Finding the elusive shrike

Tired from our long journey from Brigantine, we got a somewhat late start on Sunday. We figured to spend a couple of hours birding in Morris County, and Ivan had a few ideas for stops within Boonton Township, but for the most part, we were playing it by ear.

First we stopped at the Tourne County Park. Or rather, we made two stops at the Tourne ... one at the level field area near a Christmas tree farm, and the other in the hillier area of the park. Both stops were largely unproductive, as the birds apparently thought wiser of going out in the chilling cold than we did. I don't know where they could have hidden, but I conjured a mental picture of a bunch of them hanging out in some kind of finch coffeehouse, sipping at warm drinks and reading the Sunday Times.

We also tried the field near Kincaid Woods, which, ironically, we'd passed up as too hot to hike around during our July visit to the Spoon House. This time around, the presence of frolicking dogs and their people made the spot unbirdable. It's not that we don't like dogs -- we do -- but no self-preserving bird does. Given the cold, we weren't about to wait for the pups to get tired and head back to their people.

The northern shrike. Photo by Jonathan Klizas,
mocosocobirds.com .

Our next option was Johanson Memorial Field. You might recall our last visit there, a jaunt that revealed an important yet obscure portion of aviation history. It's not on the typical New Jersey birding circuit, but the variety of habitat seems amenable to a wide range of avian life. And let's face it, what bird could resist landing at the site of a historic airstrip?

I pulled onto the park drive from Powerville Road, and just as we reached a clearing, Ivan tensely told me to slow down. By now, I know what that means: important bird in sight, do nothing to spook it.

On the other end of the clearing, atop a cedar tree, was a light-colored bird. I couldn't make out any detail since my binoculars were in the back seat. Ivan, on the other hand, wears his bins like a natural appendage and quickly announced that this could just be a shrike. Which kind, he wasn't yet sure, but a shrike, not a mockingbird.

For the uninitiated, a shrike is a predatory songbird that breeds in the Canadian tundra and winters in the northern US and southern Canada. New Jersey is pretty much the farthest south it will go on the east coast, though there are rare sightings as far down as the Carolinas. Here we're lucky to get a handful in a given winter, so if Ivan was seeing what he thought he was seeing, it was big news. The bird's perch-to-ground-to-perch behavior was characteristic of a shrike, and it appeared to have the appropriate markings. The question then became whether it was a loggerhead shrike or a northern shrike, and the width of the bird's dark eye mask would settle it.

To settle that, we'd need a closer look, and unfortunately we hadn't brought the scope. Getting physically nearer could spook the bird, but we had to take the chance. I parked the car in the nearby gravel lot and Ivan headed out to check. The bird, however, wouldn't cooperate, and after a double-check look at a field guide, Ivan wasn't comfortable making a judgement call. Maybe it would be best to go to another park and come back in a bit, when the bird wouldn't be so wary.

That's exactly what we did, roaming the area and discussing that a shrike needed to be reported to the appropriate birding authorities post haste. People would want to see it, and another set of better educated eyes than mine would be helpful in corroborating the find.

When we returned to Johanson, I edged the car up toward the clearing again, both of us prepared to see the bird in question perched on the cedar. He didn't disappoint, and we weren't going anywhere. As Ivan scanned for telltale markings, I stopped the car and cut the engine to reduce the heat shimmer that was distorting his view. From the drivers' seat, my view was distorted by the windshield, so I slid open the moon roof and slowly lifted my head and binoculars through.

Perfect. Not only did the bird stay atop the tree, he did a little pirouette, almost, to allow us a better view of his face and body markings. There was no doubt, especially after another peek at the field guide. This was a northern shrike, and it was our find. Well, it was Ivan's find... I was just along for the ride, but it was pretty darn cool.

What was even better than finding it was having it corroborated by the other birders who also saw it after seeing our reports on Birding on the Net and MocosocoBirds .  It's still around, too, perhaps even for the winter season. Maybe now more folks will check out Jimmy Doolittle's old field in Boonton for aircraft of a different sort.

From tabletop to cockpit: Boonton's plastic past

This past weekend's freak snowstorm and follow-up tree damage kept us from making any lengthy road trips, but we found our way to another local town museum, this one run by the Boonton Historical Society. Located in the John Taylor building (no, not that John Taylor) on Main Street, the Boonton Museum contains a timeline of town events to 1903, plus artifacts from the Morris Canal and several fossils found during the construction of the Jersey City Reservoir. There's also a room for changing exhibits, presently housing vintage service uniforms from the armed forces and various scouting and Civil Defense organizations. Pretty cool stuff.

Despite all of that, though, my interest was grabbed most by something in the gift shop - an iconic Boonton relic that didn't even warrant a mention in the historical exhibits. Some of you may remember Boontonware, that miracle hard plastic material from which dishes, bowls and tableware were molded. A mix of Bakelite and formaldehyde, Boontonware is unbreakable and remarkably durable. In fact, my mom still has the dishes and bowls she purchased when I was a young kid. My very first (and for a long time only) memories of Boonton are of visiting the Boontonware store and picking out a cartoon-themed kiddie dining set consisting of a plate, cereal bowl and tumbler. They don't have those at the Boonton Museum, but they have the same design of salad and mixing bowls my mom still uses on a regular basis.

They're still making Boontonware somewhere in Ohio, which is a bit depressing, but, I guess, better than it not being made at all anymore. In checking it out, though, I've learned, though, that Boonton's participation in the early molded plastics industry also set the stage for its role in the electronics industry in the first half of the 20th century.

You'll recall that we recently found out about Jimmy Doolittle's historic instrument-driven flight at the Aircraft Radio Corporation testing field in Boonton. Part of the reason ARC and other radio pioneers located in the town was because they needed molded parts. Think of all of those radio chassis, dials and so forth that needed to be crafted to exact specifications, and it all makes sense. Thomas Edison had a similar process with his inventions: he had people on staff or nearby to design and craft parts for his creations and the machines that would mass produce the successful inventions. No doubt, the radio companies wanted their parts makers to be close by, to make any needed design adjustments quickly and efficiently before the radios went into production.

Did Jimmy Doolittle himself ever use Boontonware? There's no record to prove or disprove, but the U.S. Navy bought plenty of Boonton Molding's virtually indestructible tableware for use on their ships during World War II. In fact, the company coined the Boontonware brand after the war in an attempt to keep sales up after defense contracts expired. In any case, I think we can say with some certainty that Doolittle didn't use the same cartoon bowl I did growing up.

Making aviation history in Boonton

Stir crazy after Hurricane Irene and curious which roads were open, we took a drive last week to find a reasonable place to hike. Pyramid Mountain's trails were closed, and roads to other options were blocked and detoured, so we ended up at Johanson Memorial Fields off Powerville Road in Boonton. The fields offered more of a level stroll than real exercise, but Ivan figured there's always the chance some interesting birds would be around, possibly disrupted by the storm.

We parked near a grove of trees that was still wet from the storm, then walked out to a nearby field. Flat and manicured, there were plenty of ballfields and plenty of young boys were walking around with football gear on. From the level of activity, it was clear there was going to be either a scrimmage or a practice.

We soon came upon a great little playground area marked by a sign that looked like a metal windsock. Hmm... that's odd. Even more interesting, it's labeled "Doolittle's Landing." Could this be the sign of something notable yet obscure? Was there a reason why this area was so flat and bereft of trees?

A nearby commemorative plaque told the story. In the early decades of the 20th century, small airfields dotted New Jersey and other states, even as larger airports like Newark gained prominence as major hubs. Johanson Fields is a remnant of those days, and, in fact, several buildings on the property have the low-slung look of hangars and related airport structures. Starting in 1927, the field became the location and testing center of the Aircraft Radio Corporation (ARC), which was part of the burgeoning instrument flying industry. Up until then, pilots generally used ground landmarks to assess their route, which limited their ability to fly at night or in adverse weather conditions.

That all changed in 1929. Army Air Corps pilot Jimmy Doolittle made history at Boonton by taking off and landing from the ARC field purely by use of radio beacon and transmitter, without looking out of the cockpit.  The work he and the ARC engineers did on that field revolutionized aviation, making it possible for pilots to fly just about any kind of plane in virtually any conditions. Already, airplanes had gotten more advanced than some pilots' abilities to take in how quickly they were moving and in what conditions, and without some kind of assistance, it was likely they'd be unable to fly safely. It would be downright impossible for today's complex global airline industry to exist without the use of onboard instruments. Some might even say that Doolitte's work laid the foundation for eventual space flight.

Beyond Boonton, Doolittle built a formidable reputation as an ace pilot and Medal of Honor recipient in World War II, eventually rising to the rank of general. He also stayed in the forefront of aviation and space technology as a test pilot and, following his retirement, in private industry.

Who'd have thought that the small town of Boonton could have had such an impact on air travel? From what I can gather from research, the field may have been active as recently as the 1990's, but for now, the only regular takeoffs and landings are small radio-controlled aircraft and the birds passing through or inhabiting the trees surrounding the park. The evening we were there, Ivan observed a group of nighthawks apparently on a leg of their southward fall migration. Not quite Jimmy Doolittle, but one has to wonder at the internal instruments that guide birds to their winter locations.