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December 6, 2003 Avids Accept Avian Absences by Bill Whan A cold damp morning at the old mall on 6 December 2003 saw eight of the avidest gather for a foray to northwestern Ohio. Some delectable northern finches had been reported there, and we figured waterfowl had to arrive sometime, not to mention raptors. Two carloads soon converged on the nature center at Oak Openings MP near Toledo. We had the place to ourselves, and quickly set about identifying the birds present. So talented and eager were we that identifications soon far outnumbered birds. A raptor was glimpsed over the woods, and within a few seconds had been called a red-tailed, a red-shouldered, a rough-legged, and a Cooper’s hawk. Imaginations were really revved by now, and yours truly, dimly noting a crow, called out that the hawk was back again, and other IDs, including black hawk, were offered. After I excitedly pointed out the tail of a fox squirrel, suggesting it might be a brown thrasher, we decided we ought to keep two lists: one of birds well and truly identified, and another—far longer and of course more entertaining—of misidentifications along the way. We didn’t find the hoped-for red crossbills at the feeders, but before long a flock of 42 pine siskins invaded the area, and we tallied many of the expected forest birds of the season. We had more hopes of finches at Woodlawn Cemetery, and this was our next stop. Tree fruits of many kinds were numerous there, and birds in good numbers were gorging themselves on seeds, drupes, catkins, samaras, berries, cones, and the like. Other than swelling the list with commoner species, however, we didn’t see any new finches. Our best find was an apparent pine warbler that kept on the backside of every tree, leading us on a merry chase for quite a while. Few hoped-for blackbird flocks were found in the fields east of town, and a walk out to the hot waters—now cool, we later found out--of the Edison plant of Oregon yielded only a few birds. Our stalking behavior, our motley attire, and our odd equipment attracted the attention of the plant security folks, who quizzed us as to our intentions. Satisfied that we were too nerdy to be terrorists, they let us proceed. Maumee Bay SP was still undisturbed, a good breeze having kept hominids off the beach, and we were able to find snow and greater white-fronted geese among the Canadas on the lagoon, and maybe 5K scaups 500+ yards offshore, along with a few other waterfowl. Probably some bramblings and wheatears passed overhead on the windy beach, but we missed all of them. Ottawa NWR, which until today had been closed to unarmed birders for a couple of weeks for a deer hunt, was our next stop, and nothing short of the full Death March seemed called for. Dutifully begun, it took us by only a few waterfowl in the impoundments, though many tundra swans there kept us entertained with their intricate conversations. Many of the puddles were tinted rosy with blood, and more than once we passed piles of deer-guts beside the path. Shotgun shells littered the ground. The bird life of the area had not yet rebounded from the hunt, it seemed. Small ones like sparrows were very hard to find, and the rest of the waterfowl, 95% of them mallards, had retreated to the far side of the estuary. Even the gull roost had shrunk from its usual dimensions. The forests and watery realms of the North having largely disappointed us, we decided to put our money on the appropriately-named Killdeer Plains, where it was likely most of the orange hats—except for those hapless hunters unable to bag a ubiquitous white-tail—would have quit by this, the last day of the deer season. The vehicles got separated along the way, ours having stopped to check out a harrier/short-eared owl spot north of Killdeer, and also screeching to a halt to investigate at length some intriguing-looking birds along the way. No inducement will extract from me the identity of these birds. No, just don’t ask. Killdeer is usually birded from one’s car, especially when waterfowl are largely absent, and this is the way we did it. Our carload continued to add to our Misidentification List, with me initially calling a kestrel a merlin, for example, and I feel sure the other car did their part. Oddly enough neither vehicle passed the other again. The others found a northern shrike; we missed it, but a search for the reported loggerhead shrike put us in an area where at dusk 25 short-eared owls cavorted just overhead, pausing occasionally to threaten a peregrine falcon perched in a roadside tree. We never heard a shot, and it was a nice end to the day. I will not offer the Misidentification List, even though it is much longer than the 74-species Real List that follows:
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