A close shave: visiting Cape May's Whiskered Tern

Some people will travel hundreds, if not thousands of miles to visit the same spot every year. Ask the many Canadian families who migrate to Wildwood every year for their sun-and-fun vacation, a ritual that has by now spanned generations.

Birds, apparently, can be of similar mind, or at least we can imagine that to be the case from the story of the Whiskered tern. The species, normally seen only in Europe, Asia, Africa and Australia, has shown up in North America only three times, all within the past 21 years.

Every time, it's been seen in Cape May.

Yup -- of all of the places a seabird can decide to set down in the entirety of the continent, New Jersey has been its first choice in 1993, 1998 and again this year. (In the interest of full disclosure, one was seen in Delaware for a month after the second New Jersey sighting, but it's presumed to be the same bird.) It's not exactly the annual Wildwood trip, and it most certainly hasn't been the same individual bird all three times, but Garden State birders do appreciate the loyalty, spotty as it has been.

A crowd usually forms when a rarity is sighted in Cape May.

This year's Whiskered tern was first sighted at Cape May Point State Park on September 12, at the bunker pond not far from the annual Hawk Watch platform. Unfortunately, Ivan and I couldn't make the trip until today, but continued reports of the bird's presence kept us hopeful it would wait around for us. The worst case would be if we made the trek only to discover we'd just missed it by a whisker.

Last night's birding reports were that the bird had been seen at the bunker pond. We were barely out of the car at the State Park when a fellow birder told us the tern was farther down the beach, near Coral Avenue. Say no more. We buckled back up and made the quick trip a few blocks. The presence of cars from as close as Pennsylvania and as far away as West Virginia both told us we were in the right place and confirmed what a big deal this bird was. We traversed up a set of stairs over a dune and down to the beach, passing a viewing platform where a large group of binoculared folks was scanning the sand.

Sure enough, the bird had left about ten minutes before we arrived. Had we not stopped for a quick Wawa breakfast, we'd have seen it. Another birder reported that the bird habitually stuck around the beach in the mornings. If we were willing to hang out and periodically scan the standing flocks of gulls and more local terns on the beach, we'd probably see the Whiskered tern eventually.

That seemed fair enough. Scores of gulls and terns were out over the ocean a hundred yards or so from the beach, occasionally diving down to grab a fish breakfast. They'd have to set down sometime. Obviously this was the right place to be, provided our target bird hadn't already eaten his fill for the morning.

Looking through piles of gulls and nearly identical terns for something different can be a bit frustrating this time of year. We knew we were looking for a bird with a broad black cap and a gray body that would differentiate it from other terns, but light and nature can play tricks on your eyes. Plumage evolves into the fall and winter months as it turns from breeding colors to bland for many species. To make matters even more challenging for me, the Whiskered tern isn't listed in North American guides, and we hadn't printed pictures from the web.

As we waited for our guest to show, we had a nice but puzzling surprise: a trio of Surf scoters swimming nearby. These guys normally spend their summers breeding in the upper reaches of Canada. Were they just early arrivals for their normal New Jersey winter, or, odd as it might seem, had they just never left here in the spring?

The whiskered tern is the black-capped, gray-bodied bird
in the center of this digiscoped photo.

That question still in the air, we saw the platform birders had migrated to the beach and one of them was pointing toward a group of birds milling around in the sand. Scanning the impromptu flock, we found it pretty easily -- it was standing in full view, the only tern with a light gray breast. The poor guy looked a little lonely and downcast, as if he realized how different he was from the others around him. Sure, we were anthropomorphizing, but I had to wonder if maybe his European or Asian accent had set him apart unfavorably among the rest of the terns. Or maybe he was just missing the Black tern that's been seen with him several times. Or maybe he was just resting.

In any case, we were thrilled to have gotten to Cape May before the Whiskered tern made his leave for wherever he decides to go next. Why he's in New Jersey has yet to be determined (if ever), but he's definitely made friends. It was a new life bird and new state bird for both Ivan and me, a double feat that's become increasingly rarer for us.

Still, we wondered: why is it called a Whiskered tern? We didn't notice any hint of whiskers, or even a five o'clock shadow. Perhaps the name was given for something that can only be seen with the bird "in hand," as ornithologists will say about a specimen taken for research purposes. Or maybe it's just one of those odd names. Any ideas, birders?

Eight score and five years ago: Lincoln in Cape May?

Abraham Lincoln in the 1840s.

Wednesday February 12 marks the 205th anniversary of the birth of Abraham Lincoln, an interesting date to consider our sixteenth president relaxing at the Jersey Shore.

New Jersey's direct connections with Lincoln are rather sparse, with most state explorers pointing to the gravesites and ruins of a forge run by his distant ancestors in Fillmore, Monmouth County. Thus, I was rather delighted to come upon a link between Honest Abe and the seaside resort of Cape May.

While somewhat surprising, the pieces seemed to fit at first glance. By the mid 1800s, Cape May had become a popular destination for politicians and statesmen to escape the oppressive summertime heat of Washington D.C. Lincoln represented Illinois for one term in Congress in the 1840s. And the register of the old Mansion House inn shows "A. Lincoln and wife" as visitors on July 31, 1849.

Making the story even more appealing, some sources claim that Lincoln made a decision in Cape May that arguably affected the course of history. It's said that while he and his wife Mary were enjoying a respite by the sea, he received a letter from President Zachary Taylor, offering him the governorship of Oregon Territory. Mary reportedly balked at the prospect of living in the remote territory, among the Indians, and urged Lincoln to turn down the offer. The pair returned to Illinois, where the future president resumed his legal practice and later unsuccessfully ran for U.S. Senate.

It's a great story, but it's not true - most of it, anyway. Though Lincoln was offered the governorship, he wasn't in Cape May when he received the letter from Taylor, but in Illinois. Court records place him in Springfield, Illinois on July 31, winning a settlement on behalf of a client. Given the limits of 19th century transportation, there's no way he could have gotten from the Springfield courts to the Jersey Shore by the end of the day to make the story possible.

What, then, about the hotel register with the "A. Lincoln" signature? Two theories provide plausible stories. First, some believe the name might have been planted there, perhaps by Mansion House management, to raise the inn's profile as the lodging place of esteemed notables. Another story states that "A. Lincoln" did, in fact, stay there: Philadelphia merchant Abel Lincoln. So I guess you could say that if you were a Lincoln in 1849, you had to be Abel to be in Cape May.

Have you driven a Ford (on the beach) lately?

Just about every numbered highway in New Jersey has at least one: a car dealership. They're so commonplace that they'd almost be invisible, except for the giant flags and inflatable thingies dancing in the breeze created by passing traffic. It's hard to believe that there was a time when there were no dealers at all: no lots filled with rows and rows of cars, no salespeople asking what they needed to do to get you into "that" car today. Originally, most if not all auto manufacturers sold their products through catalogs and print advertisements.

Given its onetime status as America's Motor City, it's probably not surprising to discover that Detroit was the home of the first independent automobile showroom. However, the very first Ford dealership wasn't in Michigan, but in the resort town of Cape May, its founding the unintentional consequence of an auto race.

In the early days of the 20th century, manufacturers and hobbyists tested the latest and greatest cars on sand tracks and even on frozen lakes. The names of now-famous brands were participants, including Henry Ford and Louis Chevrolet, who drove their own races.

Cape May's beach was lauded as an ideal spot for auto racing, prompted by the formation of the city's own automobile enthusiasts club in 1903. Two years later, more that 10,000 people flocked to the resort city for a weekend beach carnival that included three days of motor racing. All of the big names were expected to be there, including Chevrolet (driving a Fiat), Ford, professional racer Walter Christie and a host of others.

According to the August 31, 1905 issue of The Motor World, Ford was delayed in reaching Cape May for the August 25 races, forcing him to drive his 60 horsepower car without benefit of making necessary tuneups. The auto magnate came in dead last in a field of four, with eyewitnesses later claiming that a sudden wave had overtaken his car, literally washing out his lead.

Reports of the time say nothing of it, but legend has it that Ford was counting on winning the race so he could use the prize money to pay for his accommodations at the Stockton Inn. Lacking those funds, he offered the hotel manager stock in Ford Motor Company, which had gone public only a year earlier. No dice. Maybe the manager was skeptical about Ford's viability, or maybe he was simply risk averse, but he wanted cash.

Dan Focer, sitting in the Model F he bought
directly from Henry Ford.

Ford then looked to the unquestionably valuable assets he had with him. Besides his race car, he'd brought a Model F sedan, which he offered to local resident Dan Focer for $400. To sweeten the deal, he promised to make Focer the first dealer of Ford vehicles. An engineer on the West Jersey Railroad, Focer agreed to the transaction and started selling cars in Cape May three years later, around the same time Ford began using the production line to manufacture cars. He later took on J.E. Mecray as a partner in the dealership.

As for Ford, he left Cape May with his accounts settled. A few years later, he and a partner purchased land in the city, with the vision of building transatlantic shipping facilities to import cars to Europe. However, nothing became of the plan.

Focer and Mecray reportedly went out of business in 1937, though the WPA Guide to 1930s New Jersey claims that the "First Ford Agency" on Washington Avenue was still displaying the car in 1938. Regardless, the vehicle hasn't been seen publicly in quite some time. It was last known to be with a now-defunct Ford dealership in Chester, PA.

Both sides of the Civil War... in Cape May

That awful pork-roll-on-potato-roll sandwich may have left a dent, but it wasn't enough to tide me through lunchtime on our recent Cape May visit, so we headed downtown to get a real meal. That done, we took a quick stroll down Jackson and found ourselves at the outdoor Washington Street mall. Even on a November Saturday, the place was almost as populated as it is on a summer afternoon.

I figured we were just headed back to the car, but Ivan took a detour onto the mall, which is basically a street closed to traffic. After looking for a minute or two, he found what he was looking for:

If there's a Civil War connection to any given place, Ivan will find it. This one relates the story of a local man who survived a battle injury and confinement at one of the worst Confederate prison camps. Cape May resident and Union Colonel Henry Washington Sawyer gained some of his fame for being part of a prisoner exchange that returned Brigadier General William Lee to the Confederates. Yes, that kind of Lee: the son of Confederate Army leader Robert E. Lee.

Sawyer returned to Cape May after the war and built the Chalfonte Hotel, which still stands today as the city's oldest continually-operated lodging place. After his death, the hotel eventually went into the hands of a family from Virginia that had ties to the Confederate Army. To this day, the hotel continues to serve Southern food and works to extend the region's hospitality to all of its guests. Considering that many believe Cape May to be south of the Mason-Dixon line, it's rather appropriate, but one wonders what Sawyer would think. He certainly didn't get the best of southern hospitality at Libby Prison.  

Stevie Nicks, get out of my head!

I've finally relented to the madness of listing all of the species I've seen since Ivan and I started birding together. Add to that the few notables I recall from my other travels, and I've collected a roster of about 150 birds, give or take.

Thus, when Ivan suggested that we drive to Cape May last Saturday, I was a bit more than receptive. He'd heard that two doves, the Eurasian Collared and the White-winged, were cited at the point, and if he needed them for his lists, I certainly could do with seeing them, too. Doves, for the uninitiated, aren't just the cooing white creatures we see at weddings and in magic shows. Most are kinda pigeon-y in color and size, but they're more distinctive than the average sidewalk denizen. You've seen 'em. You probably just didn't realize it.

I have to admit that I'm not a big fan of getting up early enough to hit the Parkway at 6 a.m., even if someone else is driving. It still frustrates me that my favorite Parkway rest stop, Ocean View (milepost 15 or so) now lacks a staffed food source AND doesn't open until 8:30 a.m. I mean, where am I supposed to get my burger and duck into a rest room? Governor Christie, are you listening?

That rant aside, and needing the facilities, we made a beeline for Cape May Point and the state beach, figuring we'd then stop for a convenience-store bite and locate the doves next. Fortunately the rest rooms near the lighthouse were open and the 7-Eleven offered up prepared breakfast sandwiches. A helpful note here: avoid the pork roll and cheese on potato roll. It's both a belly bomb and potentially trichinosis-laden, if you catch my drift.

Cape May Point offers acres and acres of protected habitat, but the two doves were said to be hanging out at specific residential addresses, so we went to check those roads, scanning the utility wires along the way. We checked for the white winged dove with no luck, running into a couple of birders Ivan knew, who also hadn't seen the bird.

Not the white winged dove we saw,
but a white winged dove, nonetheless.

Next stop, collared dove. The neighborhood there was a little denser and closer to the beach, and the dove's address led us to a corner property ringed with evergreens and a nice enclave of bird feeders. Shortly after we got there, we were joined by that first pair of birders and another trio, all scanning for a bird which seemed not to want to be seen. The chat was friendly and optimistic, making the wait and the additional scans rather pleasant.

Someone decided to check out the trees on the other street bordering the property, and I ambled over to see if I could find anything. With that many more experienced birders present, I didn't expect to be the one to spot it, but... I was! Nestled back in an evergreen, like one of those glass Christmas tree bird ornaments, was the visitor we'd all come to see, the Eurasian collared dove. He very nicely accommodated us with some good views, turning from time to time to allow us to see different aspects. Before we parted company, we exchanged numbers with one of the other birders, who pledged to let us know if she saw or heard about any other good feathered visitors.

With that victory in hand, we drove back over to see if our luck would continue with another visit to the white winged's reported spot. This time, the property owner, himself an avid birder, suggested we could come into his yard for a look. He also told us the dove had been showing up around 3 p.m. for the past several days. Great! If we could just get all the birds on regular schedules, all of this listing folly would be so much easier.

We had a few hours to kill before then, so we headed back to the lighthouse to check out the ducks on the nearby pond. Given the time of year, the duck population is increasing both in volume and variety, making it more likely we'd find something interesting at the blind. At the very least, I might get one or two new species for the list.

It didn't take long for us both to make good sightings. As I was scribbling "coot" into my listing book, Ivan called a male Eurasian wigeon. It differs from its American cousin in the color of its head (the local guy has a green cap of sorts while the import is more brownish in the same spot) and underbelly, while the females of either species are pretty similar, making ID difficult. Several birders happened by and crowded into the blind to get Ivan's description of the bird's location on the pond among so many waterfowl there.

Unlike the frustrating chases of weekends past, we were really cleaning up on listing birds, but the last quarry, the white-winged dove, was yet to be seen. We optimistically headed back to the proper address, and a few yards before we got there, noticed yet another birder trained on a tree in a field. To the naked eye, it appeared he was staring at an oddly grown branch. A closer look revealed the growth to be an immature bald eagle, just hanging out. Eagles are becoming more common, though it's always a thrill to see one, especially a young guy who looks strong and healthy. It crossed my mind that he was frustratingly close to the white-winged's habitual afternoon spot. Hopefully we'd spot the dove before the eagle did.

Not to worry. As we pulled up to the proper address, the property owner was walking down his porch to the driveway, camera in hand. No doubt the visitor had arrived!

A small crowd gathered as we put binoculars to eyes and looked upward into a nearby tree. After a few moments of looking, someone found the white-winged dove and began describing his whereabouts so the rest of us could find him. Yup, there he was, patiently nestled on a branch, displaying the distinctive white stripe on the edge of his wing. Nice!

Thanking the property owner for sharing the view with us, I asked, "What're you going to have for us next week?" I was kidding, of course, but I guess you could say I caught the bug. A successful day will do that, I guess. It wasn't just the birds, though. As Ivan mentioned later on, one of the great parts of birding is the sense of community, and Cape May was birder central that day. Almost from the moment we got there, we'd run into others who were capitalizing on the great weather to visit with the birds, and all were more than happy to share their finds and hear about our discoveries. You can't help but feel good about that.

Beating the crowd

This weekend's jaunt brought us to the end of the Parkway. Yes, my friends, Exit Zero, Cape May. Given current work schedules and the need to get far away from the office, what had started as an offhand trip "maybe to Brigantine, maybe someplace else, uh, well, it's been a while since I've been to Avalon, so why not check it out" turned into a trek to the Cape May lighthouse and environs at the southernmost tip of New Jersey. From our starting point in Union County, that's well over 130 miles one way on the Parkway alone.

And, of course, there are sure to be birds there. Being a major rest stop on the Atlantic Flyway, Cape May has become renowned for the sheer variety of avian visitors. Thus, it was a good thing we had the optics with us. We figured we'd hit Avalon and whatever else on the way back.

Now, this trip was interesting in the fact that we were combining shared knowledge of locations, but seeing them from our respective angles. I've spent a few Labor Day weekends staying in the Victorian district of Cape May, hitting the beach, maybe stopping at a few of the nature preserves to check them out, but going very light on the birding. For Ivan, on the other hand, it's been all about the birds.

One thing we seemed to have in common: the ritual pit stop at the Parkway's southernmost rest stop, the Ocean View Service Area. It's my reliable place for getting a Roy Rogers cheeseburger and some Jersey tourist info. Imagine my shock and dismay to find that the Roy Rogers was CLOSED, its counter walled off. It rocked my world. I mean, I understand that I was probably one of the five people who ever bought food there, but come on! Am I expected to stop at the Atlantic City rest area instead? There's no charm to that place at all.

The other nasty thing they did was reconfigure the bathrooms, moving the entrances farther back toward the New Jersey Information center. You can see below that the whole thing is just a little confusing. I could make any number of jokes here about the fact that men never stop for directions, so maybe the only way to do it is to put urinals in the info center, but I'll refrain. (Interestingly, though, Ivan was the one who pointed out the photo op.)

It being winter and all, the Parkway trip was relatively quick and it seemed we were in Cape May in very little time (it probably also didn't hurt that I had company for a trip I usually drive solo -- good conversation does pass the time better than talking to oneself.). A few more miles, a quick stop at one of the Audubon centers, and we were at the Cape May lighthouse in Cape May Point State Park.

The park includes a beach, interpretive center, the lighthouse, a bird observation platform (with emphasis on raptors), a series of paths and, oh yeah, a World War II bunker on the beach. We saw an array of ducks and whatnot on the marshy side of the platform,

but the really remarkable aspect of the stay was the bare ground. Bare meaning NO SNOW.

The temperature was somewhere in the high 40s and had been for most of the previous week, giving the snow pack a good long time to melt away. We marveled in it as we walked along the paths and I took pictures. There's something really liberating about seeing grass or underbrush free of a white coating after so long. You can't help but feel that spring isn't far away. (Were the groundhogs right?)

Of course, I had to do my happy dance along the path at points. When the days are getting longer and the snow has disappeared, what else can you do?