Desperation Birding

Every February since I started birding, I have reached the same conclusion: it is cold and grey and birdless in Toronto. Why didn't I book a trip to somewhere warm and birdy?  I've never really wanted to go anywhere warm in winter before, but it's rapidly becoming a notion that needs implementation. Destination Birding.

In the absence of  plane tickets, however, and in the face of the fact that they would have been rendered useless by a series of unfortunate family occurrences this February, we had to make other plans. You might call it Desperation Birding.

For us, that's a trip to the Leslie Spit (where we found the snowy owl in January), or the Scarborough Bluffs, or Ashbridge's Bay, where we went on a Saturday in early March. And where we saw some quite lovely, restorative (albeit cold weather) birds.

This is a longtailed duck.  It's rather exotic-looking.
















But in fact, it's a pretty normal bird for the north shore of Lake Ontario in winter.

I don't care. It's gorgeous and it lowers my blood pressure. Perceptibly.
















This is a duck that, before I became a birder, I would have said was just a duck. In fact, on this trip I said, 'I think that's just a duck."  "No," said Kelly, "it's not."

It's a gadwall.
















This one I know by heart. The clown prince of Lake Ontario: the bufflehead.















Another day, slightly warmer, and we head east to the GM plant in Oshawa. When it was built, GM had to commit to preserving some of the wetland on which it was situated. Part of me wants to be horribly cynical about this but another part of me is grateful that it has some sense of corporate responsibility. On this March Day at McLaughlin Bay and Second Marsh we saw Trumpeter swans off in the distance and, closer up, the first redwinged blackbirds of spring, robins, our first mourning doves, mallards, red-breasted mergansers, common goldeneyes, and American kestrels. Oh, and a few hundred chickadees.

I don't really care how common they are. It's pretty amazing to have a wild thing buzz around your head and land on your (spouse's) hand.















And then in an instant, disappear.
















February, as mean as it (usually) and as mild as it (occasionally) is,  holds within it the promise that Spring is coming. The urge to find something light and colourful and free within the grey city is almost uncontrollable. And if you look hard enough, if you go just a little beyond the boundaries, you will.

Stare out a downtown office window long enough and your optimism will be rewarded. There she is, cocking her head to listen to what rustles in the empty lot below her gnarly, dead perch.
 














An American kestrel, seen outside our office for the fourth March in a row:















Destination birding?  Maybe I'm already there.