I wasn’t sure how I would spend the afternoon, until that is, the phone rang. On the other end of the line (what line?) Mary Jewett of Lakes Environmental Association excitedly told me about her adventures last evening exploring one of my favorite Lovell haunts. She’s an avid birder and is currently participating in the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife’s Maine Breeding Bird Atlas.

For this citizen science project, Mary has chosen several areas of Lovell as her block and so she’s getting to know one of my favorite necks of the woods. Last night, she explained, found her kayaking with her boyfriend on a river that passes through a Greater Lovell Land Trust property. As she talked, she started listing off the birds they saw that are not on the species list for that property, thus nudging me to make sure it gets updated. One in particular pushed her excitement button, and that’s when I knew where I was going to spend the afternoon.

She also told me about a most unusual sight that she caught on film–a porcupine swam across the river, passing in front of their kayaks. Who knew? She surmised it had been chased to the water and just kept going.

Anyway, within 45 minutes of the phone call, I was at the water’s edge.

The bird life was immediately apparent in the form of Canada Geese, their youngsters growing bigger by the day.

What rather surprised me was that I watched two Mallard ducklings, but never saw their momma, unless she was hiding under some shrubs. I could only hope that was the case.

There were Red-winged Blackbirds, the males displaying their bright shoulder patches, and even a Belted Kingfisher who sang his rattling song as he flew above the water looking for a meal.

At last I had dallied long enough, for of course I admired the dragonflies and damselflies, but it was time to bushwhack over to a viewpoint where I could stay hidden as my eyes and ears filled with the sights and sounds of . . .

a Great Blue Heron Rookery. It had been on my radar to get there, but other events took priority until Mary’s nudge. The moment I started down the trail I heard the chorus of croaks and knew I was in for a treat.

Up high in the pines, those massive birds stood, most upon their large platform nests made of twigs and sticks, and apparently lined with moss and pine needles to soften the interior. If you looked closely at the adult upon the nest, its curved throat appeared to bulge a bit.

Both parents are known to provide a meal of regurgitated food. Can you see the adult bending down, its beak meeting the youngster’s? Soon, regurgitating the food will stop and instead small fish will be deposited in the nest and the “little” ones will learn to feed themselves.

After one was fed, another begged for its share of the picnic. It seemed to look up and say, “Hey, where’s mine?” in true jealous sibling behavior.

By now you may have noticed that the youngsters have black flattop haircuts. Adult Great Blues have thin black plumes that are swept back of the tops of their heads making for easy ID until the young fully mature. And at least one stands sentry, ever on the lookout for predators like eagles and raccoons.

 

Great Blue Herons nest in colonies near wetlands such as this. The group of nests is called a rookery–so named for the colonial nests of the Eurasian rook, a bird similar to a crow, but called a rook because of the sound it makes.

With my eagle eyes, I had to really focus in on the trees, for not all of the nests were obvious from my vantage point on the distant shore. It’s best if you are to observe to keep your distance and remain quiet and hidden so the birds aren’t disturbed during this fragile time in their life cycle.

With the kids fed in nest one, the parent decided to chat with a neighbor before heading off to gather supplies for the next meal.

And the kids next door waited expectantly–ever anxious for the delivery of their own meals-on-wings.