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May 21, 1998 - Birding right in our own back yard'J 10A • The Suffolk Times • May 21, 1996 Bierding right in our own back yard It is early morning and I am sitting at Site 11 at Indian Island County Park just outside of Riverhead. It is a beautiful warm day. Opposite is the Indian Island Golf Course and already there are golfers out there FOCUS taking advantage ON of the first really great day after NATURE our two -week by Paul bout with rain and and cloudy wea- ther. We, too, fol- lowed the weather forecaster's advice and snuck away from home to spend a day or so at this close -to -home camp- ground. Our mission was twofold, first to get away and see if we could spot any spring warblers (colorful small birds) passing through on their migration north and secondly to try out our new -to -us fifth - wheel camper. Previously we had a small mini home camper, which we trad- ed in for this one. So far, so good, but then all we look for in a camper is a place to operate out of and this we did just as soon as we were able to unhook from our pickup. Our destination was Hunters Garden in the center of the pine barrens to the south of Riverhead. This place is unique because of its vernal ponds and little riverlets seeping out of the hillsides. They are attractions for birds and ani- mals. It's also one place in the pine bar- rens where you can see mature trees such as oaks, maples, sassafras, pine, etc. It's my belief these mature trees sur- vived because of the moisture they held and when the fires raced through the area they were spared. Sorry to say, this place has been van- dalized by motor bikes cutting through it and I do mean cutting. Their trails are everywhere. Then to add to the raping of the area, frustrated hunters have shot up signs and even a granite memorial desig- nating the area as a special place. Yet even with these distractions, the area still remains a mecca for birds and people. We went there in the late afternoon and were a bit disappointed in not find- ing any warblers, which should have been here by now. We did see, which made the whole trip worthwhile, a hand- some, male red - breasted grosbeak singing his heart out (robin -like) in the top of a budding oak tree where the road splits on the way in. He seemed to be eating the oak buds or possibly eating insects attracted to the budding flowers of the oak. The magic of the late- after- noon sun seemed to emphasize all of nature's colors. Our songster did much to renew our faith in Hunters Garden. From there we moved down to the center of this historic gathering place. I say historic for each year mem- bers of an old as- sociation gather for eel chowder and other goodies to meet fellow members and reawaken memo- ries of the past. It is in this big open space that the reunion takes place. Of course, no one was there when we rolled in tanager. No more perfect sight could be imagined. Even the crudest of the rough and tough would have been moved to see this exquisite burst of color. in its emerald - green, moss -cov- ered setting. Then it flew to a nearby tree where a spotlight of sun revealed it as if on some great stage. Focusing in with our binoculars was like having the bird in our hand. We searched the treetops from then on but found nothing to compare to that headlights and how narrowly we both escaped disaster. We grabbed a quick meal and then took an evening walk out to the end of the park to the east. From there we could see the great expanse of the shal- low Flanders Bay area. It is here on the south shore of the bay that the county has one of its limited- access parks called Hubbard County Parkland. What makes the area so important are the vast wetlands and waterways that make it a major duck -hunt- ing area. Once again we see where owners of vast parcels of land eventually turn their holdings over to the county for all to enjoy. We scared a great horned owl from a clump of pines and watched 20 or so mute Our find of the day Vivid green_ moss punctuated this fairyland setting. As we stood there in this woodsy chapel, Barbara picked up an unfamiliar call, "Chip- churr," `Chip - chip- churr," repeated time and time again. We strained our eyes searching for the songster when all of a sudden we caught this brilliant flash of red. Then it dipped down to this little stream to drink. Its reflection in the water dou- bled its magnificence. It was a scarlet Photo by Paul Stoutenburgh arsh dweller, the American bittern, Is seldom seen, for It Is ouflage. We often hear Its pumping "song," somewhat like a stake In the mud. dazzling tanager. There were catbirds, towhees, cowbirds, robins and a solitary wood thrush scratching in the forest duff. I knew one had to be around for when we first entered the area I could hear that wondrous songster off in the distance. As the sun set behind the high ground to the west, we headed back to our campside at Indian Island. It was on this long stretch of road I almost hit a deer many years ago when returning home at night. It was such a close call I could hear the clatter of its hoofs on the pave- ment as it shot across in front of me. I never travel that road without recalling the flashing white tail caught in my Plumbing " InswWons' Renovations Oil BarnerMaintenance �FuelOils ; i l swans feeding a- long the marsh edge. These were the non - breeders, young or outcasts that could not com- pete for a mate. That reminded me, and I wondered how the swans that are nesting in our creeks made out in the high tides of last week. I know the one in our creek has built its nest twice as high as it was before the high tides. Often the high water wets the eggs and the nest is lost. The experienced seem to know but the others learn the hard way. On our way back we saw a kestrel (small hawk) hanging over a grassy area. Evidently he'd spotted a mouse or vole and was waiting for the right time to dip down and snatch up a meal before retiring for the night. We'd put in a full day. The camper worked out fine. In no time we were asleep. Morning was clear and sunny, a perfect day for more exploring. I tried to photograph a muskrat swimming in the mirrored water just a stone's throw from our campsite. It would have made the perfect picture, what with the little wake moving out from it and its long trail trailing behind. I waited and waited for it to perform again but it had other plans. I took a walk around the park while Barbara sat patiently photograph- ing a starling that had young in an old woodpecker hole. It was a perfect exam- ple of how this uncontrolled immigrant has taken over the nesting sights of many of our native birds. It's a real problem. Meanwhile I looked for a bittern (marsh bird) I'd heard calling nearby. It eluded me. They are notoriously well camouflaged and often you'll walk right by one with its head pointed skyward, so perfectly do they blend in with the surroundings. I saw lots of redwings, towhees, catbirds, but nothing unusual. When I got back Barbara said she saw a bluebird and then that started a whole new search by yours truly. An hour later I returned without seeing the bluebird. I'm sure there's one nesting somewhere nearby, but for now it'll go unseen. Our visit to Indian Island was brief but rewarding. For those who want a place to camp or picnic nearby, try this park. Perhaps you'll be the lucky one to find the bluebird that I couldn't find.