away from where our station wagon idled at an intersection. And this only moments after she rolled her eyes at my narrative of the day's ornithological sightings!

Please do not think that ignorance of this charming finch is limited to my mother. Over the years I discovered that about fifty-five to sixty percent of the population goes through life blissfully unconcerned with finches, bright yellow or otherwise. Armed with a tiny bit of knowledge one can be the bearer of good news, introducing scores of impressed friends to the pleasures of the goldfinch. It is as if over half the population has not only never watched a sunset, but also doesn't even know this whole sunset watching business is an option.

So, when reasonably sure that an acquaintance possesses little or no knowledge of birds, never hesitate to point out this finch saying, "oh look, there's a goldfinch." Chances are your companion will be duly impressed. If your friend has any more than a passing knowledge of birds, don't worry, all is not lost. You can still carry the day by adding something along the lines of "I say, isn't it peculiar that the Latin name implies 'sad thistle eater.' With that coloration I can think of few birds who seem more cheerful!"

This should clinch the deal. If not it's time to cut your losses. Fret not, some people simply can't be impressed by either a knowledge of wildlife, or ancient languages.