Pileated Woodpeckers: the excavation professionals

Ever have one of those days when your work brings you onto the road a little earlier than usual, the weather is clear and balmy and you find yourself driving near one of your favorite places? The coincidence is just too good to pass up a visit.

It doesn't seem to happen often enough, but that's where I was this afternoon. Near perfect weather, assignments complete for the day, and deliciously close to one of my favorite birding spots, Watchung Reservation. What else could I do? With binoculars already in the car, I was ready for a leisurely afternoon hike.

My usual target spot for an impromptu walk through nature at Watchung is the bridle path alongside Surprise Lake. Broad and well-worn, it's a safe, tick-free route for dog walkers, runners or folks like me who weren't exactly dressed or shod for a day in the woods. I wasn't sure I'd see or hear many interesting birds, given the time of day, but even a quiet walk is well worth the effort.

Finding my way to the bridle path, I considered trying to call out a Pileated Woodpecker. They're regulars, if not abundant, at Watchung, and we've heard and/or seen them several times near Surprise Lake, their loudly distinctive "WUK-WUK-WUK-WUK" being one of my favorite bird vocalizations. (Check it out here.) As a species, they prefer forests with a good choice of standing and fallen dead trees. Even if you're not lucky enough to see one, you'll probably see evidence of them in a decent-sized woods -- large chunks of bark and inner tree trunk laying on the ground where they've pecked for insects. Square-shaped holes mark where they've excavated nesting holes.

Not the Pileated I saw today,
but a good representation.

You may be wondering what the big deal is about Pileated Woodpeckers. Quite simply put, they're huge, and they look like an old school Woody Woodpecker. At an average of 16 inches long, with a large, powerful bill and distinctive red crest, they're more than twice as big as the Downy Woodpeckers you might see on a backyard tree. And rather than drilling in a rapid-fire pecking motion, they chip rather deliberately at their target tree trunks, cocking their heads as if contemplating the perfect angle to get to the inects beneath.

Just as I was thinking about imitating the "WUK-WUK-WUK" to bring one out, I saw movement at the base of a tree on the side of the trail about 10 feet ahead. Expecting to see a Robin or two, I was astounded to see two Pileateds low on the tree trunk. It was clear they'd been there a while: one was standing on a pile of wood chips it had clearly excavated from the large hole it was still pecking away at. If I didn't know better, I'd believe it was a contractor working on a new factory for the Keebler Elves. The companion Pileated seemed either to be standing watch or perhaps waiting for a few good morsels exposed by its more industrious partner. Was this a parent-child situation, with a hungry adolescent waiting for mom to provide dinner?

Post-Pileated damage.

Whatever their work plan and relationship, they made for fascinating watching. My plans to go any further down the trail evaporated instantly as I set to watch one of my favorite species from the closest vantage point I'd ever had. It's not often you can view woodpeckers situated closer to the ground than you are! As the excavator continued his work, the other bird alternately turned up bits of piled detritus or hid around the side of the tree, his head occasionally popping up in a somewhat startled-looking "peekaboo" fashion.

Then, suddenly, I heard the "WUK-WUK-WUK" sound of a third Pileated from a tree about 10 feet beyond the working pair. Seeing two at once was a treat -- three was unprecedented for me. Could this have been the other parent, or maybe another offspring? Was it possible that there were even more in the vicinity?

I stayed just a few more minutes to enjoy the activity, then left the apparent family to their dinner. It wasn't clear they'd even noticed me, but they deserved their privacy and a measure of safety. And besides, they were making such short work of that hole at the base of the tree that I couldn't be sure it wouldn't come tumbling down at some point.* For a spur-of-the-moment stop at the Reservation, I'd been nourished by a peek at nature that I won't soon forget.


*I kid, I kid. To my knowledge, no tree has ever been felled, beaver-style, by an overenthusiastic Pileated Woodpecker.

Hiking the wilderness over Route 78

Even when you think you have a pretty good idea of what a site holds, it's always worth checking out a stray trail or two. Recently I discovered a narrow, unblazed footpath along Watchung Reservation's Surprise Lake and found my way to a whole new habitat I'd never known to be accessible. Ivan and I explored a bit farther a few days later, eventually finding the lake's marshy conclusion, hard by a sound barrier separating it from the roar of Route 78 traffic. I'd always figured that the waterway had to end somewhere; I'd just never bothered to try to get there.

It's really quite a beautiful place, if you can ignore the constant hum of interstate traffic. Choked with lilypads and wetlands grasses, the marsh is home to a number of aquatic birds, including two of my personal favorites: wood ducks and green herons. They're both fairly shy species, and our arrival caused a few to wing off to other hiding spots somewhere on the lake, but others simply swam to more secluded areas where we couldn't track them. From a wildlife viewing perspective, the place couldn't be more accommodating. Earthen berms cross the lake at two locations, allowing people (and horses in one area) to get a sense of the full length of the lake by basically standing on it. The first time around, we crossed the farthest berm out and returned to our starting point via another narrow path. It brought us up an embankment nestled against the sound barrier, the trail wandering a hundred feet or so away from but parallel to the lake's edge. Eventually we made it back to the point where I'd concluded my original exploration, and we returned to the car via the bridle path.

On our second visit this past Sunday, we discovered that the recent rains had created a stream across the start of the footpath, so we had to start our journey on the bridle path. Getting out to the berms was easy enough, and we crossed back to continue the trip. This is where we got a bit tripped up. Instead of taking the lower path that would have had us retracing our steps from the last time, we took the upper path that led uphill and closer to the sound barrier. Thing was, we didn't realize it until we were well down the path.

Route 78 overpass: a deer's eye view.

Something seemed a bit off. First, there was a steady stream of water coursing down the path. It wasn't troublesome, but it seemed like storm sewer water looking for level ground. The last time we were there, it hadn't rained for several days, so that wasn't a clear sign we were on the wrong path. Second, this route seemed noisier. I remembered hearing the dull roar of Route 78 traffic before, but I didn't recall it being so close. And third, the farther we got along the path, the more different the foliage was. Rather than a lot of underbrush, we had a pretty clear path through a tunnel of honeysuckle. It smelled wonderful, but still, it was a little offputting.

The noise issue seemed weird but only got stranger when I sensed the hum of traffic below us. Could we be on the famous Watchung Reservation bunny bridge?

If you're familiar with Route 78, you know that a series of bridges pass over the road in the Mountainside area. The easternmost carries Glenside Avenue across the highway, the westernmost holds an abandoned road that once led to a Nike base, and the one between them is covered with plants and trees. That wooded one is the bunny bridge, or wildlife overpass.

Why build a bridge for mammals and reptiles? The short answer is compromise. Originally, Interstate 78 was slated to run directly through Watchung Reservation, the largest plot of preserved land in Union County. Environmentalists and local residents held up construction for years, seeking an alternate route or perhaps to stop the road altogether. Meanwhile, the Federal government continued building and opening other segments of the highway, forcing travelers to find another route through the Mountainside/Summit/Springfield area.

To get the road built, government officials agreed to move the road to the edge of the Reservation and excavate a right-of-way into the Second Watchung ridge to lessen the sound impact. They also built a bridge from the main part of the Reservation to the thin sliver remaining on the westbound side of the highway, allowing wildlife to move easily between the two areas. With those elements in place, the road opened in 1986. Depending on who you talk to, the bunny bridge has been either accepted or shunned by animals.

Coincidentally, I'd recently gotten an e-mail from Hidden New Jersey reader Darian Worden, relating his own adventure on the bunny bridge. I thought we might be following his footsteps when we heard the humming traffic, but we weren't. A paved road and chain link fence joined us as we walked, raising a new discovery. I hadn't realized it, but the Glenside Avenue overpass also carries its own lane of vegetation and, presumably, the occasional mammal. We kept walking and eventually came to an athletic field where a girls' soccer league game was taking place. It was kind of like being in Field of Dreams, but without the baseball bats.

We hadn't found the bunny bridge, but something even odder (at least I think so). A view of the map shows that our path leads to additional county open space, but I'm not sure that deer are welcome there any more than they are throughout suburban New Jersey. I guess if you want to walk across Route 78 in relative safety, it's a place to do it, but you'd have to go through a bit of trouble - and mud - to do it.

(Incidentally, if you'd like to check out Darian's account and photos of the bunny bridge, surf on over to Head First Adventures.)

You'll never take it alive: Copper in Watchung Reservation*

Union County's Watchung Reservation is well known among New Jersey adventurers as home of the Deserted Village, but it holds other surprises that aren't as evident, even when you practically trip over them.

If you take a right turn after the trail head near the Trailside Nature and Science Center, you'll eventually come upon a bunch of ravines. They look entirely natural, but one isn't quite what it appears to be. In fact, it's the last remnants of a very old copper mine. You'll know you found it when you come upon the interpretive marker (if it's still there) or a four-by-four post with a pink stripe around it (if it's not). Oh, and you might notice some rocks with a slight greenish tinge on them, that being the traces of very low-quality copper.

The area isn't as well known for mining today as other parts of the state are, but its history goes far back. Park literature theorizes that the First Watchung Mountain ridge may have been scouted for copper by the Lenape as far back as 500 years ago. Another source noted that the area was first settled by English miners in the 1600s. Either there was really something there, or speculators were highly motivated to take a chance at making a big strike in the New World. I'm betting on the latter more than the former.

The more interesting story, in my book, is what may have happened there during the Revolutionary War. It's believed that Hessian prisoners of war were held in what's now Mountainside, and brought to the mine site to dig for copper for military use. The famed Schuyler Mine in the North Arlington area was closed at the time, and perhaps the Continentals thought they could hit pay dirt farther south along the ridge. In any case, the Hessians only got about fifteen feet in before digging was halted; the ore they found was deemed not to be worth the time to extract, transport and process. If there were any other mining attempts within the current reservation borders, they're not evident today.

As I was researching the Reservation's mining history, I found the usual apocryphal mine stories: deep underground rooms haunted by a kid who got lost and trapped by a cave-in, you name it. All that tends to go out the window when you see the actual location. If there's someone stuck in there, he's been there for an awfully long time.

*Apologies to Jimmy Cagney for mangling his quote from Public Enemy.

The Deserted Village - neither deserted nor a village. Discuss.

After our previous birding jaunt to Watchung Reservation, I knew I had to bring Ivan back to check out one of Union County's most interesting historic destinations, the Deserted Village. Fate seemed to intervene when one of his birding sources noted some interesting sightings in that part of the park.

Hard by the sound barrier erected when Interstate 78 was built through the northern edge of the reservation, the Deserted Village retains a very remote, removed feeling, nonetheless. It's hard to believe that the site was once a bustling factory town and, later, a chic resort for city folk.

Visitors today are treated to the sight of about ten whitewashed cottages in various states of disrepair, only a few of them actually occupied. There's also a fully-restored community building as well as a barn that's in the process of being rehabilitated into classroom space. And if you know where to look, you can find a small graveyard that holds the remains of the Badgeley and Willcocks families who were the original white settlers here in the 1700s. Peter Willcocks, in fact, constructed a sawmill and cleared a great deal of the area along the tract's Blue Brook, a sight hard to conceive when you look at the well-forested area.

Following the Willcocks' departure, New York businessman David Felt bought hundreds of acres of land around the brook to build a stationery and printing mill. To staff his enterprise, he hired over a hundred people, whom he housed, with their families, in a community of small homes clustered on the bluff above the brook. At one point, over 175 people lived in the town, as many as four families to a house. Felt ran the town with firm rules, requiring all residents to attend church services and to send their children to the one-room school. According to legend, his employees held him in high regard, despite his strictness, lovingly calling him "King David."

Upon Felt's retirement in 1850, several other businesses attempted to run operations at the site but were unsuccessful until Warren Ackerman bought the property in 1882. Capitalizing on the property's idyllic and rustic setting, he converted the former factory setting to Glenside Park, a summer resort. Renovating the houses, he added attractive porches and turned duplexes to single family structures any prosperous businessman and his family would enjoy. Ackerman also built a barn in which visitors and residents could house their horses and carriages, and, later, their cars.

The Glenside Park era lasted no longer than Felt's kingdom, however, as the Jersey Shore became the next great attraction for summer excursions. Finally, the property came under the aegis of the Union County Park System in the early 1920's, where it continues to be managed today. Many of the houses were once rented out, and reportedly the village was fully occupied as recently as 1985. Today, though, only three are in use as residences, with the rest in rapid decay.

The county has done some work from time to time to stabilize the unoccupied houses, but it seems to be of little good now, as roofs sag, porches disintegrate and windows crack and break. Reportedly, in the 1920s a Mexican muralist painted scenes on the interior walls of one of the houses; one has to wonder if the integrity of the plaster walls still supports the artwork.

There's plenty of decent, leisurely hiking in the immediate area, as the Reservation's Sierra Trail (white blazes) winds through the community. Take the gravel path down to the ravine below, look up, and you'll get an interesting view of the backs of the houses situated at the edge of the eroding land above.

One can hope that at some point the vacant houses will be restored. For now, archaeology students occasionally do digs here, and the county holds events here in the fall on Four Centuries Weekend and to celebrate Halloween.

Finding new things among the familiar: Birding at Watchung Reservation

I'm always rather pleased with myself when I can introduce Ivan to a new birding environment. It's fun to spot a particular bird before he does, but it's even better to bring him someplace he's never birded. That was the case last Sunday when we closed out a very eventful excursion with a stop at Watchung Reservation in Union County.

Located between the first and second Watchung Mountain ridges, the Reservation is nearly 2000 acres of hilly and mostly wooded land, with a couple of ponds, a stable and the recently renovated Trailside Nature and Science Center that focuses on the flora and fauna of the area. It's also home to a deserted village which has had lives as a resort, a factory town and a Revolutionary-era farm. While the hiking isn't as strenuous as you might find in more northern parts of the state, it's a convenient place to spend a few hours on the trail if you live locally. Given we were already on Route 78 as we headed east from Phillipsburg, it was a logical stop.

I've hiked Watchung many times, but I'd never focused much on the birds there, other than enjoying their songs as I headed down one trail or another. Given its acreage, I figured there could be some lesser-seen (at least for me) species enjoying a migratory stop-over, or maybe even nesting. On any given hike I wouldn't know many of them by voice or by sight, so why not have the Dean of Birdology identify them for me?

We parked on Tracy Drive, across from Surprise Lake (surprise!) and started walking through the woods at the water's edge. While hosting a nice variety of trees, the path is reasonably level and free of potentially tick-infested brush. As you stroll, you'll also come upon a couple of rustic building foundations. These stone walls are what's left of the boathouse and bathhouse that served the lake for the first several years of the park's existence. Informative wayside markers provide information and photos of the structures to guide your imagination.

So how was the birding? Not bad, overall. Though we saw a preponderance of robins and sparrows, we also found warblers including the black-throated green. I also got to see my first Baltimore oriole of the season, which was a nice balance to the orchard oriole we'd spotted at the Water Gap.

For those who'd like to check out the route we took, it's the dark pink trail that runs on the eastern side of the lake, from the road to about 100 feet short of the spillway. Beware, though: this trail is mired in controversy. The actual trailhead is nearer to Trailside Center, and it skirts a moraine, passes by a copper mine and runs through the ravine below the Deserted Village, but at some point before getting to Surprise Lake, it just disappears. Some say that an organized group (of who knows whom) took it upon themselves to blaze the route without bothering to inform the county so it could be placed on the official trail map. In any case, take care not to get lost along the way: pick up a map at Trailside or carry a GPS with you to help guide you back to the established trail.