A Goose Pond Goodbye

Dear Audubon members and friends, I am sorry to announce that this is my last week at Madison Audubon Society. I have loved my time working for MAS, and it has been a privilege to be the land steward for Goose Pond Sanctuary. A privilege because the more I gave to the sanctuary, in sweat and time, the more I got back in experience, in beauty, in fulfillment.  I will always cherish the time I had here. For my last Friday Feathered Feature I wanted to share with you some of my favorite bird moments over the seasons at Goose Pond Sanctuary…

Maddie and her husband Aaron share in the thrill of meeting a snowy owl in January 2018.
Photo provided by Maddie Dumas

I love the birds of winter. The busyness at our feeders, the high-flying rough-legged hawks that silently cast shadows over the still, white landscape, and, if we’re lucky, the short-eared and snowy owls. I will never forget the night that Mark sent me and Caleb, a former intern, out to do one last owl scout at the end of a bitterly cold day in December. We drove around for the better part of an hour with no luck. Then, pausing up near the UW quarry, in one of those happy twists where the rock you thought you saw turns out to be an owl, Caleb spotted a short-eared owl hunkered down on a fencepost. A moment later we saw another short-ear glide silently over the same field.  This was enough to buoy us and as it was very nearly dark, we started to head back to the house. On our way we drove past the pond and the snags of cottonwoods that hug the east pond. It took us a moment to realize that we had driven right past a snowy owl sitting on the shorter snag. We carefully backed up and observed it for a moment before it flushed, and flew over the west pond to land on the ice, alarming the few brave Canada geese that remained this late in the season. In a matter of minutes a seemingly fruitless owl prowl had turned into a threefold sighting.

A turkey hen pauses to scope out her surroundings. Photo provided by Maddie Dumas

As spring arrives, the pond floods with waterfowl and the birds begin to brush up on their dancing in preparation for mating season. It’s always a joy to see the sandhill cranes hopping, bowing, and sweeping their huge graceful wings for their mates. Likewise, the drama of the northern harrier skydance is hard to beat. All this bravado leads to the happy observations of early summer. I can recall one morning when, all alone and heading up the trail in the Kubota, I saw a hen turkey up ahead on the trail. I stopped the vehicle and sat still to watch 10, 11, 12, 13 or more turkey chicks stumble across the trail, the last one dawdling well behind the others, until it looked up and, seeing itself alone, took off like a shot into the tall grasses. Another unforgettable family moment was when, working with the interns, we flushed a female harrier. Approaching the area where she flew, we were treated to the sight of her nest, complete with two feisty chicks who glared up at us with open bills before dashing off the nest and into the prairie at surprising speed. We took off with speed ourselves so as not to disturb them further.

The unmatched beauty of a Goose Pond summer. Photo provided by Maddie Dumas

In the heat of summer, the prairie wildflowers are the pleasantest way of marking the passing of the season. Unfortunately, the invasive weeds are just as regular a timepiece. Well past parsnip season and deep into the drudgery of sweet clover season, a late afternoon can drag on slower than your feet through the lush prairie as you fight your way out to an isolated clone.  It’s there, digging and pulling and sweating and hoping you’ve found the last of it (and you never have), that the sweet call of the Eastern meadowlark might make you pause. You will look around for the bird, and maybe spot it, or maybe not. But either way, that momentary lapse in your single-minded pursuit has caused you to observe the beauty around you. The call of the meadowlark reminds you why you’re there in the sweetest way possible.

A ringed-necked pheasant provides a spectacular view for the lucky beholder. Photo provided by Maddie Dumas

In fall the waterfowl return to the pond in full force. Every morning is a scavenger hunt, counting the birds on the pond, feeling that rush of adrenaline when you spot something new (a raft of redheads!), or in great quantities (100 snow geese!). Even better, long satisfying days collecting and sorting prairie seed blend into cool, dark nights where the last sounds you hear before falling asleep are the honking and splashing and whistling of the ducks, geese and swans. One fall night Aaron and I heard a great-horned owl hooting around dusk, a pack of coyotes yipping in the middle of the night, and a pheasant barking us awake in the morning; all this vying to be heard over the cacophony coming off the pond. Whoever said it was quiet living in the country?!

These experiences will forever mark a special time in my life. A time when my job meant spending the entire day outside in nature. When my work and home and passion all blended harmoniously into one. I will continue to work in the field of restoration ecology, but I don’t know when I’ll ever again be so immersed in it. May everyone be so fortunate as to have a job like this once in their lives. Thank you to everyone who gave me this opportunity, to those who livened my days by working with me, to those who educated me (whether they knew it or not), and to all who work to protect our wildlife and planet.

Written by Maddie Dumas, Goose Pond Sanctuary land steward (last day: March 21, 2018)

Horned Lark

The horned lark decorates fields and short grassy lands on late March mornings, providing a subtle cue that winter wanes. With a yellow face, a black mask, and horn-like feathers that stick straight up, these birds provide solace through a March snowstorm, singing all the while (listen to the horned lark's song and calls here). Horned larks are common continent-wide, from central Mexico to the upper reaches of Canada and Alaska. In Wisconsin, the birds can frequently be found in farm fields and open areas with little vegetation.

Photo by Monica Hall

These birds, a pleasant sight throughout their winter spent in Wisconsin, can light up a snow field with their yellow faces contrasting against the glistening white. When the snow melts, however, their brown dirt-colored feathers camouflage well into the forty of a farm field—you'll have to watch for that flash of yellow as you scan a field.

Nests come surprisingly early, and nests with eggs can be found in late March. Even by mid-March, however, most birders have seen migrating flocks of geese and ducks, cranes and blackbirds—wanderlust sets in.

Horned lark eggs tucked into their nest amongst the grasses. Photo by Carolyn Byers

It's easy to forget the horned lark, a diminutive bird nesting in the dull habitat of farm fields. Despite the delight this bird brings in winter, it is soon passed over for bigger and smaller and better birds come spring. This is a shame, for it is the only lark native to North America and its twinkling jingle of a song reminds us of a winter that was and is a sure sign that eggs are on the way—eggs that better be quick because the field must be planted eventually.

You can spot horned larks at Faville Grove down Prairie Lane in farm fields and recently burned prairies. It's beautiful down by the Crawfish River right now with migrating Canada and white-fronted geese, sandhill cranes, and ducks. The visual spectacle—fabulous in its own right—dwindles in comparison to the auditory riot it creates on these March wetlands. Again, it's easy to bypass the horned lark for these bigger and more attention-grabbing scenes, but appreciate its faithful residence on Wisconsin corn stubble and a life that's easily overlooked .

Written by Drew Harry, Faville Grove Sanctuary land steward

Banner photo by Jeff Bryant

Northern Pintail

Arlie (A.W.) Schorger, 2018 inductee into the Wisconsin Conservation Hall of Fame and author of historical accounts on Wisconsin’s wildlife species, described the arrival of the pintails thus: “The sight of a flock of pintails flying low over a marsh on a March morning renders the observer oblivious to chilling winds. The long neck, long tail and white underparts of the male produce the mirage of a frigate under full sail.” Pintails were called sprigs by early hunters in the 1800s with "sprig" being short for "sprig-tail.

Northern pintail, photo by Monica Hall

Pintails, of course, are named for their elongated central tail feathers, which constitute one-fourth of the drake's body length. Pintails are a prairie species and Wisconsin is at the southeastern fringe of their breeding range. Northern pintails have the widest distribution of any waterfowl species world-wide and are also found in Europe, the Middle East, India, and Asia. They migrate long distances and there is a report of a pintail that flew nonstop for 1,800 miles. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service estimated pintail numbers in 2017 at 2,900,000 compared to a long-term average of 4,000,000.

Pintails are the earliest nesting duck in North America and nest farther from water than other ducks. The female likes to nest in an open area with short vegetation. In the Dakotas and Canada pintails like to nest in winter wheat fields.

We noticed the first pintails at Goose Pond this year on March 5 while driving along Kampen Road adjacent to our flooded food plot. As we went by hundreds of ducks near the road rose in a dense cloud. What stood out was a flock of 25-30 pintails; as usual drakes outnumbered hens. There were around 2,000 ducks, including over 1,900 mallards along with a wood ducks, black ducks, and green-winged teal in shallow water feasting on sunflower and foxtail seeds.

Photo by Monica Hall

Sam Robbins in 1991 wrote in Wisconsin Birdlife that pintails are common migrants and uncommon summer residents. “Usually sprigs reach most southern areas by March 20th…” With the rain and warm temperatures in late February and early March waterfowl returned to Goose Pond much earlier than usual. Pintails also stop at Goose Pond in fall migration. The highest number of pintails recorded at Goose Pond was our October 25, 2008 observation of 120 pintails.

In 1973, March, Martz, and Hunt estimated an annual average breeding population of 1,300 pintails in the Badger State. Their breeding numbers in Wisconsin have been on the decline since the 1970s and 1980s. The first breeding bird atlas project (1995-2000) contained only one confirmed nesting report – a brood in Burnett County. We obtained a record of a pair that probably nested near Poynette and another possible nesting occurred in Ozaukee County during the first atlas project. After the third year of Atlas II, there have been no confirmed nesting records for pintails in Wisconsin.

Photo by Richard Armstrong

The pintails are one of our favorite ducks. Sue enjoyed spending many hours carving and painting a full-sized drake pintail in breeding plumage.

This year the water levels are very high in southern Wisconsin and hopefully there will be pairs observed in May and a few broods observed in June. We hope you can visit Goose Pond in spring migration and enjoy the sprigs.  

Written by Mark Martin and Sue Foote-Martin, Goose Pond Sanctuary resident managers

Passenger Pigeon

As we celebrate the Year of the Bird, we take a look back at one of North America's extinct birds, the passenger pigeon, which vanished in 1914, four years before the safe harbor of the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918. Much of this information on market hunting and cuisine comes from Jennifer Price's book Flight Maps, which covers in fascinating detail the passenger pigeon and the human connection to this wonderful bird.

Artwork provided by Biodiversity Heritage Library

Ask any generation about the wildlife of their time: what sticks out as memorable? For those who lived through the DDT years, the rebound of raptors may be striking—bald eagles went from the brink here in Wisconsin and continent-wide to current breeding status in almost every county in the state. For those living through lean sandhill crane decades, their noisy and soulful return to marshlands across Wisconsin this past week is a reminder of the positive implications of conservation. Each of these birds went from abundance to scarcity, and back to abundance. For those early settlers of Wisconsin who witnessed a Civil War, they not only saw a nation divided, but also a bird that never reclaimed its mythical abundance—a bird they would not forget—the passenger pigeon.

Here at Faville Grove, we are lucky to have historical records and recollections of the passenger pigeon from Art Hawkins' notes from interviews he conducted for “A Wildlife History of Faville Grove,” published in 1940. These notes are striking in their treatment of the passenger pigeon. For each interviewee, Hawkins ran through the list of wildlife, from species of ducks to badgers to songbirds. His notes contain a sentence or two on each duck, hunting methods and stories for each mammal, and random musings on identifiable songbirds and their relative abundances. Yet, without fail, each early settler seems to have spoken at length about the passenger pigeon; if they themselves did not see the great flocks, they certainly had stories of relatives who had, and these paragraphs stand as the few local memories of a bird now lost.

Mr. Crump remembered the birds “forming a cloud before the sun.” To Mr. Scribner and many others, sowing the wheat seed (which boomed in Wisconsin for a time only to lead to catastrophe and eventually dairying) required two men, with one following the planter to cover the seed and save it from pigeons. These birds, according to Mr. Scribner, rolled across the wheat field like a huge ball, a smooth mass spinning forwards as birds from the rear replaced birds in the front. Mr. Cooper recalled flocks of millions of birds, and his father reportedly felled 23 birds in one shot, a hired hand dropping 18. Mr. Seaver is said to have seen pigeons land on a dead oak, only for the thousands of birds to break the limbs. Numerous others noted millions of birds that would block out the sun, and each of them would remark that a year or so later, the birds disappeared. Some heard of flocks in other parts of the state, but after nesting near London Marsh and Deerfield in 1878, the birds were never to be seen in the area again. What happened?

Smith Bennett, 1875

Of those 18th century inhabitants of North America, few east of the Mississippi could fail to recognize the passenger pigeon. For Native Americans like the Seneca, the passenger pigeons brought the tribe together during hunting—the birds provided food resources at a critical time when winter reserves dried up and spring plantings had yet to flourish. These communions allotted time to conduct tribal business, and thus the event became social, political, and economic. The indigenous inhabitants of eastern forests, from all indications, limited themselves to taking only pigeon squabs (newborn pigeons) during spring, which kept the adult breeding population intact.

Meanwhile, the mostly white inhabitants of the young nation enacted hunting that reflected their vision of the growing nation—limitless and independent. Shooting game, and especially pigeons, became a new world act. Free from the game preserves of the European elite, those members of the young republic sought to wield their autonomy, boasting to each other of the number of pigeons taken with one shot: 23, 37, 50. It would have even been difficult to know whether one had fired a rifle, for many reported that beneath the multitude of pigeons, one couldn't hear a rifle fire. Dung rained down like hail, and often thousands of people converged on a flock of birds, all with wanton aim in the sky. A pigeon storm was a crazy thing. These pigeon flights brought communities together and even kept them alive. A 1769 crop failure coincided with a pigeon flight, which kept 30,000 inhabitants fed for six weeks. 

Male passenger pigeon, on display at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History. Photo by James St. John

There were those members of the nation who were likely not embracing the nationalistic machismo of a pigeon hunt. According to some sources, over 1/3 of the immigrants to the United States before 1920 eventually returned to their homelands, and many intended to return but never did. The young nation and its resources were perhaps seen as an opportunity, something to be taken advantage of, and the passenger pigeon fit the archetype of a resource for all, seemingly inexhaustible and incomprehensible in number. Near Philadelphia's Broad Street, where this year exulting Eagles fans climbed lampposts and street lights, their ancestors climbed atop houses, buildings, and ladders, some wielding guns (problematic for downtown), but many waving brooms and knocking pigeons out of the sky. For these 18th century “pigeoners” a days-long wave of passenger pigeons was not unlike today's cultural gathering after a Super Bowl victory. 

These pigeons found themselves in pigeon pie, demonstrably so because three pigeon toes would sit square in the middle of the pie. Pigeons were smoked, cured, and stored. They were appreciated for the sustenance they provided and left behind awestruck communities witness to billions of birds.

Market hunting complicated human's relationships with the pigeons into the 19th century. Railroad line expansions throughout the country allowed market hunters to quickly, relative to other methods, seek out pigeon flocks. These same lines, with ice-packed rail cars, allowed the fresh shipment of thousands of birds. The shipment of pigeons did something remarkable; it commodified the bird and allowed the passenger pigeon to become any number of things in a quickly industrializing economy toward the end of the century. And with that exchange of money, it was easy for a bird to become something that was not a pigeon. It should be said that most all market hunters did not strike it rich by killing the passenger pigeon, rather the hunting supplemented their income, and they worked as laborers or farmhands at other times of the year.

Where did these slain birds end up? Many were shipped to fine dining establishments throughout the country where pigeons became “ballontine of squab a la Madison,” and on the table the pigeon was difficult to uncover as it was dressed with sweetbreads, glazes, sauces, creams, pastes, and jellies, stuffed with other meats, or stuffed inside other meats. Again the pigeon had lost part of its identity, no longer three toes practically squawking at the consumer, now complicit in the onslaught against the pigeons.

Other pigeons ended up stocking the yards of trap shooters. Market shooters shipped tens of thousands of birds to trap shooting events while thousands would die en route, and most would be shot upon release. These real pigeons preceded the “clay pigeon,” which was a necessary innovation since the real pigeons were extinct. Trap shooters lost track of pigeon natural history as well, as shooting the birds one by one was a sandwich at a picnic compared to the food fight anarchy of a regular pigeon flight. Trap shooters would also deny that they had even played a role in the extinction of the passenger pigeon; they weren't the ones killing the birds on breeding grounds.

This would not be the last time the pigeons became unmoored from their ecology. At the end, in the Cincinnati Zoo the last captive passenger pigeons were named. Never before could any one or any thing focus on a single passenger pigeon named Martha, for the enormity of the flock prevented it. Only once a hunter had one in the hand could he or she reckon with the individual bird, but even then, the sight of hundreds of millions of birds must have been gripping, staying with the witness as some of Hawkins' first-hand accounts can attest. Indeed these pigeons lived on as hope for decades after extinction, hope that a flock remained in northern Canada, Argentina, or even remained genetically in street pigeons, hidden in plain sight. None would prove true.

Rounds at the National Museum of Natural History. Photo by Darren & Brad

The ecology of the passenger pigeon stands just as remarkable as the human stories surrounding the bird. Huge flocks, while not only visually stunning, would also create their own wind currents and change the earth's temperature as they blotted out the sun. While these were birds of surplus and a blessing for the early pioneers, their ecological footprint was one of catastrophe. Dung, inches thick would splatter leaves and defoliate entire forests. Excess excrement upon the forest floor would wipe out the underbrush and herb layer. It's not known what effect these roostings had upon the forest, but it's fascinating to speculate. A local farmer at Faville Grove during the time of nesting in the area hypothesized that the guano of the pigeons enriched the soil and stimulated the herb layer. He based his claim partly on the fact that after pigeon years he found great densities of ginseng which he collected. The mere presence of pigeons in an area could entirely alter its ecology, and the pigeons must have been key cogs in maintaining open woodlands and early successional shrubland habitat that favors a suite of species like brown thrashers, cuckoos, and golden-winged warblers.

The passenger pigeon's story proves a complicated lesson for conservation. While the bird was hyper-abundant in its North American home, it was, importantly, not overabundant. The birds relied on these huge flocks for survival, and hunting—both subsistence and market hunting—contributed greatly to their decline. These hunts proved to have many reasons, but as these reasons became more and more removed from the pigeon itself, the decline of this bird was magnified. Habitat loss in the form of deforestation extremely exacerbated the situation in addition to disease outbreaks. A bird of huge proportions, the passenger pigeon persists, despite its extinction, as a lesson for humankind, though those lessons turn out to be more complicated than mere axioms.

Written by Drew Harry, Faville Grove Sanctuary land steward

Header image: Earliest published illustration of the species (a male), Mark Catesby, 1731

2018 Great Backyard Bird Count

This year marks the 20th Great Backyard Bird Count (GBBC), coordinated by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, National Audubon, Bird Studies Canada, and eBird. Over 160,000 people across the globe spend a chilly February weekend (this year: Feb. 16-19) simultaneously taking a snapshot of the distribution and abundance of birds by counting and submitting online the number of species and individual birds they find in their yards. It’s a fun and comfortable way to participate in citizen science, especially during 2018 -- the Year of the Bird!

Snowy owl, photo by Monica Hall

Mark Martin and Sue Foote-Martin, who are year-round residents and managers at Goose Pond Sanctuary, have participated in the GBBC since 2001. Maddie Dumas, Goose Pond land steward, is in her second year of GBBC. Birds can also be counted and reported from anywhere, not just backyards. For example, Mark and Curt Caslavka, longtime friend and volunteer at Goose Pond Sanctuary, reported a snowy owl on Feb.16, seen across Highway County I directly west of Jill’s Prairie.

Each year brings the regular characters to the count: blue jays, black-capped chickadees, tree sparrows. Some years bring unusual faces, like ring-necked pheasants, and some years bring bumper crops of other species. This year, thanks to the GBBC, we have a new record of 110 common redpolls for Goose Pond Sanctuary, surpassing the record of 50 birds seen by Aaron Stutz in 1997. The high count in Wisconsin for common redpolls was a flock of 150 in Langlade County.  

House finches (with the red faces and breasts) and common redpoll (with the red cap) feasting during the GBBC. Photo by Maddie Dumas

We kept close watch of the bird feeders at both Goose Pond residences on Monday, February 19, the last day of the four-day Great Backyard Bird Count. Mark and Sue were surprised to see a large flock of winter finches flying back and forth from the spruce windbreak to the ash trees in the Kampen Road residence and identified them as common redpolls. The flock stayed high up in the spruce and only one redpoll was seen at the sunflower fine feeders.

The Martins also checked their feeders at their cabin (Wildland) north of Rio in Columbia County. The habitat around the cabin consists of restored prairie, oak savanna and wetland. This setting provided the greatest diversity of bird species (see spreadsheet), totaling 19 as compared to 6 species at the Kampen Road residence and 9 species at the Prairie Lane residence.

Goldfinch (top left), common redpoll (bottom center), and pine siskins (all the rest) converge on one feeder at Wildland. Photo by Mark Martin

The Goose Pond residences are in an open landscape with few trees and restored prairie within one half mile of a wildlife food plot of sunflowers and sorghum.  The food plot helps attract birds to the area.  Mourning doves, American tree sparrows, common redpolls, and American goldfinches have been in the food plot since December and move back and forth to the residences.

Ring-necked pheasants are uncommon in the GBBC and Maddie found a pair feeding at her feeders. Good numbers of mourning doves and American tree sparrows were found at all three residences. Pine siskins are also more common in Wisconsin this winter and have been feeding in high numbers at the Wildland feeders for many weeks.

Factors contributing to the higher species count and higher number of individuals included more diverse habitat, the number and types of feeders, and the variety of seeds present. We find that the best seeds for us are black-oil sunflowers, sunflower fines, white millet, and suet. Nine of the 20 species observed at three feeders were in the top 10 species recorded world-wide in 2017 (see spreadsheet).

On Thursday afternoon, February 22 GBBC reports were still being entered.  Thursday totals included 160,000 checklists, 6,031 species and 25,300,000 birds counted. This is an impressive number that reflects on the number of people interested in birds. In Wisconsin, birdwatchers submitted 2,400 checklists and reported 121 species.

Downy woodpeckers munching on suet. Photo by Mark Martin

We really enjoy counting birds and participating in the GBBC that gives us a snapshot of bird usage at our feeder in late winter. Thanks to everyone that feeds the birds, and if you live in suitable habitat we encourage you to begin feeding the birds. Winter feeding, in particular, can make the difference in helping some species make it through cold and snowy weather. The color and variety of species brighten our winter days and make us feel good knowing that we can provide them with quality habitats and nutritious food.  

P.S.  This time of year is a good time to start thinking about planting native shrubs and plants for wildlife habitat in your yard! Check out this list of nurseries that sell Wisconsin native plants and offer lots of resources like catalogs, planting recommendations, and more. Dream big and make your yard a little haven for birds (you’ll be making it a haven for lots of other great wildlife as a byproduct, too!).

Written by Mark Martin and Susan Foote-Martin, Goose Pond Sanctuary resident managers, and Maddie Dumas, land steward

Header photo: Common redpoll, by Emily Meier