NYC Red-tails: Nesting on St John the Divine

Seen from the front, the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine at 112th Street and Amsterdam Avenue is a lovely, forever unfinished hulk of stone.

A lovely, perpetually unfinished hulk.

But for now I’m more enamored of the Cathedral’s less commonly appreciated back.

St. John the Divine, as seen from Morningside Drive

Because on the shoulders of a long-suffering saint (well, aren’t they all?) high on the back of the Cathedral is one of the most picturesque hawk nests in the city.

Nest resting on the shoulders of a saint.

There a red-tailed hawk often perches atop the saint’s head and gazes east over Morningside Park and Harlem Valley, as it did a week ago when I showed the nest to Kelly Rypkema, biologist and host of Nature in a New York Minute. (Thanks, Kelly, for letting me use your camera that day!)

Red-tailed hawk on saint’s head. (Thanks to Kelly Rypkema for letting me use her camera!)

Esau and I visited the nest again last Thursday as a light March snow fell.

Hawk and saint in the snow.

A pair of hawks has been nesting and raising young here since 2006. Robert of Morningside Hawks gives a fine history of the nest. For two years, the female, known as Isolde, nested with a male known as, you guessed it, Tristan. When Tristan died in 2008, a male called Norman, for (possibly ecclesiastical) reasons beyond my ken, paired with Isolde. According to Morningside Hawk’s history, the pair has successfully fledged a total of nine babies since 2008.

Another view of hawk and saint.

Sadly, Norman is rumored to have died during Hurricane Sandy. But in the past month, I’ve watched two hawks at a time bring twigs to the nest. I never learned to identify Isolde or Norman as individuals, so I can’t tell you which hawks I’m seeing. I assume one is Isolde, and the other a new male. Whoever they are, I’m thrilled that nest-building is going on apace.

In fact, NYC’s upper Manhattan hawks have been incredibly active over the past month. I watched a pair copulate on a building at 109th Street and Broadway, and have been seeing at least one raptor almost every day, whether in Riverside Park, Central Park, or outside my window. Red-tails are by far the most frequently sighted.

Red-tail at 106th and Riverside Drive.

But I’ve been lucky enough to spot my first Merlin zooming north along Riverside Drive, and two peregrine falcons, one a mature male perched on a water tower, the other a juvenile perched on a school.

So look up, New Yorkers.

Raptors are all around us, perched on water towers and tree limbs, soaring overhead and swooping low, mating on high-rises and nesting on bridges. Keep your eyes open, and LOOK UP.

A Riverside red-tail.

Pelicans and Bare Arms, January in Dallas

We’re in the middle of a deep freeze here in the Northeast. Yesterday, Long Island’s Mecox Bay was in the process of icing over.

Ice on the right of the white line, water to the left.

Meanwhile back in my former home of Dallas, Texas,people are hanging out by White Rock Lake in T-shirts and tank tops. I mean, really.

Curious geese at White Rock Lake, Dallas. Photo: Ellen Locy.

My friend Ellen, who sent me these photos from Dallas, reports yesterday was “such a warm day I kept peeling off layers and tying them anywhere I could. Jacket, scarf.”  Here’s Ellen with scarf tied round her head and jacket round her waist.

“Just got a load of myself… [people] must have thought Aunt Jemima had taken up bird watching.”

The warm weather has White Rock’s geese in a flap. Or maybe it’s the pelicans they’re sharing Sunset Bay with.

Goose convention at Sunset Bay, White Rock Lake, Dallas. Photo: Ellen Locy.

Yup, pelicans.

Pelicans in Dallas, Texas. Photo: Ellen Locy.

There’s nothing like sunset at Sunset Bay. Can this really be mid-January? Thanks, Ellen, for warming us up.

Sunset at Sunset Bay, Dallas, Texas. Photo: Ellen Locy.

Now it’s time to bundle up with a faux animal on my head, and walk that dog. Brrr.

Snow in Eastern Long Island

On Monday afternoon, snow began to fall on eastern Long Island.

Snow transformed the dog into an abominable snow creature.

Snow covered the sand that Sandy dumped into the passage beneath the little bridge.

Snow dusted Sleeping Beauty’s impassable tangle of branches.

Snow blanketed the beach.

On the walk home, deer had come into a neighbor’s yard and were browsing right by the house.

It snowed through the night. On Tuesday, the world was white.

Snow shadows spidered open spaces.

Deer stood alert in the snowy field.

When they turned to go, their small stampede kicked up a snow tempest.

Temperatures have plummeted to the teens, so for the time being, the snow remains. As I write, dawn is breaking on another frosty morning.

Bleak is Beautiful

In winter, the bare, the barren and the bleak offer a different perspective on beauty.

This is true in the city.

And it is true by the ocean.

It’s true up close.

And it’s true from a distance.

Always beautiful.

Red-tails in Winter

Red-tailed hawks seem to be everywhere I walk these January days.

We tend to think of winter as a quiet, even a quiescent, time for the natural world.

And so it is for many plants and animals. But for others, including NYC’s Red-tailed hawks, mid-winter actually signals the start of breeding season. In the coming weeks, our local hawks will go a-courting. After all, for us to watch eggs hatch in early spring on NYU’s Bobst Library or a Fifth Avenue apartment ledge, the hawks have to lay those eggs a full month earlier, sometimes as early as late February or early March. Before laying eggs, new pairs need time to build a nest, while established pairs must renovate the old nest. And before they start working on the nest, the hawks have to pair up, bond, and mate.

Red-tails mate for life, but even experienced and bonded pairs engage in elaborate courtship behavior each year as they enter the breeding season. Red-tail courtship often involves dazzling paired flights, when the two birds swoop and circle together, and sometimes grasp each other’s talons as they spiral down through the air, separating in time to spread their wings and soar again.

In late winter and, indeed, throughout the breeding season, unpaired hawks, whether juveniles or adults that have lost a mate, will be on the look-out for potential partners.  In NYC over the past few years, several hawks have died from rat poison at various points in the breeding season, and we’ve seen the remarkable swiftness with which a new hawk appears and mating begins again.

So look up as you walk in the city this winter. Scan trees, building ledges, statues, and water towers for unusual lumps and bumps that may turn out, on closer inspection, to be a hawk perching and watching for prey.  And if you are lucky enough to spot two broad-winged birds soaring high in the sky, circling and swooping, spiraling and climbing, they may well be a pair of red-tails declaring their devotion and preparing to mate.

Woodpeckers in New York: Beautiful Redheads

Woodpeckers are such stylish animals.

Red-bellied woodpecker. Photo: Melissa Cooper

And, yes, clearly it was a red cap and nape that I saw on New Year’s Eve Day, not just a red cap. Which means the bird was, without a doubt, a male Red-bellied woodpecker. (In Woodpeckers of Riverside Park Meet Little Red Riding Hood, I made the case for calling it the Little Red Riding Hood Woodpecker.)

How can I be so sure today when I was unsure two days ago? Because I saw the little devil again yesterday morning.  And this time, in case you haven’t noticed, the view was unobstructed and I got photos.

The bird was less active yesterday, remaining on its perch for several minutes, looking around from side to side, and up and down.

The little bird was probably sitting so still and alert due to the unusual amount of hawk activity overhead.  Three Red-tailed hawks were passing overhead, soaring, then swooping low through the trees.  Birds and squirrels tend to go into lock-down when the hawks are flying nearby, trying not to call attention to themselves through movement. Of course, once the hawks perch, they are no longer much of a threat since their hunting technique involves stooping from the air with great force at their prey.  Birds and squirrels can often be quite bold with a perched hawk. I’ve seen squirrels seem to taunt a perched hawk, and the sight of crows or jays mobbing a hawk is fairly common. In rural areas, Red-tailed hawks dine mostly on rodents, but here in the city they are frequently seen eating pigeons and songbirds in addition to rats, squirrels and mice.

  One of the hawks perched for a while in a neighboring Sweetgum tree, looking much like the piles of leaves, known as dreys, that squirrels build as nests.

After a few minutes, the hawk unfolded its great wings, and soared off to the southwest.

The woodpecker then did the same, swooping across the promenade to a higher branch on another tree.

The handsome little bird is a charming addition to the park, easy on the eyes and easy to spot. In winters past, I’ve sometimes seen a sole Red-bellied woodpecker in this area of Riverside Park. Now I wonder if it is the same bird returning year after year. In any event, I hope he sticks around, and continues to evade hawks, cars and other urban hazards.

For more on woodpeckers in Riverside Park:Woodpeckers of Riverside Park Meet Little Red Riding Hood
Who’s Eating What in NYC Parks

And for other New York woodpeckers:
A Visit To Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s Sapsucker Woods: My First Pileated Woodpecker

Avian Red Wake-up

High in the tree branches in Riverside Park, a small, brilliant flash of red startled me. It soon revealed itself to be the head of a black-and-white woodpecker. The little fellow was very active, hopping from one branch to another with great rapidity, ducking behind branches and twigs, making it hard for me to get a good look at its entire form. And, of course, I had left behind both my binoculars and my camera.

Was the beautiful bird a Red-bellied woodpecker?

Red-bellied woodpecker by John James Audubon

(Despite its name, the Red-bellied woodpecker is notably black and white with a red cap and nape.  The name derives from a reddish tinge on the belly that is really only visible when the bird is examined close up.)  I watched until the bird swooped off, scalloping the air, to another tree. But when I got home and opened a bird book, it was the the flash of a red cap that lit the image in my mind. A red cap, not a red cap and nape. So hmmm…

Could it have been a yellow-bellied sapsucker?

Yellow-bellied sapsucker by John James Audubon.

Both birds are seen in NYC parks, although the Yellow-bellied sapsucker is apparently less common.  But something about the coloring, and even the cap, just doesn’t seem quite right when compared with the bird in my mind’s eye. So I believe it was a Red-bellied. Next time I’ll know better how to look at a red-headed woodpecker to note its defining marks.

The unexpected flash of avian red has stayed with me, like a wake-up of some kind. “Sleeper, awake!” the little bird signaled to me.  A good jolt with which to start a new year.

Since I have no photo of my woodpecker, here is a different bit of vibrant wake-up-the-new-year red, photographed by a friend on his morning walk.

Cardinal in NYC, plumped against the cold. Photo: Rob Pavlin

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

It’s Snowing in NYC

The dog and I just got back from a beautiful, chilly walk in the park when it began to snow. Big, fat juice flakes are pouring down.  It’s a relief to have a taste of winter since it pretty much bypassed us last year.

If it keeps up like this, the park should be beautiful.

 

Red-tailed Hawk on Riverside Drive

Red-tailed hawk

A red-tailed hawk perched high above Riverside Drive overlooking the Hudson. What view the bird must have with the river to the west,

and Riverside Church, usually lost in a mass of leaves, visible through bare branches to the north.

The hawk calmly took in its surroundings.

After a while, it was joined in the tree by two smaller birds.

The hawk ignored them at first. (The little birds are on branches to the right.)

But when it turned to take a look, the little fellows flew off.

 And the hawk remained.

Visit Backyard and Beyond to see another NYC Red-tail in a construction site in Brooklyn Bridge Park.

Look Up: Men in Trees!

What is this man looking at?

Men in trees, of course.

You never know what you’ll see on your morning dog walk in New York City.

Today, with the Hudson River as a backdrop, these guys were as good as a circus aerial act

or perhaps a troupe of nature-loving funambulists,

working with wires and spotters,

but without a net.

On this beautiful spring-like morning, it was like seeing tree spirits come to life

until they touched earth again

and were transformed back into humans.

You know, just, normal young guys with gear.

But don’t forget: these guys really do walk in trees.

Check back soon to find out what they’re doing up there.

Hey Robin, Jolly Robin

Hey Robin, jolly Robin,
Tell me how thy lady does.
- traditional English song, sung by Feste in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night

Two days ago in Riverside Park, I saw my first robin of spring, and he was not a jolly fellow. He (or she) was fluttering about desperately on the ground, snagged on a bush by a wad of string that had wound around one foot. I tied up the dog, and made my way to the fenced-in area where the bird flopped and flapped helplessly.  As I approached, he repeatedly cried out with a loud, shrill sound, unlike any I have heard a robin make. It seemed to me to be the bird equivalent of screaming. I bent down and took him in my hand, gently pinioning his wings to prevent him from further injuring himself.

The robin’s foot was pretty much engulfed by some kind of soft, stretchy, black material, a few strands of which had become entangled in the low dry branches of the bush. I was able to break the string that bound the bird to the bush, but there was no way I could completely free his foot from the mass of material that undoubtedly prevented him from perching or walking properly. In fact, the material had probably turned the foot into a mostly useless block. I held him for a moment,thinking what to do.

Before I continue my story: if you find an injured wild animal in NYC and want to help, contact the wildlife rehabilitation center of The Wild Bird Fund at 646-306-2862.

But I did not take the bird to the rehabilitation center.  I simply opened my hand and released him. He flew swiftly to a nearby tree, where he half-perched, half-lay in a low position.

Injured robin in tree

I was relieved to see him fly well, as he had been flapping with such vigor I was afraid he might have injured his wing. He looked scruffy and uncomfortable, but was quiet and still, remaining in his spot as the dog and I left.

Calming down

Whether the bird will survive is an open question. The fencing, designed to protect plantings, had kept him safe from off-leash dogs, but, come evening, he would have been easy prey for the raccoons that live in the retaining wall a short distance away

Raccoons in the retaining wall of Riverside Park

or for the red-tailed hawks that were circling above Riverside Drive a few blocks north.

It’s sad to watch a little bird struggle, and natural to feel an emotional attachment to an individual animal in distress. Should I have tried to take the robin to the rehabilitation center, which might have been able to remove the string and save its foot? Maybe. On a species level, however, predators like the red-tailed hawks need to eat, too, and (unlike the omnivorous, garbage-loving raccoons) the hawks’ only food is other animals.

Young hawk eats squirrel in Riverside Park, January 2011

Stressed and injured, less able to compete for food or escape from predators, the robin may very well become some other animal’s prey.

Or … he may survive. One does sometimes see one-legged pigeons foraging successfully in the city. If the robin hasn’t sustained other unseen injuries, if the foot doesn’t develop an infection, and if he’s just plain lucky, maybe, just maybe, the little guy will make it through another season.

Of course, he’ll still have to cope with the vagaries of early spring. February is not generally considered spring in NYC, but in case you haven’t noticed, this year has been, oh, just a little warmer than usual.

Snowdrops in Riverside Park

Still, winter may come roaring back at any moment, and then, as another old song says of the English robin (an entirely different species):

The North wind doth blow and we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?
He’ll sit in a barn and keep himself warm
and hide his head under his wing, poor thing.

Birds that migrate early, as robins tend to do, sometimes face survival problems, if the plants and insects they rely on for food are not yet available.  But robins can eat a fairly wide variety of food, and so can adapt to sudden cold weather and even snow by eating berries and seeds, instead of earthworms and insects.  (All About Birds reports that robins sometimes become intoxicated by eating too many honeysuckle berries.) By mid- February this year, many trees were already sporting nutritious buds, which robins, like the sparrow below, can also eat.

Sparrow eating buds in tree

Good luck to the robin and all the coming birds of spring.

Urban Wildlife Valentine Video

Happy Valentine’s Day from Out Walking the Dog!

(Please click on the arrow. And feel free to visit OutWalkingtheDogNYC’s Youtube channel.)

If you’d like to know more about the love life of urban birds, you may enjoy reading:
Sex and the City Bird
Sex and the Pigeon
The Pigeons Outside my Window

Urban Raccoons in Winter

I hadn’t seen the raccoons that live in the Riverside Park retaining wall for some time.

Nice view.

I believe their numbers were cut down during the great raccoon rabies epidemic of 2010.  I once saw as many as six raccoons come out of this hole, like clowns from a clown car.  But lately, I’ve seen only two.

Two waschbären, or wash bears, as the Germans call raccoons. (from my archives)

And for the past few weeks, I haven’t seen any.

The raccoon den in February 2011 after a snowstorm.

Watching raccoons in winter is a bit trickier than in spring or summer. In wintry weather, raccoons may curl up in their dens for days at a stretch, sleeping away the cold. But in a bizarrely mild winter like the current one, the reason I haven’t seen them is more likely due to the simple fact that I don’t walk regularly in the park after dark.

Raccoons, even in New York City, are primarily nocturnal creatures, emerging as the sun sets to start their day. In summer, when light lingers well after nine pm, they are easy to spot on a leisurely evening dog walk.

Riverside Park sunset over Hudson River

But in February, night closes in on the city before dinner, let alone before the evening walk.

Sparkling New Jersey

And though I love the park at night, caution has been etched into my city soul by growing up and living in Manhattan throughout the 60s, 70s and 80s. I try to be reasonably cautious, limiting my night walks in the park which, in turn, limits my opportunities for raccoon sightings and other strange night visions.

A dog walks in the night park. (Its owner was not far behind.)

But after not seeing the raccoons for a while, I started to wonder: Are they healthy? Are they even there? So a couple of weeks ago, the dog and I went into the park shortly after dusk on several mild days to seek them.  And there they were, looking as healthy as ever. (I’ve enhanced the photos, as most were too dark to see.)

One raccoon was already a little distance north on the wall,

Wall walker

while the other seemed to be backing out of the den.

Backing out the front door

It turned around and took in the view. After watching for a while longer, we left.

Who's watching whom?

But wait. It was only later when I looked at my photos that I realized, a la David Hemming in Antonioni’s Blow-up, that there was a third pair of eyes, glowing in the darkness of the den.

Mystery glow.

Let’s enhance that photo, and see who’s there.

Aha. Revelation.

So it appears that at least three raccoons are living in the den this winter.

We’ll have to wait and see what spring brings.

Check out the archives for lots more on NYC raccoons!

Hunting for Central Park’s Black Squirrels

UPDATE, March 2012: I finally succeed in spotting one of New York City’s lovely black squirrels. Not in Central Park but in Washington Square Park: Black Squirrel in NYC.

A fellow nature lover recently told me of seeing a black squirrel repeatedly in the northern end of Central Park.

Black squirrel in Central Park. Photo courtesy of Gigi A.

The squirrel usually seen in NYC parks is the Eastern gray squirrel, Sciurus carolinensus. Eastern grays love hardwood forests that provide them with acorns, berries, bark, insects and tree buds. In the old days, before the virgin forests of the east were cleared, it was said that a squirrel could travel the entire east coast in the treetops, without ever touching ground.

And travel Gray squirrels did, and sometimes, perhaps, still do. Audubon and other early American naturalists called it the Migratory squirrel for its mass migrations through the trees, which Charles Joseph Latrobe described in 1811:

“A countless multitude of squirrels, obeying some great and universal impulse, which none can know but the Spirit that gave them being, left their reckless and gambolling life, and their ancient places of retreat in the north, and were seen pressing forward by tens of thousands in a deep and sober phalanx to the South …”

Other nineteenth century writers describe Gray squirrel migrations that lasted up to four weeks and involved hundreds of thousands of animals.

Today’s Gray squirrels live in whatever wilderness remains to us, while also thriving in the suburbs and in urban parks. Black squirrels, according to most researchers, are a melanistic color morph, or variation, of the Gray squirrel, the color resulting from an excess of melanin, a dark pigmentation.  Essentially, black squirrels are simply black Grays.

I’d heard of black squirrel populations in other parts of NYC, including Union Square Park and the grounds of Stuyvesant Town and Peter Cooper Village. City parks can be like islands, separated by streets instead of water, where inbreeding leads to swift manifestation of unusual genetic traits, including melanism. Was a nascent population of black squirrels emerging in Central Park? I decided to go squirrel hunting.

The morning glowed with sunlight that failed to warm.

Central Park boulder sporting icicles.

Despite the bitter cold, someone appeared to be meditating on a point of land that jutted out into the still-unfrozen Pool, the little pond at 101st Street.

A peaceful moment.

A mixed flock of ducks paddled about, and a few came over to see if I was offering food. (I wasn’t.)

Who gets the girl?

The stretched-out neck of one of the male Mallards is a behavior called ‘steaming’ and is one of many Mallard courtship displays. The ducks are already pairing up in preparation for spring nesting.

Across the Pool, Buffleheads, a particularly adorable duck species, dove and surfaced, flashing their big white heads and sides.

Quick-diving ducks: Now you see them, now you don’t.

Buffleheads, like scaup, mergansers and canvasbacks, are diving ducks, capable of swimming underwater to feed, while Mallards, like American wigeons, teals and shovelers, are dabbling ducks, tipping up their tails to feed with their heads underwater. Mallard ducklings regularly dive underwater to avoid predators, although duckling predators also include water dwellers, like snapping turtles and fish.

But I digress. A good walk makes for many digressions. I resumed my hunt for the black squirrel, heading south  through the park all the way down to 89th Street.

Along the way, I saw a huge flock of Common grackles.  (Birder friends, these are grackles and not some kind of blackbird, yes?)

Just a small corner of a much larger flock.

The flock was accompanied – or, perhaps, infiltrated – by a solitary bluejay.

One thing is not like the others.

I saw perfect squirrel hideouts.

Anyone in there?

I saw squirrel dreys, or nests, including this one high in a tree.

Apartment with 360-degree view

And, inevitably, I saw squirrels. Just a few, due to the cold, and all of them normal Grays, like this little fellow in the fork of a tree.

Gray squirrel keeps an eye on the passing world.

So I’m still looking for my first black squirrel.

When I returned home, I discovered that while I was traipsing the Park’s north end, a black squirrel had been hanging out down at the southern end, near Wollman Rink.

Black and Gray, just chillin.’  Photo by Gigi A.

Meanwhile, I’ve learned from a favorite naturalist in England that across the Big Pond, in the U.K., black squirrels are a source of serious controversy.  All Gray squirrels are considered an invasive species there, as they drive out the native red squirrel population. But there’s something about black Grays that … well, more on black squirrels in a future post. Meanwhile, do let me know if you see any unusual squirrels around your neck of the woods.

NYC First Snow of 2012

Snow poured down on the city early yesterday morning.

Huge white flakes quieted the traffic

and veiled the water towers from view.

In Riverside Park, sledders of all sizes gathered at the 108th Street slope.

Looking north, the retaining wall took on a ghostly appearance.

When we started our walk, snow was still coming down and the park was strangely quiet with no animals to be seen and no birds singing. Where were they all?

The raccoons were probably nestled all snug in their den.

But look! The snow is stopping, and a solitary squirrel comes out to forage, almost disappearing into the snow.

Gray squirrels are made for winter camouflage,

as is this mixed flock of sparrows and junkos. The little birds vanish into snow and bare branches.

Fluttering into a more open space, one bird seems to be looking for something he’s lost, burrowing deep into the snow until only his tail shows.

Soon I’ll write more about urban animals in winter.

But now, it’s time to continue our walk. Esau’s waiting.