Category: Field Reports & Research

New York City’s Central Park is the place to bird watch during the Fall Migration. With its unique habitats it offers birders spectacular views of migrating birds.

The great fall migration begins with the movement of shore birds in late July. The Central Park Pond, Lake, and Pool often become a good stopover point for Spotted and Solitary Sandpipers. These birds bob along the shoreline grabbing small insects and crustaceans. Some good locations to observe the sandpipers are the 103rd street Pool, the Gapstow Bridge wetland area at 59th street, and the Central Park Lake. In addition, you can also find Wilson’s Snipes, Least and American Bitterns, and American Woodcocks foraging for food and seeking temporary shelter.

Woodland Warblers, Ruby-throated Hummingbirds, Scarlet Tanagers, and Rose-breasted Grosbeaks begin to arrive in late August and remain through early October.

The warblers, no longer in breeding colors, are heading south with their immature offspring. Some warblers are brown or olive green with one or two wing bars. This gives credence to the phrase “confusing fall warblers.” It is often a challenge to identify some warblers, which adds a bit of mystery and fun to birding. A bird guide can help you identify confusing fall warblers. Bird walks are offered by the Linnaean Society all year. Please visit our website for the schedule.

The Ruby-throated Hummingbirds zip through the garden on their way to Mexico and Central America, where they will spend the winter. Their journey of 600 miles is often covered in a single flight! They gather precious nectar from the Park’s flowers – Jewelweed and Cardinal Spikes are their favorites. The nectar provides them with the energy needed for the long flight. Look for orange blossoming Jewelweed and Ruby-throated Humming- birds throughout the park.

Scarlet Tanagers and Rose-breasted Grosbeaks arrive to feast on the berries of the Park’s dogwood and cherry trees. Their dull but brilliant feathers are still a sight to behold. The male Scarlet Tanager molts from bright red to a greenish yellow in the fall. Immature Rose-breasted Grosbeaks are usually a combination of brown, black, and red feathers, adding allure to this already spectacular bird.

Without a doubt, the greatest show in September is created by the migrating Hawks and Eagles. Bald and Golden Eagles, Red-tailed Hawks, Broad-winged Hawks (by the thousands), Peregrine Falcons, Merlins, Sharp-shinned Hawks, American Kestrels, Cooper’s Hawks, Osprey, and Turkey Vultures are all migrating to their winter grounds. The Linnaean Society holds hawk watches from Belvedere Castle, which provides great looks of the surrounding skies. With many eyes looking up, and enjoying the effort, we can identify the raptors as they fly over our heads or skirt the outline of the park on fashionable Fifth Avenue.

New York City is situated in the middle of the greatest stream of migrating birds—in a unique ecosystem of coastal wetlands, forests, meadows, and woodland habitats— which makes up the Atlantic Flyway. The hawks ride the warm thermals of air along the Eastern Seaboard, often conserving energy by gliding as they journey to warmer climates.

The month of October brings the sparrows; Lark, White-crowned, Fox, Vesper, Savannah, Clay-colored, Chipping and other species visit our area during October and sometimes linger until mid-November. Sparrows are seed eaters and delight in pulling out the thistle seeds from plants and shrubs. Look for these “little brown jobs” in the compost heap, Dene Slope, and most of the meadows in the North Woods. These meadows produce seed-bearing plants which are consumed by hungry sparrows.

And we also get surprise birds such as early migrating Long-eared Owls, Eastern Meadowlarks, Eastern Blue birds, Yellow-breasted Chats, Eastern Whip-poor-wills, and Common Nighthawks.

On the afternoon of November 15, 2023, a Randall’s Island Park worker spotted a hummingbird at the Urban Farm, a popular picnicking area filled with flowers. The next day, the park posted a video of the bird on Instagram, claiming it was a late Ruby-throated Hummingbird, while also stressing the importance of late-blooming wildflowers for lingering migrants like this one. But that comment raised all eyebrows: after all, this was November, a time ripe for birds from the west to show up in New York City.

The following day (Friday, November 17), some local birders who had seen the video set off to find the mysterious hummingbird and, luckily, were successful. The bird looked a lot like a Ruby-throated Hummingbird, but a few details seemed off, especially the constant pumping of the tail, which suggested it was a Black-chinned Hummingbird—a state first!

That afternoon, I saw a text about this bird posted on the New York Rare Bird Alert and instantly knew I had to chase it. Having worked in California’s Owens River Valley that past spring, I was very familiar with the species—It was one of the most common breeding birds around there, dazzling onlookers with their curious behavior and gorgeous courtship displays throughout riparian and suburban habitats. But none should be found as far east as this one was.

I arrived at the hummingbird site about an hour later to find dozens of birders already on the scene. A few minutes later, the bird showed up, appearing remarkably unconcerned by the crowd of humans as it fed on some purple wildflowers along the fence line. It was immediately apparent that this was no Ruby-throated Hummingbird, as it had more black on the face and throat and a bit more of an orange wash on its side than that species—and it was constantly pumping its tail. The bird may have called, but it couldn’t be heard over the endless shuttering of cameras.

Ever since that day, hundreds of people have flocked to Randall’s Island to catch a glimpse of this rare visitor from the west. As of Saturday, December 16, it was still present around the Urban Garden, coming to a feeder from time to time. This episode truly shows that you’ll never know what shows up in autumn.

— Jordan Spindel

iNaturalist, launched in 2008 and owned by the California Academy of Sciences and the National Geographic Society, is one of the best online resources available to natural history enthusiasts who want to explore biodiversity and share their observations from the field with experts. Part community science hub, part scientific tool, and part social media platform, iNat, as it is known among users, has a global reach with 5.9 million users, more than 124 million observations since its founding, and more than 410, 000 species observed as of the end of January 2023.

For curious users, the iNat app can offer instant gratification by identifying a species within seconds from a smartphone photo and geographic location data. Many iNat users, however, derive further satisfaction from knowing that they are contributing to science when their observations are added to databases used for research by scientists, conservation experts, land use managers, and policy makers.

Community science is what attracted me to iNat. As an amateur naturalist, I wanted to make a contribution to conservation and science but didn’t know how to go about it. I spent a fair amount of time in the field birding, hiking, and enjoying “nature,” so there had to be a way to combine my interests.

I discovered iNat one spring when I volunteered to participate in a four-day bioblitz. Everyone was required to use this tool to document observations of any species within a geographic boundary. The first morning of the bioblitz I downloaded iNat from the app store on my phone, created a log-in, took a photo of a butterfly and submitted it through the app. It took a moment for iNat to identify it as an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail and provide a photo and a description of the butterfly. Wow! I was impressed with this fast, user-friendly, and accurate technology.

I submitted my observation to the iNat database, and a few hours later a botanist agreed with my ID. The status of the report was then raised to “Research Grade,” meaning that my butterfly observation became part of a dataset searchable by experts doing research in such areas as ecology, conservation, and climate change. In this way, I was able to participate in community science while following my interests in natural history.

iNaturalist is so easy and fun to use that I was hooked after that first bioblitz weekend. Since then, I have added more than 16,000 observations of plants, birds, insects, fungi, lichen, reptiles, mammals, amphibians, fishes, and the occasional arachnid. Using the iNat app, I have identified rare birds and glittering dragonflies, beautiful butterflies, bold snakes and tiny toads, amazing fungi and fields of dazzling wildflowers.

Over time, I realized that my behavior in the field was changing, too. The familiar “screen of green” that I saw when looking at an area filled with plants was being replaced by individuals; I was beginning to learn specific trees, grasses, wildflowers, shrubs, and more. I was observing details, and striving to take quality photos because a good photo adds information to the artificial intelligence software that iNat uses to suggest IDs and makes it easier for other users to agree or disagree with your original identification. 

Some iNat users prefer to identify the observations of others. iNat has a comments field where users can leave notes about why they agree or disagree with an identification. Occasionally, controversy arises when users don’t agree, but this provides an opportunity to learn from others who may be more experienced.

The iNat app is streamlined and very easy to use. You can add photos automatically while you are in the field or save them to upload later. Other iNat users, amateurs, and experts alike, will add their ID to yours with the goal of getting your observation to Research Grade so it can be available to scientists. The app conveniently keeps a running list of your most recent observations. A relatively new addition is the ability to add sound recordings to aid in identification.

While the app is meant to be used while on the go, the iNaturalist.org website is robust and offers other ways to explore. You can manually add observations and sound recordings through the website; you can also do searches of your own observations and those of other iNat users. You can create a profile and add your photo, if you like, and connect with other users. You can filter by species category, location, date, grade, or user. User guides are available for project managers and for teachers. 

iNat users have discovered new species and documented previously unseen behaviors in animals, adding to the excitement of community science. It offers many rewards for nature enthusiasts who want to make a contribution to science. The more users, and the more observations from anywhere in the world, the better.
— Janet Wooten

Links:
iNaturalist
iNaturalist Year in Review 2022

Although major urban parks like Central Park and Prospect Park may attract and concentrate large quantities of migratory landbirds passing through New York City, birders seem to be increasingly aware that these migrant meccas are not the only places to seek local avian diversity. In recent years, people have come to embrace the potential offered by micro-parks as places to search for birds, with findings that never cease to amaze birders and casual pedestrians alike. From the sheer numbers of White-throated Sparrows that can be found in the Broadway green or a neon Blackburnian Warbler stopping at a birdbath in a Bushwick backyard, to mega-rarities like the Scott’s Oriole in Union Square several years ago or the recent celebrity Couch’s Kingbird frequenting Abingdon Square, the streets and small parks of urban New York hold endless surprises. 

Bryant Park, surrounded by gargantuan office buildings in midtown Manhattan, has fast become an icon of just how productive micro-parks can be. eBird (https://ebird.org/ebird/hotspot/L683555) shows that a little less than half the species diversity found in Central has been found in Bryant. This diversity currently includes six species of flycatcher and thrush, 13 species of sparrow, and 28 species of warbler—pretty amazing considering Bryant Park is less than one percent the size of Central Park. Does this suggest that in any given three hectares of Central Park you could find about half its avian diversity? Or does this suggest Bryant Park concentrates birds just like Central Park does, just on a smaller scale? 

Though birds concentrate into Central Park, their distributions within it are dependent on the availability of food, which leads them to the best possible habitat. This explains why bird diversity is not evenly distributed across the park. For example why, on average, can more species be found in the northern end of the park, where there are ample woodlands, thickets, weedy edges, and fresh water, versus the southern end which is mostly lawns and tourists (though both ends of Central and Bryant all have ice-skating rinks)? So whether or not you can find all of Central Park’s diversity in just three hectares depends on which three hectares you are in. 

Meanwhile, in Bryant Park habitat is less spread out, but comes in more limited forms. Instead of classic woodland, there are looming, evenly spaced London Plane trees. In the place of thickets, there are hedges. Weedy fields are replaced by simple lawns, and fresh water comes in the form of puddles. Any bird attempting to survive needs to be an opportunist. Fortunately, migrating birds are some of the world’s most ambitious risk takers, and spending a few days scrounging around Bryant Park is nothing compared to flying across the Gulf of Mexico. Any potential food item a bird can find is fair game, and is often enough to fuel a bird for the next leg of its journey.

Bryant Park, however popular among birders, is merely one of many micro-parks in southern Manhattan. Madison, Union, Washington, and Tompkins Square Parks are all well-travelled parks in the heart of downtown. Should they all host the same number of species and individual birds as each other? Out of the parks listed above, smaller Madison and Union have more species documented in eBird than the larger Washington and Tompkins, although there is more data for the former two (see figure 1).

What variables might determine this? The size of the park and the quality of the available habitat immediately come to mind, but other factors are likely at play as well. How much disturbance from pedestrians or dogs is there? How many other small parks are there in the vicinity that birds could filter into and thus dilute the concentration effects? How tall are the surrounding buildings and how much ambient light do they produce? Luminescence could disorient the birds into descending into the park. If the park itself is lit up, it may stand out as a beacon in its own right, particularly if green foliage is illuminated. The park’s geographic location may also play in, particularly if it is along the waterfront or the ridges in northern Manhattan, which birds use to orient. Competition from invasive species such as House Sparrows and European Starlings may also influence a migrant’s decision to stick around in a park where finding food is enough of a challenge, let alone defending an already obtained item from a bully. Even temperature can influence the productivity of a micro-park, as ambient city heat can make all the difference in survival for half-hardy species during the winter that would typically be farther south. 

Interestingly enough, variables such as size, degree of isolation, and amount of available habitat have been modeled extensively by the ecologists Robert MacArthur and Ed Wilson in their theory of Island Biogeography as an attempt to predict species diversity and abundance on oceanic islands. Though these models were designed with resident, not migratory, species in mind, the same phenomena might still be applicable to birds seeking temporary refuge on islands of green in a sea of concrete. Generally speaking, species diversity should be highest on larger “islands” that are close to a “mainland” of sorts, while diversity should be lowest on small, distal “islands.” In a classical sense, this phenomenon is reflected by the fact that Martha’s Vineyard has more breeding species than Block Island. 

In the context of urban micro-parks, these principles of Island Biogeography imply that Bryant Park’s high species list is due to its close proximity to Central Park—a potential source for its diversity. 

Meanwhile, a small park like St. Johns Park in Tribeca is not only small, but isolated, so is less likely to receive birds that were previously using a larger patch of green.

Nonetheless, one could also argue that isolation is beneficial to a park’s species list, as it will be a more effective migrant trap. Another explanation for Bryant Park apparently attracting and retaining more birds than Union Square Park or Madison Square Park is the lack of other parks nearby—there are no other parks larger than a hectare within half a mile of Bryant. Meanwhile, Madison, Union, and Tompkins Squares, Gramercy Park, Stuyvesent Square, and Stuyvesant Town form a cluster, with no greater than a quarter-mile between each one. Could this be diluting each park’s ability to concentrate birds? Do migrants shuttle back and forth between these proximal parks to the point where the cluster could be thought of as one large park in terms of a biogeographical analysis? 

MacArthur and Wilson’s original models were based on an experiment in the Caribbean, where they killed off insect populations on tiny mangrove islands, and documented the process of repopulation through colonization over the course of several years. They then extrapolated their results to explain patterns of bird communities on larger islands. However, these patterns of colonization deal in terms of resident, breeding, or wintering species, which take generations to establish a stable presence on the island. Migratory species, on the other hand, use an area only temporarily, and turnover of individuals and species is far more rapid. Though the principle of island biogeography may be applied to migrants using both oceanic islands and urban parks, it is worth considering this difference in operant temporal scales. 

It is clear that there is no one simple predictor of avian diversity in micro-parks. But there is a very simple explanation for why some parks have more species recorded than others: observer bias (David Krauss, personal communication). Without similar quantities of information about the occurrence of bird species in each park, it is impossible to discern whether higher species totals are due to the factors discussed above, or simple probabilities of detection. eBird—which has become an effective representation of how thoroughly an area has been birded in NYC in the past 10 years—shows just how relatively data-deficient many micro-parks are (see table 1). Defining a micro-park as an isolated patch of vegetation in the city smaller than 15 hectares, out of Manhattan’s 25 micro-park eBird hotspots with any data at all, only four of them have more than 50 checklists entered. These do not represent all the various small squares, circles, gardens, and parks in New York County, but Manhattan does have more micro-park hotspots than any other borough (see figure 2). In Brooklyn the only micro-park hotspots away from the waterfront are Fort Greene, McGrolick, and Cooper Parks. Similarly, Staten Island has six, Queens has four, and the Bronx has three. Checklists almost certainly exist for various small parks in the form of Personal Locations, but without Hotspot status, data from different observers at a single site will not be pooled into a central, publicly accessible source of information about the occurrence of birds there. 

Fortunately, this problem is relatively easy to solve. The more people who get out and bird their local patch of greenery, enter their observations into eBird, making sure to use a public eBird hotspot—or suggest a new one—the closer we will be to piecing together the puzzles presented by micro-parks. New hotspots can be suggested in two ways: when you create a new personal location, there will be a box to check and a prompt to suggest the location as a hotspot right under the new location’s name. To suggest a personal location that already exists as a hotspot, go to “Manage my Locations” on the right and side of the “My eBird” page. Click “edit,” and at the top of the hotspot’s page, under its name, you will see a prompt to “suggest as hotspot.” If the location is publicly accessible, suggest it! If you have a personal location you think might already be a hotspot, “edit” the location, and select the option to “merge” data from your personal location with that under the public hotspot. More information on which locations are appropriate for hotspots, how to name them, and more can be found at https://help.ebird.org/customer/portal/articles/1006824-what-is-an-ebird-hotspot-. 

Additionally this year is an especially exciting one for eBirding in New York City, as it is the world’s first official Urban Birding Challenge (https://www.urbanbirdingchallenge.com). This global event pitches cities across the globe against one another in friendly competition to find the most species in a calendar year. eBird will be used as the official scorekeeper, so keep those checklists rolling in! If it’s not in eBird, it doesn’t count. Aside from being a new spin on the concept of a Big Year, the UBC also represents a great chance for education and outreach, as a way to show wildlife-repressed city dwellers just how biodiverse urban areas can be.

Few places are better for pleasantly surprising non-birders with the feathered gems in their neighborhood than micro-parks. It might be easy for people to associate bird diversity with larger parks, but many people seem to be utterly amazed to find out how many different kinds of birds can appear right outside their apartment windows. Especially when many birders gather in numbers on the streets or in a small park, pedestrians are often inquisitive about the crowd. It can be wonderful to see how excited people ranging from toddlers to truck drivers to celebrities get once enlightened with the sight of something like Cerulean Warbler zipping through the oaks on an Upper West Side street, a Couch’s Kingbird hawking spiders from a fire escape in Greenwich Village, or even a Red-tailed Hawk devouring a squirrel in a community garden. For many people this previously unnoticed parallel universe of bird life triggers a completely new perspective on city living, and many even become birders or other couriers of natural history.

Fathoming the patterns occurrence of birds is not an easy task. For much of the world, it remains a major challenge. Sites of interest are often spread out, as are birders and ornithologists who are interested in such patterns. Small urban parks represent a unique system in this respect, as they are small, in relatively close proximity to each other, and in densely populated areas with lots of birders. Each time you bird your local square, plaza, or garden, and make the information accessible by entering it to eBird, we are one step closer not just to piecing together the mysteries of micro-parks, but also to understanding why looking for birds in the heart of urbanity is so much fun and exciting. 

Table 1: New York City Micro-Parks

Summary of species totals, number of checklists, and area for each New York City micro-park hotspot with data in eBird. Data taken from eBird on 1/11/15, and area measured approximately using Google Earth Pro. “Micro-Park” here refers to a small park or patch of vegetation less than 15 hectares. Hotspots on the waterfront are not included, as species totals often include waterfowl, which skews the basis of comparison when considering land-locked parks.

Figure 1: Comparison of select Micro-Parks, displaying number of species and checklists in eBird on 1/11/15, and area measured approximately using Google Earth Pro.

Figure 2: Number of Micro-Park eBird Hotspots in each New York City borough, as of 1/11/14. “Micro-Park” here refers to a small park or patch of vegetation less than 15 hectares. Hotspots on the waterfront are not included, as species totals often include waterfowl, which skews the basis of comparison when considering land-locked parks.

A field observation: There was been a vagrant Painted Bunting in Prospect Park late November, 2015 on. 

• A Painted Bunting (Passerina ciris) is a species of bird in the Cardinal family, Cardinalidae, that is native to North America. 
  
• One of the many news articles is from the New York Times, “Painted Bunting, a Rare Visitor to Brooklyn, Gives Birders Cause to Stare” by Andy Newman 12/2/2015. 
  
• Audubon.org writes, “Why a Painted Bunting Landed in Brooklyn?” 
  
• And Birdlife International in Data Zone, Painted Bunting Passerina ciris says, “This species has declined over the long term and apparently continues to do so at a moderately rapid rate. It is therefore considered to be Near Threatened.” 
  
• A good article “Everybody’s heard about the bird” 12/8/2015 by Ed Gaillard
  

You’d be hard pressed to miss it – a painted bunting looks like something from a coloring book. I first saw the Painted Bunting (a life bird) on Friday, December 4, 2015 at 9:30 am. The moment I entered the park I saw a group of people by a tree. I rushed over and there was the Painted Bunting sitting on a branch of a pine tree in full view. I didn’t even have my camera or binoculars out yet. I followed the bird around for a while, along with its entourage of birders. Next day I returned to try and get a semi-decent photograph. There were at least 50 birders at a time surrounding the little bird, who didn’t care a fig about the people. It was very hard to photograph because of all the birders. I couldn’t get a good view and when I did someone invariably jostled me. I tried for two days and managed to get a few semi-usable shots on the second day. 

Environmental note: habitat restoration and management is crucial to our local birds not just to vagrants. There a lots of feral cats wandering the parks in NYC. Vagrant birds are not a good thing if global warming is the cause.

I’ve always wondered what my 400th bird species in New York State would be. Thirty something years into this life of birding would imply it had to be something good. Unless of course, it’s not. It could have been the dreaded clerical achievement, the by-product of the annual meeting of the American Ornithological Union deciding to raise a subspecies to full species status and wham, you wake up one morning with a new species on your list. No, the 400th needs to be something worthy. And you need to get out of bed for it. 

Fast forward to May 24, 2015. One final check of reports on the spider web of online birding sites New Yorkers utilize before I hit the hay and there it was: a Franklin’s Gull was photographed earlier in the day (at Plum Beach, Brooklyn no less). A breeder of the Upper Midwest and Canada, Franklin’s Gulls migrate through Texas from their wintering grounds on the west coast of South America. They occasionally show up in western New York in fall, but to have a breeding plumage adult anywhere in New York in spring is a big deal. Not just a state bird for me, a coveted life bird as well, a worthy candidate. Similar in appearance to our most common summer gull, the Laughing Gull, this search was going to be the proverbial needle in the haystack. 

Emails were sent. Calls were made. A plan was hatched. My friend Rob and I would search alternate sites knowing a large group of birders would scour Plum. After coming up empty we eventually headed there ourselves deciding to start at the far western end. Seemingly out of the ether I watched the bird materialized a long way out in the channel to our southeast. To the delight of the twenty or so birders down the beach, we managed to communicate the location over the phone. Views were distant, but clearly identifiable before the bird departed unseen. Franklin’s Gull was my 400th species in New York. I’m not sure what I expected to happen, an adrenaline rush, high fives, an end zone dance? I don’t know, but nothing did. In fact, after congratulations from Rob I felt kind of empty. I chalked it up to being tired. I just couldn’t reconcile the moment with the feeling. It got me thinking. 

You see, as a new birder the flood of information can be intense. Eight hundred regularly occurring species in the US give or take a few. Then there’s sexual dimorphism in the majority of those species (the males and females look different). If that wasn’t enough many songbird species look completely different in spring and fall. Get the hint? There is a lot to figure out. 

As I kid, I would thumb through my grandparents Peterson field guide. The possibilities were endless. Illustrations of bluebirds and curlews seemed almost mythical in that moment. To this day I’m not sure if it was my desire to see them or the overwhelming feeling I never would that stirred something in me, but either way the effect was profound. 

And then it began. When I was ten years old I was given my own field guide. Each species I saw would earn a check next to it’s name in the index. Life birds! Early on it’s magical. Ask any birder when they saw their first Scarlet Tanager and they could tell you. Even if like me, it was over thirty years ago (on a roadside trail off Oneida Drive in Silver Bay, NY if you’re wondering). Moments seared in memory like stamps on a timecard. 

I had been watching birds for years before I actually counted how many species I had seen. I vaguely remember being in my early 20′s and realizing I had seen 175 species in New York, I gave myself a mental pat on the back and thought “Hmmm. Pretty cool.” Ten years and a fair bit of effort later that number became 300. 

And then something started to change. I became acutely aware of numbers. At that time the New York State list was roughly 430 species. After 300 species the majority of annually occurring breeders and migrants diminish rapidly. Basically, it becomes a tough road to see new birds. 

My 300th species in New York was a Boreal Owl in December of 2004. My 350th was a Golden Eagle in November 2006. Fifty species in two years. My 375th was a Loggerhead Shrike in November 2010. Half the new species in double the time. 

Birding with friends over the years we would say things like, “Wouldn’t it be awesome if a (insert most coveted bird here) flew over right now? Yeah, I need that for the state.” 

That single word “need” represented a sea change for me. What used to be exploring the unknown and experiencing things for the sake of experience and understanding quietly morphed into filling in blanks. The joy of discovery reduced instead to relief if a target species was seen, disappointment if not. 

Add to this the rise of competitive listing on the coat tails of the ever-popular Ebird database’s Top 100 list and it seemed a perfect storm was brewed. (Yes, I have had strangers walk up to me in Prospect Park and after introducing themselves announce they’re gunning for me! Nice to meet you too.) The cherished experience of discovery replaced by a numbers game measured in success and failure, in gamesmanship, but without joy. Four hundred should have felt special, but it didn’t. 

Milestones can and should be evaluative moments in time. It’s human nature. Take stock. Adjust perspective. What I have come to understand as I crossed this particular threshold is that for me, 400 was less a milestone and more a nod to the miles travelled. It speaks to effort, but really says little of ability. 

As I entered my checklist into Ebird, describing the field marks I was able to ascertain during my brief and distant sighting this notion was driven home. This just wasn’t me. 

Days later I made it back to Plum with my friend Doug. To my relief the gull eventually appeared on the south flats. A slow approach was rewarded. For the better part of an hour the bird actively fed and defended whatever patch of sand it stood on. Without fanfare in the warming afternoon light the opportunity to study this incredible bird was afforded to a small group of us. It was amazing to see this species alongside Atlantic Brant, Laughing Gulls and Eastern Willets, birds it probably never encountered before. The gull may have been out of place, but in that moment I was right at home. 

The best experiences in nature both answer and ask questions and this was no exception. My time with this bird left me with a greater understanding of the species yet wondering about its journey here and how it was able to identify and adjust to a food source not native to it.

As the Franklin’s Gull screamed up the beach one last time it dawned on me. Although perhaps not at first, my 400th species had just showed me exactly what I needed, and it wasn’t another “tick.” 

The birding world, of which Central Park is a microcosm that I entered into in May 1932, is incomparable to today’s world. Of the several factors involved, the most obvious is that today there are more birders than birds. In 1932, there were very few birders but many more birds. You have waves of water today. We had waves too, but of birds, lots of birds. 

In referring to my notebooks of the thirties, I found a good example of one such day. I lived at that time on the upper West Side, one block from the Central Park West and 100th street park entrance. On the morning of May 6, 1934, I walked through that entrance to witness a tremendous wave in progress to be immediately surrounded by all manners of passerines and others. My species list for that day, a child’s list, was 66 species, all sight identifications, none by ear. The rationale for the sight identifications is simply explained. I did not learn songs for several years, not that I lacked the natural ability to do so. But, on any good day, there was such a welter of songs that it was extremely difficult to filter out the songs of individual species so you could concentrate your attention enough to learn them. 

There are many more examples from my records of the abundance of birds in those times: forty Canada Warblers on May 26, 1935; twenty- five Black-and-white Warblers and forty-five American Redstarts on August 11, 1936; thirty- five Blackpoll Warblers on September 9, 1936; eight Bay-breasted Warblers on September 25, 1936; May 11, 1938, 103 warblers of sixteen species; Sept 2, 1938 sixty American Redstarts; March 14, 1939 seventy-one Purple Finches; April 22, 1940 five hundred White-throated Sparrows; March 18, 1940 sixty Fox and fifty-five Song Sparrows; one hundred Song Sparrows on April 1, 1940. 

We are all familiar with the usual reasons for the huge decline in bird numbers – population growth and urbanization resulting in destruction of habitat, both here and on the tropical wintering grounds, acid rain and pesticides. But there is one factor that affects Central Park birding that you may not be aware of. Eighty years ago, there were still open spaces nearby. I went to DeWitt Clinton High School in the Bronx. One day during lunch hour, I found four Spotted Sandpiper nests with eggs in the open lots around the school. In nearby Van Cortland Park, there were breeding warblers and Eastern Bluebirds. The suburbs around the city were much less developed. Breeding bird counts in Greenbrook Sanctuary in the adjacent Palisades have documented the decline in woodland birds. These reservoirs of birds no longer contribute to the migrants in Central Park. 

Eight decades are time enough for some major changes to occur that effect our Central Park birding today. It was much colder then. One day in February 1934 I attended high school in fourteen degree below zero weather, the coldest day in New York City history. Piles of snow would remain in the streets of Manhattan until the spring thaw, because they would freeze so hard the plows could not budge them. Of course, this had an effect on the common wintering birds we see today. American Robins did not winter then. I saw my first robin of 1935 on March 1st. I took a Xmas count in the Park in 1935 and had a total of fifteen species. Northern Cardinals and Northern Mockingbirds were rare; Mourning Doves and Tufted Titmouse were very rare; Red-bellied Woodpeckers, an accidental with one record. 

Some birds have adjusted to life in the big city. It was four years before I saw my first American Crow in the Park and almost six years before the first Red-tailed Hawk. The Park also bore witness to population shifts in our common water birds over those eight decades. Some examples: Buffleheads unknown; Ruddy Ducks and Northern Shovelers very rare; Great and Snowy Egrets unknown; Double-crested Cormorants accidental; Great Black-backed and Ring-billed Gulls rare, but Laughing Gulls were common transients. 

In conclusion, I repeat my opening remarks – the Central Park birding world of the Thirties is incomparable to today’s world. Editor’s Note: Irving Cantor, Fellow of the Linnaean Society, has been a member of the Society for 75 years. Next month Irv will celebrate his 83rd year of birding.

Chelsea Waterside Park

To bird the Hudson at the end of 23rd Street you pass through Chelsea Waterside Park. Sandwiched between two busy roadways (11th Avenue and the West Side Highway) is a playing field, a basketball court, a small semicircular area with flowering plants, a picnic area and a recreational area for dogs and their owners.

On the morning of 3rd July at around 7.30 am, I noticed a pale dove making its way slowly across the southern edge of the playing field. The first thought that crossed my mind was that it might be a Eurasian Collared-Dove. I had just started filming the bird when a dog ran onto the field. The bird was spooked, and it took flight. 

Not aware of the status of Eurasian Collared-Dove in Manhattan, I emailed Andrew Rubenfeld, Eric Ozawa and Anders Peltomaa to let them know about the bird, and to discover whether this was a sighting of merit. It was quickly apparent that if it was a Eurasian Collared-Dove, the observation would be of wider interest. After posting the sighting on eBird, I submitted details of the sighting to the NYSARC.

Later that day Andrew Rubenfeld re-found the bird in the same area. Returning to the site, Andrew, Isaac Grant and I were able to take a good look at the bird and I got more footage of it preening in one of the trees over the planted area. Within the hour, the bird became less timid and showed very well on the paths.

In correspondence over the next few hours it was important to establish the bird was definitely an example of Eurasian Collared-Dove. In this respect, first impressions were important, and having had continuous experience of this species in the UK, assigning it to the Eurasian form was an instinctive reaction.

However, in the case of a bird out of range (and, arguably, a birder), or on occasions where other similar species may have to be considered, it was important to fall back on careful observation and other evidence.

There were potential confusion species that needed to be ruled out. The African Collared-Dove was the most likely alternative, but it lacks the richness of color and dark undertail of Eurasian. Compared to Mourning Dove, the general impression would be that Eurasian Collared-Dove is more upright and strong shouldered. Mourning Dove also tend to carry themselves more horizontally with nervier, less deliberate movements.

Other factors in favor of Eurasian Collared-Dove were the darker wings (especially in the brief flight views, where the darker primaries on the upper side of the wings were more obvious set against the paler inner wing, turning sandy brown towards the shoulder). Bare part coloration is not necessarily crucial in the identification, or in separation from other species when combined with other features, but the legs and feet could best be described as fleshy coral red, and the bill, black.  There was a very pale, white ring around the eye. Seen well, the iris is red. The bird gave no vocalizations on this occasion.

Angus Wilson saw the bird later on the 3rd in the “habitat area” which is on the west side of the West Side Highway, parallel with 26th–27th Streets and is part of the same Pier 63 Park, just north of Chelsea Piers. The bird was seen again on the morning of July 4th by Megan Gavin. 

At time of writing the bird continues, being seen by a steady flow of admirers, either on the western side of the West Side Highway, in and around the rock garden overlooking the Hudson, or in and around the grassy verges in the play areas between 11th Avenue and the West Side Highway at the end of 23rd Street.

In a subsequent visit, I filmed the bird vocalizing; a steady ‘hoo-hooo-hoo’ that is at the lower end of a flute’s register in quality and tone.

It is very likely that this is the same bird found and photographed on the 22nd June by David J. Ringer, to whom the original sighting and identification must be credited.

Angus Wilson offered some insights into both range and likely origins of the bird in his report of July 3rd to eBird, distributed on the 5th to subscribers.