Waiting out a rarity: the Neotropic cormorant in Clinton

It's been a while since Ivan and I have gone for a good "chase" bird, making a trip to see a species that rarely, if ever, shows up in New Jersey. Probably the most recent one was the Snowy owl that showed up on Sandy Hook last November, starting a season of almost commonplace sightings of the usually-rare visitor. And, of course, the awful weather this winter was enough to discourage the most ardent birder from striking out to find unique species.

Spring, however, has brought more reliable weather and an end to hibernation. In fact, we were enjoying an unusually warm series of days that seemed to enliven both nature and our fellow New Jerseyans. It was in that spirit that we heard about a Neotropic cormorant that was visiting Clinton.

To put it succinctly, this guy is way out of his usual range. Neotropics are usually found closer to the Gulf of Mexico, in Texas or perhaps south of the border. Instead, for reasons unknown, this fella made a right turn somewhere and made it to a scenic town on the South Branch of the Raritan River. Perhaps he wanted to get a look at Clinton's picturesque and historic red mill, which shows up on many of the state tourist brochures. Regardless of his intent, he appears to represent the first recorded sighting of his species in the Garden State.

The discovery of "Neo," as some have been calling him, highlights the wisdom of birding your local patch. Though the reservoir in Spruce Run Recreation Area is within easy flying range, the bird had chosen a nightly roost at a pond in Demott Park, just off Route 78 near a Holiday Inn on the edge of town. A few days after the initial sighting, other birders reported seeing Neo downtown, sightseeing near the mill. A favorite spot for human fishing enthusiasts, that part of the river must be a good place for the corm to grab a meal, too.

The Neotropic cormorant at Clinton (many thanks
 to Lisa Fanning, This Great Planet, for use of the
photo).

When we first got to town Sunday morning, both sites were discouragingly free of birders. The river at the mill site was overrun with waders-clad men, not exactly an ideal situation for a cormorant. With directions from some friendly firefighters, we made our way to Demott Park, but Neo wasn't there, either. We saw lots of geese and the usual Mallards, but not the bird we were looking for. Once or twice, a Double-crested cormorant flew high overhead, momentarily getting our hopes up. After about an hour, we cut our losses and headed to Spruce Run, figuring we'd return to Clinton if time allowed. Perhaps we could come back to catch a glimpse of Neo as he settled in for the night.

Returning around 4 p.m., we were among the first birders to arrive for what has become a nightly vigil at the pond. Others streamed in as the sun started sinking in the sky, many having made lengthy detours from excursions to birding hotspots around the state. We stayed alert to the possibility that Neo would make a fly-by or perhaps perch in the tree in the center of the pond, but mostly we traded notes on the other species we'd seen during the day and the latest developments at our favorite birding spots.

We noticed something else as we waited, too: this local patch yields a nice variety of waterfowl, with Gadwall, Green-winged teal and Bufflehead joining the usual Mallards and Canada geese. I later discovered the site is on one of the New Jersey Birding and Wildlife Trails and attracts even more ducks during the winter, as long as the pond doesn't freeze. As if to prove why a cormorant would find the park so attractive, a few fish sallied from the water.

As the glare of the setting sun faded to a glow behind the hills, tension began to build. Would Neo come to roost for the night before it became too dark to see him clearly? We'd all been very patient, but the zero hour was quickly approaching. Was it possible that he'd moved on to another location, leaving birders to hope he'd be re-spotted wherever he'd chosen for his new grounds?

And then... the cormorant came flying in, directly over our heads and gliding in a broad curve to approach his roosting tree in the center of the pond. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was making a grand entrance for our benefit. After taking a quick look to confirm the identification, birders picked themselves and their spotting scopes up and moved 90 degrees around the water's edge to get a better-lit view. I lagged behind, taking a longer look to seal the image in my mind before I changed positions.

To me, the size and shape of the bird proved this wasn't a Double-crested or Great cormorant, the two species that normally spend time in New Jersey. The Clinton visitor's tail was too long, his body too slim to be either of those in my eyes. And his feathers have a lovely chocolate tint, indicating youth. You might remember a previous post on cormorants, in which I compared one of their typical poses to that of Bela Lugosi. Well, if Lugosi's Dracula had had a grandchild, the Neotropical cormorant would be it.

Just as I was getting my view reset on him, the bird took flight, giving us all the chance to view his wingspan and another perspective of his comparatively dainty structure. Setting down again, the bird took to preening and occasionally extended his wings in the Dracula pose. The only thing we didn't get to see was his fishing maneuver, but he was probably full from wherever he'd spent the day, swimming and eating.

The origin of the Neo and his reasons for coming to New Jersey are already being debated by those who study birds for a living. Regardless of how he got here, I'm glad to have had the opportunity to see him here in the Garden State.

Hawks -- and others -- rise above Linden

Parks in highly-developed areas can be a bit of a roulette game from a birding perspective. Depending on the site's location and size, you could find something as profound as a pair of nesting eagles (as in Ridgefield Park's Overpeck Park, hard by I-80 and the Overpeck Creek), or as mundane as grackles (multiple places I'll not name to protect the innocent). I wasn't sure quite what we'd find when I suggested we check out the newly-opened, 95-acre Hawk Rise Sanctuary in Linden this past Saturday.

To the average person, Hawk Rise's location might not sound all that promising, stuck on the broad strip of land between Route 1 and the Turnpike, amid warehouses, a tank farm and a recently-capped city landfill. Then again, that description isn't much different from the way many people would characterize the Meadowlands, and we know how vibrantly alive with wildlife that region is. Plus, New Jersey Audubon was actively involved in developing the sanctuary with the City of Linden. I felt pretty confident that the trip would bear at least some good sightings.

The path from the parking lot leads you through woods.

Signs at the park's Range Road entrance mark out the course of a wide 1.25-mile gravel and plank trail that brings visitors through a variety of habitats. While the landfill is off limits, you can see it at the eastern edge of the preserve, covered with grasses and the occasional shrub. We began our trek through the wooded area just as police at the nearby shooting range started practice. Between that and the sound of barking from the adjacent animal shelter, it was hard to imagine that we'd soon hear the chatter of more than 30 species of birds.

That, however, is exactly what happened. The farther we walked in, the more the outside noise faded away,  replaced by the sounds of nature. By the time we made our way through the woods to the edge of the landfill (Mount Linden?) Ivan was recording names of birds he'd heard but not spotted, which I've never seen him do.

Marsh with capped landfill in the distance.

The trail straightens out once you get to the landfill, so the mound is to your left and a healthy wetland is to your right. As we walked along, we caught the song of the oft-heard-but-rarely-seen marsh wren, along with the call of the ubiquitous red-winged blackbird. A willow flycatcher stood atop one of the marsh reeds, occasionally adding his voice to the chorus.

Looking up and tracking, with binoculars to eyes, Ivan called, "Osprey!" Not unexpected, considering how close we were to water, but a nice find.

I heard something else rapidly approaching us overhead. "L-10-11," I called, checking out the recent take-off from Newark Liberty. We never quite forgot we were within ten miles of the airport, but the jet noise stayed well within acceptable limits.

The trail ends in a cul-de-sac boardwalk about twenty feet or so from the edge of the Rahway River, and while you can see houses and a little bit of industry at the far side, there's plenty of nature to observe. A killdeer picked through the mudflat a few feet ahead of us, and a snowy egret was doing some morning fishing in some shallower water farther away.

The eagle was just on the other side of the river. I swear.

The real surprise of the day was perched beyond the egret, at the far bank of the river. From the size and coloration of the bird, there was no question: it was an adult bald eagle, looking very comfortable in his (or her) environs. The majestic bird stood there patiently, giving us a nice side view and leaving only as a small motorboat approached. Even then, it didn't go for altitude, simply gliding a few feet above the water for as far as we could track it. Given that eagles tend to avoid human activity, it was kind of surprising to note that when we sighted it, the bird appeared to be just a few hundred feet away from the edge of a residential neighborhood. We hadn't heard anything about a nesting pair in the vicinity, but I guess anything's possible.

Our walk back through the woods netted us a few more species, including Baltimore oriole, indigo bunting and a heard-but-not-seen red-bellied woodpecker. Oddly, we didn't see a single Canada goose on the landfill or near the river. Could we have found the one place in Union County they haven't discovered?

Even considering all our great finds, I think I was most heartened by the potential for Hawk Rise to make so many more people aware of what's living -- and what's possible -- in our most industrial settings. Audubon will be running a series of events there, and the organization is working with Linden schools to include the sanctuary in the local science curriculum. We need more stuff like this in New Jersey.

Dracula birds and abandoned batteries on Sandy Hook

Even the crummy days this winter don't seem half bad. Though it was cloudy and felt as if showers were highly possible, I made the trip to Sandy Hook the other day to check out a bayside birding spot Ivan had shown me a few weeks ago.

As we've experienced before on the Hook, he and I knew the same location for different reasons. We parked near the Nike launch site and walked north on the southbound road until we reached a driveway with a closed wooden bar gate. Vehicular traffic was banned, but this was a well established birding area. It's even on the maps the Audubon Society used to hand out at its now-closed nature center near Guardian Park.

A short walk took us to our destination, one of the best duck sighting spots on the Hook. All around, though, was the evidence of the Army's presence during World War II. The footpath was originally a road between Batteries Kingman and Mills, both built just before the United States entered the war. A few dozen feet into the bay were several wooden pilings that had once held up a munitions dock that took in supplies and explosives for the batteries. And if you knew what you were looking for, several hundred feet farther south you could see two concrete dynamite bunkers that had once been safely buried under sand. Erosion had taken its toll over the years, making it difficult to picture what the spot had looked like when active.

Attempting to get to the bunkers and Mills will put you into restricted territory, so I didn't try that, but I did see that a few entrances to Kingman were visible from the shore. Obscured by vegetation that had taken root in the copious amounts of sand and soil that had covered its roof and walls since its abandonment, the massiveness of the battery isn't easily imagined. All of the visible entrances are well secured, and the interior is both dark and hazardous, so exploration was unadvisable.

When I returned on my own last week, I wasn't sure what I'd find, and in the case of the birds, I didn't know what I'd be able to identify. I was relieved, then, that my first glance delivered an old reliable for me: the cormorant. Ten of them, in fact, lined up like soldiers on the pilings I mentioned earlier.

Cormorants are very easily identified in silhouette, especially in what I call the 'Dracula' position. The bane of fishermen everywhere, corms scout the waters for good fin fish and then dive in to get them. Thing is, though, unlike most aquatic birds, their feathers aren't water repellent, so when they get out of the water, they spread their wings to air dry them. In that position, they look like good ol' Bela Lugosi in his signature role, preparing to transform himself into a bat.

Take a look and let me know what you think:

Double Crested Cormorant - Phalacrocorax auritus

Bela Lugosi as Dracula - Vampiricus scaricus

Come to think of it, that comparison gives me a bit of a shiver when I think of the proximity of the dark, damp batteries and the potential they hold for substantial bat colonies. Who knows? A hapless explorer within Kingman or Mills might find herself suddenly enveloped by a dark cape and then relieved of a few units of O Positive. Perhaps the cormorants are trying to tell us something.

Probably not, but if it acts as a deterrent, all the better.