Common terns fish for a late-night snack at Ashbridge’s Bay

In the pink rays of the setting sun, a common tern (Sterna hirundo) hunts at Ashbridge’s Bay. © BCP 2010

I managed to get out for a short walk late Monday evening just as dusk was falling, and noted a couple of interesting observations.

For one, the lake seems to be at the highest level I have seen it in ages. I noticed it particularly because I had heard a belted kingfisher rattling out its cry and wanted to see if I could get a look at it. Following the sound of its cry led me to the water’s edge just before the foot path from the parking lot turns sharply right to hook up to the boardwalk. There, where there is usually a gravel beach where the mallards and gadwalls hang out, there was suddenly NO beach at all! Water was lapping into the plants that have recently been six or eight  feet away from the water line. Is this the result of all the rain we’ve been having? I’ll see if I can find out.

(Lost track of the kingfisher. Darn that water level, anyway…)

As dusk falls, there’s barely enough light to get a shot of an eastern kingbird (Tyrannus tyrannus). © BCP 2010

Heading around by the boardwalk, I came across an eastern kingbird (Tyrannus tyrannus) that was resting briefly in a a dead tree. Just barely enough light to capture its silhouette by cranking up the ISO on my old camera. Haven’t seen one of these distinictive, robin-sized fly-catchers lately at Ashbridge’s, so that was a bonus.

Continuing on the path alongside the (extremely and annoyingly ruined boardwalk — when, oh when is the city going to do something about this dangerous state of affairs? ) — I noticed that a small group of common terns (Sterna hirundo) were about in the bay, fishing. (BTW… a group of terns is called a committee.)

Like the kingbirds, the terns are not a species I see every day at A.B. But when they’re around, they are very evident. With their distinctive, buzzy and strident calls, they’re almost always heard before they’re seen. You can hear the common tern’s call at WhatBird.com.

These terns have a much more aggressive hunting/fishing technique than the local gulls (ring-bills) do. With intense focus and what must be impressive eyesight, they circle around searching for their prey before plunge-diving straight into the lake for a fish. Quite a spectacle to watch.

There was only a little light left by the time I tried to get a picture of a tern plunging into the drink, but managed a couple of grainy shots, as you can see above. I’ll try again another time, but earlier in the evening when more light will let me shoot with a faster shutter speed.

© BCP 2010

A purple-flowering raspberry spreading like the dickens in my Beach backyard

Purple-flowering raspberry (Rosa odoratus) in the rain Saturday. © BCP 2010

I took this photo of my purple-flowering raspberry bush (Rosa odoratus) on my rainy meander through my own backyard on Saturday night. What shocked me is how long these plants have been blooming — I’d say at least a month.

This incredibly hardy member of the rose family has more than gorgeous, long-lasting blooms going for it; it’s native to eastern North America. That means I can have it in my yard without feeling guilty.

I’m trying, relatively successfully, to turn my little patch of green into a tiny shaded  woodlot. That means when Manitoba and Norway maples self-seed on my little hillside, I try to yank them out before they get too big. Sugar maples, red maples, silver maples — they get the green light to stay.

My purple-flowering raspberry bushes, however  lovely, threaten to take over my maples, my cedars (all native species) and even my little garden shed seems to be vanishing under their gigantic spreading leaves. It’s looking quite Day of the Triffids-ish out there. The only thing giving the raspberry bushes a run for their money are my dogwoods — both pagoda (Cornus alternifolia) and red osier (C. stolonifera). They, loving the damp shady semi-swamp that is my yard, both have their own Triffid thing going…. I really ought to do something about it.

One of the last patches of dame’s rocket (Hesperis matronalis) growing wild in my yard.  © BCP 2010

I’m also including a picture of another quite pretty flower that’s growing wild back there (some are white, and some are the palest shade of pinkish/violet).  I think these are Dame’s rocket (Hesperis matronalis), an old-fashioned European garden plant that escaped cultivation and is now widely naturalized. Wiki says that this plant was brought to North America in the 17th century!

Dame’s rocket is considered to be mildly noxious and is banned in some states.

As for my yard? There used to be bigger pockets of these flowers on my little hill. But the purple-flowering raspberries stomped all over them. Now there are only a few rockets left. I guess I should do something about that, too.

Maybe later.

© BCP 2010

A twelve-spotted skimmer visits my Beach backyard in the rain

A twelve-spotted skimmer (Libellula pulchella) rests on some Pagoda dogwood (Cornus alternifolia ) in my backyard Saturday. © BCP 2010

It wasn’t really a great day to go exploring yesterday — Saturday. Unless, perhaps, you were a duck flying to points east. Two reasons:  For 1, it poured rain for most of the day. And 2, it was Day 1 of the G20 summit taking place downtown. A gigantic monkey wrench bollixing up travel through the city core.

My desire to go out and photograph was overwhelming, though. So, as evening was falling, during a slight break from the downpours, I decided to take my camera out into my own backyard — no worries of Black Bloc protesters there — to see what I could see.

As I proceeded down my path quietly and slowly, taking care not to shake water on my camera from the dripping leaves overhead and all around me, in the dimming light I saw something sort of spotted that didn’t quite match the sea of green I was in. I nearly dismissed it, and walked by, but taking another closer look, I realized to my surprise that I was looking at a large dragonfly resting perfectly motionless on some dogwood leaves. Guess it was waiting out the rainy spell before taking off for better hunting grounds. (On its prey list: any soft-bodied insect such as mosquitoes, flies, butterflies, moths, mayflies, flying ants and termites.)

Side view of the twelve-spotted skimmer, Libellula pulchella, showing its bright yellow thoracic stripes. As the males mature, these stripes become obscured with age.  © BCP 2010

I attempted to photograph this creature from several angles, but the dim light was causing me problems, and I didn’t want to use my flash. Most of my shots were blurry and out of focus, but I did get a couple that were at least usable enough to make a pretty definitive ID of my odonate.

A quick trip through my Field Guide to The Dragonflies and Damselflies of Algonquin Provincial Park and the Surrounding Area, and I had my ID. The beautiful creature in my yard had to be a twelve-spotted skimmer, Libellula pulchella. Members of the Libellula genus are wide-bodied skimmers with broad wings. They’re often black and white in colouration, including the wings.

Mature males of L. pulchella are easy to identify by the alternating patches of black and white on their wings. Females, however, and immature males lack the white patches on their wings; they only have the 12 black ones.

From the top picture, it’s clear that there are only 12 black spots and no white ones, making my specimen a female or immature male.

The Algonquin Park field guide goes on to say that these dragonflies are usually found near ponds, marshy borders of lakes and slow streams and are actually rare in the park’s highlands and surrounding area. They are much more common south of the Canadian Shield. (But uncommon in my garden.)

With a surprise visit from an unordinary odonate, yesterday became an excellent day all around — G20 protests notwithstanding.

© BCP 2010

Tiny yellow flowers on an unknown tree at Ashbridge’s Bay — can anyone help identify?

A tree with delicate yellow flowers at Ashbridge’s Bay this week.  Willowish leaves, but is it a willow? © BCP 2010

Friday, June 25, 2010 update:

Of course! How silly of me. The tree above is a Russian olive (Eleagnus angustifolia). A fellow Toronto nature photoblogger, who goes by the handle Don Watcher, answered my request for help with identification. (Click here to go to his site.)

I knew there were plenty of Russian olives at Ashbridge’s, but I guess I haven’t paid enough attention to them during the spring flowering season, or I would have recognized these lovely little blossoms.

As Don Watcher correctly points out, Russian olives are found all over Toronto and are considered invasive. Some experts consider them to be the Al Qaedas of the garden. U.S. conservation biologist Carole Brown puts the Russian olive and its cousin, the autumn olive (Elaeagnus umbellata) in the number six spot of her top 10 list of “Most Hated Plants.”

Here’s what she says on her website, Ecosystem Gardening, about the most hated plants list: “These plants have escaped cultivation and are now destroying native ecosystems because they outcompete native plants and provide no benefits to native wildlife.”

And about the Russian olive, in particular:

These are “plants so harmful to ecosystems they should never be planted, yet alone sold. Topping the noxious list this week is Autumn Olive (Elaeagnus umbellata) and Russian Olive (Elaeagnus angustifolia), two plants in the same genus that are leaving a swath of destruction in their path. . . .

“Autumn Olive is native to China, Korea, and Japan. Russian Olive is native to southeast Asia. They were brought to the US in 1830 for cultivation and sale by the horticultural industry. They were widely planted by wildlife managers as food and shelter for wildlife.”

She goes on to say that the Russian olive is invasive in every state of the union.

You can read the rest of her post here.

Thursday, June 24, 2010:

I took this picture earlier this week and have been trying ever since to figure out what the heck this tree is. It sure looks like a willow, but doesn’t seem to match anything I can find.

I searched through every shrub manual and tree book I have, including one called The Tree Identification Book, by George W.D. Symonds, in my attempt to figure out what it is. I also nearly wore my fingers to the bone going through Google images, putting in every possible search term I could think of, to try to match my picture with a photo already on the Web.  No luck. How can a tree/bush have leaves like this, and not be a member of the  Salix family?

Please help! Any suggestions welcome.

© BCP 2010

An egret seen (briefly) at Ashbridge’s Bay and a serendipitous find

A wild multiflora rose bush (Rosa multiflora) with upside-down Canada geese at Ashbridge’s Bay.  The vertical shadow in the water is the stack from the sewage treatment plant across the bay. © BCP 2010

Some days you just get lucky. It’s simple serendipity. (And I think it augurs well for the first day of summer. Hurray!)

I only had time for a short walk today, so decided to forego my camera equipment and just dashed out with my point and shoot to my closest park  — Ashbridge’s Bay — to see what was up. I was looking to see which birdies’ babies had fledged, if any more mallard babies had hatched, if the swans were around. Stuff like that. Turns out the mourning dove chicks (aka squabs) had left their nest at the end of the peanut, there were three new ducklings with their mom in the inlet by the path from the parking lot, and the swans, Penny and Tycho, were out in the Coatsworth Cut, feeding their cygnets. In other words, all was well at the bay.

Carrying on around the inner harbour, I saw a flash of pure white. I knew it wasn’t either of the swans, because I had already seen them in the Cut. And since the cygnets can’t fly yet, the only way they could have got around to the inner harbour would be by paddling there. Even if they had hopped up on mom or dad’s back for a ride, I don’t think they could have made it all the way there that quickly. So I was pretty excited — that white flash was probably a lone egret. A quick look with my binoculars proved my guess right.

There was in fact, a great white egret (Ardea alba) wading in the rocks in the exact same spot that Penny and Tycho had their nest for years — at the point on the far side (yacht club side) of the bay where the NO WAKE sign is. I don’t think I have EVER seen an egret in the inner harbour before, so this was seriously exciting. I wanted to document it, but with my small camera there was no way I could get a clear shot. I tried anyway, figuring something was better than nothing. I managed to get a couple of grainy, blurry and overexposed shots (mostly because I was on digital zoom with my point and shoot). But within moments, the great bird flew the few hundred metres over to my side of the bay again, (the boardwalk side) and disappeared around the corner into some bushes by the water.

A lone egret fishes in our bay today. © BCP 2010

Determined to get a better shot, I very quietly walked along the path to where I thought it might be fishing at the water’s edge. But the egret took off and with a few magnificent slow-motion flaps, flew back to the yacht club again. I took my eyes off the egret for a few moments to photograph a butterfly that was passing by (possibly some attention and/or focusing issues?) and by the time I went looking for the big bird again it had plum disappeared. (For the record, the butterfly was a large white, Pieris brassicae.)

I decided to look for the egret on the boardwalk side of the bay, and made my way through the fairly dense understory of saplings, bushes, grasses and wild roses to get to the edge of the water, where I thought I might see it. No dice. No egret. But I did run smack into something else white and stunning — a tree covered in white blooms that I had never seen before. That’s a picture of it at the top of this post.

Turns out the small tree I inadvertently found is a multiflora rose (Rosa multiflora.) As lovely as it is, it’s considered a noxious weed in at least 11 states and also in Ontario. Seems this small-flowered rose was introduced from Europe but escaped cultivation (it was/is sold as living hedge.) It is considered invasive, spreading into fields and pastures where it forms dense, impenetrable masses.

But today there was just one.  All by itself by the water’s edge, where no one but the ducks, Canada geese, and the few passing sailors from the yacht club will ever see it.

I have been walking the same path out to the end of the peanut for years and years — and could have kept walking it for years and years more, and never would I have seen this gorgeous rose, had I not been searching for this magnificent shorebird.

Thanks, egret. You made my day.

© BCP 2010

M o r e   i n f o