A Good Kind of Ponding
There is a pond past which we drove daily throughout my childhood. I went back there yesterday with new binoculars in hand. When my mom found out where I was going, she wanted to come too.
On one side of us was the street we live on: a relatively active thoroughfare to the north where there used to be a shallow ditch, a ditch our childhood bikes knew well. On the other side, there were Mourning Doves in the field adjoining the pond, and they flushed as we tromped through the tumbleweeds. I found myself looking for other doves among them, then remembered that white-wings, ECDOs and incas were quite unlikely here. There are downsides to heading west.
Over the pond of interest flew Brewer’s Blackbirds, much more easily seen and identified twenty feet away in the sun than fifty feet away in cloudy backlight. Right after handing over my binoculars so Mom could see the American Coots, I noticed a large shorebird close by and itched to take back the optics.
As I gripped them, the yellowlegs flew toward the shallow middle of the pond and joined three Black-necked Stilts who rested atop their ridiculously long pink legs. Beyond them were a Great Egret and a very gray Great Blue Heron; in fact, I’d prefer not to talk about the very embarrassing flub in which I called it a cormorant.
One gull patrolled the pond, sometimes swimming and sometimes flying near enough so I could see its bill and eye: a California Gull. The only other swimming birds were a rather large group of Pied-billed Grebes.
My dad came to join us and I was able to point out the more interesting of our finds. He saw a coot with a “red cheek,” but it was too hard for me to find it at the great distance across the water.
As we walked back to the house together, I glimpsed a couple of tiny birds flitting from one tree to another. I finally caught one perched and gasped; another Anna’s Hummingbird, this time the full-grown male. “Mom!” This time she got there in time to use the binoculars and watch him fly away. We were amazed at how fast he could fly over the houses and out of sight.
The rest of the activity in the tree I was pretty certain was caused by yellow-rumps, based on my imperfect audio identification and yesterday’s visual.
I was the last to head inside, lingering to try to confirm my warblers. I traced other movements and presently spotted two flickers in the nearby juniper. They flew away before I could call Mom again. Red-shafted Northern Flickers. We’ll see them again, I hope.
On one side of us was the street we live on: a relatively active thoroughfare to the north where there used to be a shallow ditch, a ditch our childhood bikes knew well. On the other side, there were Mourning Doves in the field adjoining the pond, and they flushed as we tromped through the tumbleweeds. I found myself looking for other doves among them, then remembered that white-wings, ECDOs and incas were quite unlikely here. There are downsides to heading west.
Over the pond of interest flew Brewer’s Blackbirds, much more easily seen and identified twenty feet away in the sun than fifty feet away in cloudy backlight. Right after handing over my binoculars so Mom could see the American Coots, I noticed a large shorebird close by and itched to take back the optics.
As I gripped them, the yellowlegs flew toward the shallow middle of the pond and joined three Black-necked Stilts who rested atop their ridiculously long pink legs. Beyond them were a Great Egret and a very gray Great Blue Heron; in fact, I’d prefer not to talk about the very embarrassing flub in which I called it a cormorant.
One gull patrolled the pond, sometimes swimming and sometimes flying near enough so I could see its bill and eye: a California Gull. The only other swimming birds were a rather large group of Pied-billed Grebes.
My dad came to join us and I was able to point out the more interesting of our finds. He saw a coot with a “red cheek,” but it was too hard for me to find it at the great distance across the water.
As we walked back to the house together, I glimpsed a couple of tiny birds flitting from one tree to another. I finally caught one perched and gasped; another Anna’s Hummingbird, this time the full-grown male. “Mom!” This time she got there in time to use the binoculars and watch him fly away. We were amazed at how fast he could fly over the houses and out of sight.
The rest of the activity in the tree I was pretty certain was caused by yellow-rumps, based on my imperfect audio identification and yesterday’s visual.
I was the last to head inside, lingering to try to confirm my warblers. I traced other movements and presently spotted two flickers in the nearby juniper. They flew away before I could call Mom again. Red-shafted Northern Flickers. We’ll see them again, I hope.
2 Comments:
Is there a bad kind of ponding?
I suppose that depends on who you ask (and when).
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