Tycho, Ashbridge’s big male swan, in the bay

Tycho, our beautiful male mute swan (Cygnus olor) takes a break from preening Saturday at Ashbridge’s.

At last! After going for weeks without seeing our mute swan family — Penny, Tycho and the kids (who are now only about eight weeks or so away from leaving home)  — I finally saw our cob, Tycho.

I was down at Ashbridge’s Bay yesterday, taking a wee break from film festing, hoping to get some close-up pictures of flowers that I’d seen on a recent (camera-less) walk. I had noticed several species of flowers I couldn’t immediately name, and wanted to get some shots that would enable me to identify them at home.

I was enjoying a magical time meandering among the tall flowers — the asters, the daisy fleabane, the white sweet clover, the goldenrod over my head — trying to take all the late summer beauty in. The huge dragonflies (slaty skimmers, I’m almost certain); the warblers (common yellowthroats, maybe?); the bees (I don’t think I’ll ever be able to identify them.)

I was concentrating, trying to get some images that wouldn’t be completely overexposed in the harsh, bright mid-day light, when I heard the sound, far away, of huge wings beating the air. What could only be an enormous bird, trying for lift-off. Only one bird I know can disrupt the airwaves like that. I turned away from my shot just in time to see a blur of white flying low over the peninsula to the open lake side of our park. Surely one of our swans.

I quickly wended my way along the footpath ’til I came to the clearing about mid way, and there, right on the rocks by the shore, was Tycho. The departing swan must have been his long-time mate, Penny. No cygnets to be seen. I guess they’re far enough along in their maturity to be spending some time alone without mom and dad.

Tycho was busy preening his feathers and paid me no mind while I took some shots of him. A little later, a family over by the boardwalk began feeding bread to the mallards and Tycho paused his feather cleaning to glide silently — and quickly — over to get his share of the handout. Never one to miss an easy meal.

The people were encouraging their child to hand feed Tycho. They wanted the swan to take bread right from the child’s outstretched fingers. I tried to suggest, gently, that they might want to rethink that. As friendly as Tycho is, he’s a hugely powerful wild bird. Capable of inflicting a lot of damage, both with his beak and his powerful wings.

Eventually, the family ran out of bread and Tycho sailed away, taking my heart with him.

© BCP 2010

Cormorant in the Keating Channel

A double-crested cormorant (Phalacrocorax auritus) dries its wings in the Keating Channel last week.  © BCP 2010

Well. Here is the bird that everyone loves to hate, minding its own business in the Keating Channel last week. Not bothering anyone, just drying its wings mid-morning in the intense heat of a blazing late summer sun. (I took this photo before the current chilly rainy period set in.)

Of course, there are few folks around the Big Smoke that don’t recognize the much reviled double-crested cormorant (Phalacrocorax auritus) when they see one. They’re so big. So black. So uncute. So destructive.

The haters might say, “How appropriate! The ugliest bird around, photographed in one of the city’s most derelict, ugliest locations — the Keating Channel.”  (That’s the concrete sluice that replaced the natural mouth of the Don River, the channel that now connects  the Lower Don River  to our lake.)

But plenty of other folks, including me, enjoy watching these big birds that look prehistoric somehow. Like they’re the long lost relatives of Archeopteryx. Like they should have been extras in the film Jurassic Park. But there’s plenty to like about these birds. I love, for example, how they fly in formation so low over the lake it looks as if they might crash into it. I love how they dry their wings.

But I’m all too aware that these birds are hugely controversial. People rightly accuse the cormorant colonies on the Leslie Street Spit of destroying trees and thus the habitat of other animals in the park. (Think guano.)  And they each eat about a pound of fish per day, disrupting the food source of other animals.  Many thoughtful people feel they should be humanely culled.

Leslie Scrivener, one of this city’s finest feature writers, clearly explained both sides of the cormorant debate in an article in the Toronto Star dated May 20, 2009. You can read her well-balanced article by clicking here.

I’ll let others who know more about the cormorant debate decide how to control their exploding population. Meanwhile, I’ll keep watching these big black birds as they do what comes naturally —  fishing, preening, drying, socializing. Oh yeah —and excreting vast quantities of guano.

© BCP 2010


Sunset stroll in the Brick Works

The Weston wetland quarry garden is one of the first sights a visitor to the Brick Works sees.

The old Brick Works property located in the Lower Don Valley (accessible from the Bayview Ave. extension) has been one of my favourite spots for years. It was a wild and derelict 11.5- hectare site. Now, with the input of dreamers, doers, donors — and millions of dollars — it is becoming a showcase of green living that is drawing international raves.

I took a walk through the property Saturday evening as the sun was already slipping behind the valley walls, leaving only scattered streams of light touching the tops of the trees and the far hills, leaving them looking as if they had been decorated with gold icing.

Staghorn sumac and goldenrod carpet the valley floor. © BCP 2010

Upon arriving, it was clear that work on the site is proceeding at a frenzied pace, as contractors hurry to finish the initial built parts of the project by its official grand opening date, Sept. 25/26.

But slipping behind the industrial buildings of the old Brick Works plant itself, the astonishing beauty and peace of the enormous site begins with the first glimpse of the Weston Quarry Garden, where an elegant marble stone marks the foresight and generosity of the Weston Foundation’s contribution to the enterprise. (Toronto Life Magazine recently published a fascinating comprehensive history of the Brick Works project, which you can read by clicking here.)

Green algae coats one of the back ponds at the Brick Works. © BCP 2010

I only had about an hour in the valley before I knew I would lose the last of the light, so I quickly made my way around the ponds (after stopping to admire a Midland painted turtle coming up for air in the first pond). I was hoping to get a close-up photo of a goldfinch, which are abundant in the open meadows of the valley floor. But I was too late to get the light I needed for the shot, so I decided to just wander around and see what was new.

One thing I noticed got me wondering. In other visits to the Brick Works, I had seen a great blue heron hiding in the tall reeds in the ponds towards the back of the site. The heron would stay perfectly still while it hunted, watching and waiting for a fish to spear. (If you don’t mind a bit of blood, you can click here to see a photo I took at Col. Sam Smith Park in the west end of a great blue heron with its successful catch in its long beak.)

But on this visit to the Brick Works, these same ponds where I had seen the herons were completely covered over by a carpet of thick green algae. Not too surprising, then, that I didn’t see any herons on this visit — how on earth would they be able to fish? I guess they move on to better — or at least easier — fishing grounds when the ponds are coated with algae and they can’t see the fish. I wonder — does anyone know about the comings and goings of the herons here?

It was getting dark as I toured around the last pond and  headed back towards the parking lot and the hum of the city. The goldfinches were still chirruping and flitting through the trees, but they were getting hard to see. Time to go.

Just as I was leaving, I noticed that one of the main industrial buildings was reflected in the first pond, so I stopped long enough to try to capture that.

Evergreen’s Brick Works is a stellar accomplishment. It’s a project that everyone involved can be proud of, a project that lights the way forward for green living in our big smoggy city on the lake.

© BCP 2010

One of the old buildings at the Brick Works is reflected in the Weston Quarry Garden at sunset. © BCP 2010

The prettiest pink flowers in the Lower Don

A patch of Balfour’s touch-me-not (Impatiens balfourii) growing wild by the banks of the Don River last week. © BCP 2010

I found these lovely, delicate flowers growing in deep shade not far from the riverbank in the Lower Don Valley on my stroll there last week. There was a very small patch of them, growing only a few feet away from a dense thicket of orange jewelweed (Impatiens capensis). I had never seen anything like them before. Excellent — a new mystery for me to solve!

When I went searching in my wildflower identification book, I could find nothing that looked like these plants. But I thought their flowers looked suspiciously like the jewelweed, so I continued my investigation by seeing if I could find any near relatives to Impatiens capensis (also known as spotted touch-me-not) that could be contenders.

Jewelweed (Impatiens capensis) growing near the pink flowers in the Don. © BCP 2010

(For comparison, I have included a photo of the jewelweed patch (at left) that was growing alongside the unknown flowers.

I began roaming through online photos of other Impatiens species, until I found one that looks remarkably like my mystery specimen. I now think that the photo above is of Impatiens balfourii, commonly known as Balfour’s touch-me-not, poor man’s orchid and Kashmir balsam.

The latter common name reflects this plant’s origins. Here’s wiki on the subject: “It is native to the Himalayas, particularlyKashmir and surrounding areas, where it grows in mountains of 5,000 to 6,000 feet.[1] It was brought back to England as a garden plant, and then it became popular in the San Francisco Bay Areaand other parts of the United States.[1] It can now be found there growing wild as a garden escapee along the Pacific coast and in Wisconsin,[2] where it is well adapted to cool, wet sites.”

It seems to me that my mystery plant is a bit of Balfour’s touch-me-not that escaped from cultivation in someone’s garden.

I’d love to hear if anyone else has seen these pink flowers growing in the wild around Toronto. And any ideas regarding identification most appreciated.

© BCP 2010

Turkey vulture in the Lower Don River

A turkey vulture (Cathartes aura) pauses while eating a fish carcass in the Lower Don River this week. © BCP 2010

I scoped out a path this week that I’ve driven past countless times, but never stopped to explore — the paved recreational trail that begins under the Gardiner Expressway where the Lower Don River empties into the Keating Channel (and thence into Lake Ontario).

It was hot, but not impossibly so, and I was grateful to discover that much of the path, which follows the west bank of the river, is nicely shaded. I took my time, exploring slowly, and walked from the channel north towards the Prince Edward Viaduct at Bloor St. I didn’t get quite that far before turning around, but plan to explore that part next time.

(You can see where the trail starts, and follow it along, by clicking here.)

As I get a bit more free time, my goal is to begin acquainting myself with many more of the wild and semi-wild spaces that abound in our city. So much to see, so much to learn. . .

It was a particular thrill for me to see the turkey vulture (Cathartes aura) in the photo above having a mid-morning meal (looks like what used to be a quite large fish) on a sandbar in the Lower Don. I’ve seen these buzzards flying too many times to count, especially north of the city. But I had never seen one up close before.

While doing a bit of reading about turkey vultures, I learned that these birds don’t have syrinxes, or the typical voice box of songbirds, and communicate — particularly around food — by hissing, grunting or growling. I didn’t hear anything from the bird in the picture, but that was probably because he (she?) was the only vulture around. (There were a few mallards, and some cormorants nearby, though.)

And a happy birder.

© BCP 2010

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