Today is the last day of my shorebird self-study project in Lubec, Maine.  I’ve learned a thing or two by watching large flocks of the tiny sandpipers called “peeps” but I don’t know if I’ll retain anything because I have so little opportunity to see shorebirds at home. 

Maybe it’ll help to write it down, so here goes.

• The advice offered by the field guides and those in the know really works:  At first glance, forget about plumage.  Focus on the legs and bill.  What color and length are the legs?  What color, size and shape is the bill?  Amazingly the bills on semipalmated sandpipers, like the one shown above, really do look blunt compared to the bills on least sandpipers.
• Know where you are and what time of year it is.  This sounds obvious but it has helped to know that in Lubec I’m unlikely to see a western sandpiper at any time of year.  The downside is that if there’s a western sandpiper out here, I won’t figure it out.
• In a flock of peeps during fall migration the sanderlings really stand out.  They are larger and whiter, feed with their bodies at a different angle than the others, and are – unbelievably – slower-moving than peeps.
• Some peeps can be surprisingly aggressive considering they hang out in flocks.  I’ve seen peeps head-butt a sanderling when it didn’t move away fast enough.  Sometimes the smaller bird takes a running start and bashes into the sanderling.  The sanderling reacts slowly, looks up and steps back.  Huh?
• And finally, peeps really do say “peep.”  

(photo by Bobby Greene)

It may be too late in the season to see a willet at the Bay of Fundy but I will try.

Today I’m beginning an intensive three days of watching shorebirds — and I mean watching.  My plan is to follow them no matter what they do:  feeding, walking, flying, flocking, calling.  I won’t have an expert with me but I hope that by the end of three days I’ll be better at identifying them by their general look and behavior — and that’s bound to help.

One such bird that I’ve almost mastered is the willet.  Many’s the time I’ve carefully stalked these plain, long-legged, long-billed birds as they feed at the shore.  I try hard not to spook them while I figure out their field marks. 

I’ve been known to watch them with their wings closed for as much as half an hour.  Then I’m saved when a predator flies over.  The willets open their wings to escape and Wow!  No doubt about them!  Look at that distinctive wing pattern! 

I should learn from this that some birds can only be identified when they fly. 

Theoretically I could learn to recognize willets by their voices but that requires more time than I have this week, and it’s unlikely I’ll ever hear their territorial song in September.  It’s the sound that gave them their name:  “Pill-will-willet.”

(photo by Steve Gosser)

One of the most memorable bird moments of my life happened on Bubble Pond.

It was 20 years ago at Acadia National Park.  My husband and I had hiked up Cadillac Mountain and were returning on the carriage path when we paused to look at the pond through a gap in the trees.  There, only a few yards away from us, was a female common merganser.  Alone.

I was very excited to see her, but in those days I could not identify ducks without my field guide and it was in the car.  I told my husband, “This could take a while” and rushed back to the car to get it.  He understood and waited near the parking lot, reading a book.

Back at the pond the merganser was still there, dipping her face in the water to watch for fish.  Sometimes she raised her head and looked at me unafraid.  I figured out her name but I didn’t want to leave. 

It was very quiet, only the sound of small waves lapping at the shore.  The sun sparkled on the water.  The merganser swam near me.  Peace. 

(photo by Kippy Spilker from Shutterstock)