Our trip along the storied Montezuma wildlife drive in upstate New York had been all but devoid of birds the first hour. Then we turned the corner at the halfway mark and came upon a scene that instantly made up for the quiet start.
Two dozen Great Egrets stood clustered in a shallow pond as if in a ballet rehearsal. They moved along in groups of threes and fours in precise formation. With their long thin necks lining up one minute and crisscrossing the next, they seemed choreographed for elegance.
Great Egrets are such compelling birds to watch – and they don’t seem to mind an audience that keeps its distance. Much of the time, they prefer to forage alone, researchers say. But they will come together in small groups when there’s plenty of fish. From time to time, they’ll form big flocks like the one we came upon at Montezuma.
They aren’t hard to find all across the wetlands in the United States. Although hunted nearly to extinction during the feathered-hat craze of the late 1900s, migratory protection laws have helped Great Egrets become one of the strongest wading bird species today.
They’re flexible and adaptable, enabling them to adjust to the habitat loss that has undermined other species. The North American Waterbird Conservation survey estimates that there are 180,000 breeding Egrets in the U.S.
The egret’s green eyes in breeding season
They stand out in marshes and coastal areas — sheer white, with yellow beaks, long dark legs and a wingspan of almost 5 feet. During the spring breeding season, the area around their eyes turns lime-green, a striking accent that signals their readiness for mating.
In late summer, as the hummingbirds are preparing to migrate halfway across the hemisphere, they are in the midst of a feeding frenzy to bulk up for the journey. They consume their entire weight in nectar each day, which the Audubon Society calculated was the equivalent of a human drinking 18 gallons of milk.
The American Goldfinch is a symbol of summer. Impossibly yellow in May, June and July, they stand out like flashes of sunlight flitting across meadows, farmlands and treetops.
A few summers ago, on a birding trip through the South, we stopped to camp near Tupelo, Mississippi, next to a drained lake that had been overtaken by grasslands.
Two Cedar Waxwings materialized above the wildlife park in Northern Virginia and pirouetted into an aerial ballet. They rose and fell, circled high above the lake, then swooped down close to the ground. They pulled all this off in precise formation like two tiny jets on military maneuvers.
They are full of energy, captivating and fascinating, says Robert Rice, a veteran scientist with the Smithsonian Migratory Bird Center, who wrote the center’s summary on Cedar Waxwings.
This could be the start of a great joke, but it’s just too infuriating. So many times it sounds like you’ve hit the birding jackpot only to be fooled by one wily, nondescript, gray-and-white bird.
Florida is home to a sub-species of Sandhill Crane that never migrates.
