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.

An abundance of life, all in the cold

We've been really fortunate this January. Relatively mild temperatures and the lack of measurable snow has made it much easier to explore and go birding in some of the more traditionally productive January target spots. Yeah, we've had to put on a few layers, but the air has been pleasantly brisk, rather than punishingly cold.

This past weekend was the exception. Below-freezing temperatures combined with biting gusts to create some pretty harsh wind chills, despite the bright blue sky. I guess the upside is that all of the precipitation we've had to date has come when the temperatures are warmer. I can deal with the cold as long as I'm dry.

It was in that environment that we headed to the shore for a birding trek to the Brigantine Division of Forsythe National Wildlife Refuge. As longtime readers might recall, we made a few trips last year to Brig, as seasoned birders call it, for ducks and found a bonus bittern and my first bald eagle for good measure. Not bad, overall. Ivan figured we'd pick up snow geese and a few other first-of-the-year species on this jaunt.

On arrival, we found that the refuge was participating in the Federal public lands Fee Free Weekend, where National Parks and Wildlife Refuges waive their normal entry fees to encourage Americans to explore the historic and natural wonders we all own. A sizeable group of people was already in the parking lot, so we headed in the opposite direction, onto the Leeds Eco Trail. Just before we walked into the woods, I noticed what I thought was a snowy egret, standing quietly in the water near a boardwalk. Figuring it wasn't anything huge, I said nothing to Ivan. We're fortunate to see so many egrets that they've become unremarkable.

How wrong I was. After we'd made a fairly unproductive swing through the woods, Ivan spotted that same bird and identified it as a juvenile little blue heron. There went my usual rule of thumb that among the local egrets, the herons are the non-white ones. By now I'm used to this: the young often don't look a heck of a lot like their elders. I guess you could say this adolescent hadn't lost his baby feathers yet. His bill was the real giveaway, though: rather than being yellow like the great egret's, or dark like the snowy's, it was kind of grayish. That was a good lesson for me.

Our next surprise came out in the distance. Ivan noticed some activity on an osprey nesting platform and a nearby perch. We've been seeing so many unusual-for-January birds that it almost seemed plausible that the ol' fish hawks could be setting up shop a full two months before they generally return. Could it be that like so many summer bennies and shoobies, they were setting up their summer shore rental while the best locations were still available?

Or were they not osprey to begin with? Perhaps they were peregrine falcons? My optics and identification skills aren't nearly as good as Ivan's, and I wasn't going to make any pronouncements after my egret/heron miss, but I had a gut feeling. Fortunately another friendly birder was parked nearby and got his scope for a closer examination. Were the characteristic sideburns there? We took turns at viewing the best closeup we were going to get and agreed: these were most likely peregrines. A flight would give us more information to make the call, but all we'd seen so far is a short hop from the perch to the platform. Maybe one of them would entertain us, but the pair seemed more focused on eating the brunch they'd already brought in. Plenty of other raptors were more accommodating, with a few harriers patrolling the marsh in the distance.

Then we saw the granddaddy of all raptors, or, more accurately for this one, the bully kid. An immature bald eagle made its way toward our area, its plank-like wings unmistakable. Our platform diners noticed, too, and one took to the skies to chase the eagle away. For about three minutes, the two put on quite a show for us, the peregrine swooping toward the eagle to hurry the larger bird out of the area.

We all couldn't help but marvel at the sight. Forty years ago it would have been a miracle to see those two engaging with each other, and here it was, playing out in front of us, as natural as could be. It's times like that when I'm grateful for our National Wildlife Refuges and their diversity of life. When you see so many youngsters, you realize how welcoming and healthy the place is, and the presence of so many raptors indicates the robustness of that health throughout the local ecosystem. Everyone goes where the food is, and Forsythe is clearly a pretty good supermarket. That's clear even if you can't identify the birds.

Duck! It's Paulie Walnuts!

Waterfowl loom large on the New Jersey birder's mind in the winter. While we see mallards, geese and egrets most of the year, the state's lakes, ponds and shorefronts are now liberally flocked with gadwalls, pintails, grebes, coots, and others that generally only winter here.

To the lesser-informed observer, some species look very much like other species, immature specimens of one may look like a mature member of another species, and females of one species look like males of another. It all gets a bit confusing, though others are so distinctive on their own that you can't help but remember them easily.

Then there's the challenge of remembering the names. I usually count on mnemonics, or something about the bird that reminds me of something else.

For instance, there's the Hooded Merganser. It's a perfectly nice duck and doesn't bother anyone. In my mind, though, it's represented by a sociopathic gangster:  Paulie Gualtieri of the Sopranos. You know who I'm talking about. Good ol' Paulie Walnuts.

Ivan laughs at some of my descriptions of birds, but this one is especially apt. When he's not puffing up his bouffant in mating season, the hooded merganser has those same back-swept white streaks in his head plumage that Paulie does. All the duck needs is a track suit, and they'd be virtually indistinguishable. Take a look and let me know if you disagree.

Hooded merganser - Lophodytes cucullatus (male on left)

Peter Paul "Paulie Walnuts" Gualtieri - Sociopathicus maximus

Now, I've never known a hoodie to hurt anyone, or even make a remotely threatening move, but this comparison does give one pause. Next time we're in the Meadowlands, or the Pine Barrens for that matter, I'll have to pay special attention.

When is a hotel not a hotel? When it's the Cranford Hotel!

Go to the downtown business district in many of the older towns on the Raritan Valley railroad line, and you'll see a Victorian era building that might or might not still have a restaurant or a bar, or both. During the the late 1800s and early 1900s when the line was part of the Central Railroad of New Jersey, those were important stops for city dwellers who came out to the 'countryside' for a weekend or maybe longer. Cranford is no different, with the Cranford Hotel standing a few dozen feet away from the elevated railroad tracks.

Today, the Hotel is a local meeting place with reliable dining options and two friendly bars, but it doesn't take in overnight guests anymore. That got me curious. Did the building always offer hospitality? Who stayed there? When did they stop taking in guests? What's upstairs now? I had the chance to get a rare behind-the-scenes chat and tour recently with the Hotel's general manager, Dave Carracino.

Forebears of the current owners bought the Cranford Hotel
in the 1940s for less than $3000. 

The current Cranford Hotel building was constructed in 1893, replacing an earlier structure on the South Avenue side of the block, which had burned down. The railroad tracks were just outside the front door, at grade level in the days before the entire line was elevated to eliminate conflicts with road traffic. In addition to sleeping rooms, the hotel included a bar and a produce store on the ground floor. Visitors today might notice that the room housing the J-shaped upstairs bar has a section called the Tac Room. Barely noticeable now, that separate space is where the produce stand was, and it was still a separate room within the bar until the 1980s. Where the name comes from is a mystery; there doesn't seem to be any connection to horses.

The real surprise for me came when we went to the basement level bar. Evenings there can be a bit boisterous, with sporting events usually playing on several TV monitors, and apparently it was even more so during the Hotel's early days. The cozy fireplace dining area was originally a bowling alley, and the dartboard on the wall near the entrance was once the site of a grill that served quick meals. A relaxing game of ten pins, a burger and brew: what else could a guy want after work?

As you walk around the public areas, you can't help but notice the old-time craftsmanship and details that newer restaurants and bars attempt to recreate for atmosphere: vintage photos, exposed brick walls, wood-fronted beer coolers with those neat metal pull latches. Dave also mentioned that the acoustical tiling in the Tac Room obscures a 12-foot tin ceiling along with the air conditioning ducts.

Guests often stayed for weeks, as noted on these
40+ year-old registry cards.

All of this was very interesting and cleared up a lot of questions in my mind, but my real interest was in the upstairs rooms the public never sees. Dave was kind enough to give me a quick tour, starting with a stop at his office to check out the guest register. Opening a wooden box and pulling out random cards from the late 1950s and early 1960s, he pointed out the numbers printed at the top and bottom of each, representing days of the month. Many of the people staying there were long-term boarders, some living at the Hotel for years. They might have been working in the area and essentially just needed a place to sleep before they moved onto another job someplace else. A few of the cards were bundled together in a rubber band, with a note saying they were in arrears. Somebody owes the Hotel $150 for ten weeks of rooming!

Both the second and third floors have about five rooms apiece, plus a shared bathroom holding a toilet, sink and shower stall. Some of the rooms are larger than others, and all have sufficient space for someone who just needs a basic place to stay. Occasionally, the Hotel gets phone inquiries from travelers looking for lodging, but the building hasn't taken in overnight guests since the early 1970s. In these days of Residence Inns and Homewood Suites, most people wouldn't be satisfied with a small room and a shared hall bathroom. That's not to say that the space can't still be attractive to the right tenant for the right purpose. While the paint and plaster could use some updating, the place is sturdily built and not going anywhere any time soon. The rooms are mostly used for storage now, but you could see where they'd make good office space for small businesses, or maybe lawyers or accountants.

Come to think of it, I wouldn't mind setting up a Hidden New Jersey editorial office there, myself. Proximity to good burgers, New Jersey brews and the Newark-bound train, all in a great old building. What more could we need?

A Hidden Trifecta in Raritan

Fresh from our greater white-fronted goose sighting, Ivan and I spotted a small truss bridge and historical marker on the side of the road. Wait! Stop! Turn back! Tiny bridges have always brought interesting stories, and I didn't want to pass this one up.

A Hibernia Mine bridge in Raritan? Isn't that Morris County territory? Had we stumbled on a Hidden New Jersey gem linking two non-contiguous counties? Ivan started reading the marker through his binoculars, but I couldn't help myself. I got out of the car to find out.

Talk about a span with a history! Not only is this an old bridge, it's survived its own obsolescence twice. Originally, it was part of a railroad started in 1863 to move ore from the Hibernia iron mines in Morris County to the Morris Canal and later to the Central Railroad of New Jersey (CRRNJ) at Wharton. The mines were pretty much tapped out by 1916 and closed in 1930, the same year CRRNJ bought the line to serve the area's industries.

By then, though, the bridge had gone on to its second use as a vehicular passageway across a railroad right of way in Hillsborough. It served that purpose for more than 100 years before being dismantled and stored. For the past four years, it's been exclusively a footbridge within the Somerset County Park System, enabling pedestrians to easily cross the Raritan Water Power Canal.

The what canal? When we were in Duke Island Park, we'd wondered if the canal we crossed was simply a portion of the Delaware and Raritan Canal, or maybe a feeder, given the proximity of the Raritan River. I didn't know of any other canal in central New Jersey, so when I read the Hibernia bridge marker, I was stumped. Logic and lessons learned from my many visits to Paterson's Great Falls led me to reason that water had been shunted for industrial purposes, but that's as far as I could figure when we were standing at the bridge. I doubt the Raritan ever supplied the mighty wattage of the falling Passaic River waters, but heck, I could be wrong.

Further research cemented the link: Alexander Hamilton. According to the Raritan Borough website, Hamilton visited the community after the Revolutionary War and thought the river's power could be harnessed to bring industry to the community. Local leaders were less than convinced, but the idea stayed alive and the three-mile long Raritan Water Power Canal was constructed in 1840. Predictably, factories started springing up along the river, taking advantage of cheap power and the proximity of the railroad. That's our link to Passaic County, courtesy of our first Secretary of the Treasury.

Raritan hosted one of the country's largest textile manufacturers, the Raritan Woolen Mills, which supplied the army during the Civil War and World War I. I can't find a direct source confirming the mill used water power, but it was located close to the Raritan, making it likely the Water Power Canal was a factor in its operation. Today, the property is site of a condominium complex. I wonder how many of its residents know their tenuous connection to Alexander Hamilton?

A goose we wanted to find: the Greater White-Fronted at Duke Island Park

"What are you doing this afternoon? There's a greater white-fronted goose in Bridgewater."

Sometimes you have to put everything aside and go after a chase bird, even if it means you'll probably be scanning a huge flock of grounded Canada geese. That's why I said yes to Ivan and made the trip to Duke Island Park on Wednesday. As I mentioned in a past post, I've joined the insanity of keeping a life list, and this new goose would be an addition for me.

Bordered by the Raritan River and traversed by the Raritan Water Power Canal, Duke Island Park is an active recreation area, with several picnic areas, a bandstand and a couple of ballfields as well as some hiking trails. The weather was cold and blustery when we visited, so the only other park users were some dog walkers and a runner or two. Odds were good, then, that our birding would be uninterrupted by others who might inadvertently flush out the species we were looking for.

Two gatherings of multitudes of geese were visible as soon as we drove into the park, one being within binocular range of the road. No greater white-fronted goose there, and no place nearby to park to get to the other flock easily. We'd have to drive several hundred feet farther to deposit the car, which normally isn't a problem, but in this cold it felt like an imposition. Hopefully our investment in frostbitedness would pay off.

Maybe in a typical winter, the 20 degree temperature wouldn't have seemed so bad, but given the unusual warmth this season, it felt downright polar. I was bundled in a parka with ski gloves, plus a hood that covered my Elmer-Fudd-type polar-tec baseball cap with ear flaps, all of which made it hard to hear or to focus my binoculars appropriately. Conversation went something like this (from my perspective):

Ivan:  *sounds like Charlie Brown's teacher*
Me: (pulling up earflaps and straining) "Huh?"
Ivan: "Wow, it's cold."

In all honesty, it took maybe five minutes to walk from car to vantage area for that second set of geese. I found myself regretting that I hadn't taken another look at the bird in the guide so I'd be sure to spot the right one. Then I remembered that the best course of action was to play the old Sesame Street "one of these things is not like the others" game: spot the one goose that looked out of place. Unlike a cackling goose or a brant, the greater white-fronted looks nothing like a Canada; the only white on its upper body is the facial outline around the base of the bill, and its legs are an orangey yellow. It should stand out like a sore thumb in any flock of standard lawn geese.

It didn't take long for me to find it in the flock, and yes, I was the one to find it (yeah, me!), innocently plucking through grass with its Canada cousins. Life bird for me, year bird for Ivan. While not once-in-a-lifetime rare in the Eastern US, these guys show much more frequently out west, making them a nice find in New Jersey. We were also fortunate to see a pair of killdeer scouring the ground nearby, the sound of their voices a nice treat for the afternoon.

While we were there, we checked out the Raritan but found only a huge flock of Canada geese going with the flow and a determined pair of mallard ducks swimming against traffic. The nearby trees and brush were far more productive, with red-bellied woodpeckers, plenty of juncos and nuthatches, and a bonus brown creeper to add to my life list. All in all, our impromptu trip netted some great January finds and a promising new birding spot to revisit in the spring. Not bad, overall!

No EZPass on the Dingmans Ferry Bridge

I was one of the EZPass holdouts until October, when I got this while using a staffed tollbooth:

Ridiculous as it is not to be able to use paper money on the Parkway, I finally relented and picked up a transponder. I still keep pocket change in the car, though, as there are places in the region where EZPass has yet to extend its tentacled detectors.

Take, for example, the Dingmans Ferry bridge, which links Layton, Sussex County, to Pennsylvania in the Delaware Water Gap. This privately owned river crossing is decidedly low tech, with not even an automated collection basket. One toll collector stands on the line between the two lanes at the Pennsy side, taking tolls from both directions, protected by an awning. The north side of the awning is held up by a little toll house, while the south side is essentially a trellis with signs posted for the next Kiwanis pancake breakfast or Girl Scout fundraiser. It's been this way pretty much since the bridge was constructed, the fourth in a series that runs back to 1835.

Starting a century before that, Andrew Dingman ran a successful ferry service between Layton and Pike County, PA, until one of his descendants opened the first of the bridges. Seemingly, neither that bridge nor the two that succeeded it were constructed to withstand the elements brought by the Delaware and the occasional flood. Today's bridge was built in 1900 of sturdy steel and is closed for inspection for a few days every year to assure its safety. So far, it's held up in four major floods, and one would surmise that with that kind of record, it'll be around for a long time.

Back to the toll taking, I wonder what do they do overnight? Is there an evening toll collector? What kind of traffic does he or she see? And how do they manage in foul weather?

According to the company website, those traveling to church or funerals don't have to pay the toll, but I do wonder, though, if the Dingmans Choice and Delaware Bridge Company people will eventually succumb to EZPass. Perhaps the toll taker will stand in his usual spot and hold a transponder reader to essentially bar-scan people across the bridge.