Our pursuit of Bicknell's Thrush started with a three hour car trip from Cortland to the Adirondack Park. We traveled north on Rte 81 to Syracuse through U-shaped valleys carved out by glaciers, then headed east on the New York State Thruway across the plain created after the last ice age when ancient Lake Iroquois drained to leave behind modern Great Lake Ontario. We exited the Thruway at Rome, and took Rte 365 northeast to Rte. 28 on the last leg of our journey. Soon we started to see sandy soil and rolling hills dotted with glacial erratics, telltale signs that we were nearing the Adirondacks. Eventually the perfume of balsam fir in the air and frequent sightings of some of the more than 3,000 Adirondack lakes and ponds announced that we had reached our destination.
Despite the fact that the landscape was shouting "Adirondacks" at us, it was not easy to determine when we actually entered the park. The entrance was marked only by a surprisingly unobtrusive brown and yellow wooden sign that was visible through our car windows for perhaps 10 seconds. There was no kiosk, no stop sign, no entrance fee, no posted regulations, no map and no pamphlets. As we continued driving we saw stretches of road lined with homes and businesses alternating with stretches of road lined with forest. If we had missed the entrance sign, and it seems reasonable to assume that many travelers do, there was nothing to distinguish the landscape inside the park from the landscape outside the park.
About twenty minutes after we entered the park we reached the hamlet of Old Forge. Only a few people were in evidence along its five-mile-long stretch of restaurants, gift shops, and tourist attractions where, later in the summer, thousands visitors often bring traffic to a near standstill. On a previous visit to Old Forge we stopped at the parking lot of its biggest tourist attraction, the Enchanted Forest Water Safari theme park, and asked several patrons if they might tell us where the Adirondack Park was. They invariably told us they weren't sure where it was, even though they were many miles inside the Park's borders. Given that only one small sign out of the hundreds that lined Rte. 28 even mentioned the park it is not surprising that many visitors fail to recognize that they are actually inside the largest park in the contiguous U.S. Since Enchanted Forest was not yet open on this visit we did not repeat our experiment, but continued on to Long Lake and our appointment with Joan Collins, who conducts an annual survey of Bicknell's Thrush that is described in detail in Steve's earlier posts.
After a delightful dinner with Joan, and a somewhat less satisfactory night's sleep, we started out at 2:30AM for Blue Mountain by car. We arrived at the trailhead at 2:45 and started our hike almost immediately. There was no moon so we could see only the small area in front of us that was illuminated by our headlamps and flashlights. In our haste to reach the summit we hiked mostly in silence (except for my increasingly heavy breathing). When we stopped briefly to peel off some layers and catch our breath, I glanced at the pamphlet we had picked up at the trailhead. The first thing it described was the mixture of public and private land in the Adirondack Park, noting that the trail up Blue starts out in private land and ends on state land, but there was no mention as to where this occurred, and I wondered briefly if there would be any way to tell when this happened.
I soon forgot about looking for the dividing line between public and private land and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. In just under two hours we reached the summit. Joan quietly sat down with her legs tucked underneath her, spread her charts on the rocks in front of her, and clicked off her headlamp. Steve and I moved about 30 feet away and he quickly assembled his parabolic microphone and digital recorder. For the next twenty minutes Joan sat almost motionless, occasionally turning on her headlamp and leaning forward to make a brief note on her chart while Steve trained his microphone on the various birds that were vocalizing around us.
When her time was up Joan moved on to her next survey point and Steve moved around the summit tracking birds with his recording gear. Grateful for the chance to rest my leg muscles before we headed back down the mountain, I pulled my hat down around my ears to ward off the chill breeze and watched the sun rise over the cell tower that dominated the south side of the summit. The stark contrast between the cell tower and the surrounding spruce forest brought back to mind the public/private character of the Adirondack Park that the pamphlet now folded in my pocket had started me thinking about on our way up the mountain, and I continued thinking about the divided nature of the park as I looked down at the lights that dotted the shorelines of lakes off in the distance and the car headlights that followed the thin thread of highway that linked Raquette Lake and Blue Mountain Lake. When the sun hid behind the clouds that had rolled in just as we neared the summit, I sought shelter behind a large rock and thought about how this arrangement had come to pass.
The mixture of public and private lands found in the park has its origin in the natural history of the Adirondacks. The region's short growing season, nutrient poor and often poorly drained soil, and rugged terrain determined that Adirondack forests were not settled and cleared for agriculture as were those in much of the rest of New York. In the mid-1800's wood and timber products fueled the industrial revolution in the U.S. in much the same manner as petroleum fuels our modern economy, and loggers went to work in the Adirondack forests in earnest. The accelerated pace of logging in the Adirondacks brought about one of the first political coalitions devoted to protecting the environment. This coalition was a curious blend of early conservationists and downstate business interests who derived from George Perkin Marsh's influential 1864 book Man and Nature the idea that the destruction of the Adirondack Forests threatened the watershed upon which the Hudson River and the Erie Canal depended.
In 1872 this coalition realized their first victory when the New York Assembly appointed a commission to recommend actions for protecting the Adirondacks. In 1885 the State Legislature created the Adirondack Forest Preserve, which consisted mainly of scattered parcels of logged-over land previously acquired through non-payment of taxes totaling about 681,000 acres. Although the enabling legislation for the Adirondack Forest Preserve stated that it would "be forever kept as wild forest lands" conservationists kept pushing for stronger protection, and in 1892 the legislature drew a blue line around the scattered Adirondack Forest Preserve holdings and declared that "all lands now owned or hereafter acquired by the state" within specified Adirondack counties and towns "shall constitute the Adirondack Park." The Park's creators left the difficult task of deciding how to deal with the private land that fell within the Park's boundaries, and the people who were living on that land, to future politicians.
As we started back down the mountain I concluded that we were fortunate to have ended up with the Adirondack Park's large-scale marriage of public and private land. Steve's post on the likely extinction of Bicknell's Thrush illustrates the enormous threats facing nature today. It is obvious that nowhere in the world will we be able to protect natural ecosystems solely by using what E. O. Wilson (in his 1992 classic The Diversity of Life) called the "bunker" approach of placing large areas of land in public ownership. Instead, we will need to create parks and preserves that combine public and private land, and the Adirondack Park provides us with abundant examples of things that have worked, and things that haven't, to learn from as we strive to create parks that are up to the challenges facing nature in the modern world.
One of the difficulties of creating parks that marry public and private land is that the contest between nature and private enterprise is so heavily weighted in favor of the latter. Joan is usually alone when she hikes up Adirondack peaks in pursuit of Bicknell's Thrush and often finds herself singing loudly as she hikes to "keep the bears away." It is safe to say that, if the payoff for the hike were a thousand dollars rather than a few glimpses of an endangered bird, she'd have a lot more company. But surveys confirm what Joan's lonely hikes suggest: love of nature is a widely, but not deeply, held value for most individuals. As a result environmental interests are at a distinct disadvantage compared to economic interests when they must settle their differences in the arena of democratic politics. The Adirondack Park's "Forever Wild" clause and its land use plan help to balance these interests, and we plan to explore both in future posts.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Adirondack Forest and Brown-headed Cowbirds
The Brown-headed Cowbird is a brood parasite that lays eggs in the nests of other birds for the host species to raise. The cowbird has been observed to lay its eggs in the nests of 
more than 220 host species in North America. Brood parasitism by the cowbird is one of many recent disturbances believed to contribute to the decline of North American songbirds.
more than 220 host species in North America. Brood parasitism by the cowbird is one of many recent disturbances believed to contribute to the decline of North American songbirds.The brown-headed cowbird is formerly a prairie species that followed bison migrations. The colonization of North America by European settlers, their westward expansion and destruction of virgin forests has contributed to a rapid eastward spread of cowbird populations. This expansion has allowed cowbirds to parasitze nests of forest bird species because forests are now fragmented between field, meadows, and open areas where cowbirds forage. One solution to managing cowbird populations may be to increase the size of forest plots where cowbirds are unable to parasitize nests deep within the forests. Such is the case and plans for ecologists and ornithologists in southern Illinois.
Earlier today, I examined the 2000-2005 breeding bird atlas for the brown-headed cowbird in New York State. The following graph shows that the cowbird is largely absent from the Adirondack region. Despite an ample supply of host species (warblers, thrushes, vireos, sparrows, and flycatchers) in the ADK, the numbers of putative breeding cowbirds is very low. Perhaps this is one of many favorable ecological consequences of land management practices in the Adirondacks. The large tracks of land with pristine forests limit access to brown-headed cowbirds and, therefore, reduce the negative effects of brood parasitism.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Bicknell's Threats Stretch Beyond the ADK
Few people will ever see or hear this remarkable bird before it goes extinct by 2100. Although its numbers are not in immediate peril, this relative of the American Robin, Wood Thrush, and Eastern Bluebird is plagued with human-induced, chronic environmental health problems that show no signs of disappearing.
Bicknell’s thrush probably exploited the narrow band of boreal-like conditions just south of the ice pack during the peak of glaciation 18-25,000 years ago in North America. As the climate warmed and the glaciers melted, breeding populations of Bicknell’s thrush followed the spruce forest northward each year during spring migration. This forest continued their march northward and some jumped on the escalator delivering them to higher altitudes in the Catskills and Adirondacks of New York, the White/Green Mountains of Vermont, and the mountain ridges of Maine. Some populations became established in Maine and southeastern Canada. Today breeding populations are generally found in suitable habitat above 3500 feet in the ADK.
It is no longer a secret that the climate is warming. Forest communities in the Adirondacks continue to seek out the ground where the appropriate climate for their survival, growth, and reproduction. This means that the spruce fir forests are moving up peaks in the northeast. As the forest migrates to new heights, their total area declines as one might expect from simple geometric analysis on pinnacles. The rules are simple: higher forest, smaller habitat, fewer birds, and greater risk of extinction. Although the Adrondack mountains are growing at a blistering rate of 3 mm per year, global warming and climate change have and will continue to outpace mountain growth. Thus, sometime in the next century the optimal climate for spruce/fir forests will be gone from most of the northeastern United States.
Climate change brings the nails to the coffin on Bicknell’s inevitable death, but it doesn’t seal its fate. Some believe there is still time to help the species. Population numbers are still high. Perhaps populations can adapt to the rising deciduous forests or migrate further north. Perhaps, the climate change nail will rust before its time.
Other nails exist and are currently being driven into Bicknell’s coffin. The industrial revolution of the 19th and 20th century has brought about atmospheric and ecosystem changes that have had a greater impact in the Adirondacks and northeastern United States more so than anywhere else in the country. Coal burning powerplants in the Midwest facilitated this countries growth and industrial boom. Smokestacks were built high to carry the coal emissions far away in the overhead airstream. As sulfates, mercury, and nitrates dissolved in atmospheric water vapor the pH of the water becomes more acidic. Eventually these pollutants fall over the northeastern mountain peaks in snow and rain precipitation.
Until recently the atmospheric pollutants in the Adirondacks seemed to affect lake chemistry the most. Acidified lakes experienced a shift in types of plankton and lost fish species. Many western Adirondack species are now left with the legacy of no fish and low pH from acid precipitation. Aquatic bacteria in the ponds and lakes converted mercury deposition to the toxic methyl mercury. This in turn has bioaccumulated and magnified in fish and higher order predators such as loons and eagles. In the mountains, acid precipitation altered soil chemistry by leaching important cations and increasing the availability of aluminum in the soil. Aquatic bacteria in the ponds and lakes converted mercury deposition to the toxic methyl mercury. This in turn has bioaccumulated and magnified in fish and higher order predators such as loons and eagles. Spruces seemed to be most affected by acid precipitation and exhibit excessive winter kill of yearling needles. To Bicknell’s thrush all of the problems associated with acid precipitation appeared to be downhill and out of reach.
Then in 2005, Rimmer, McFarland, Evers and colleagues reported that Bicknell’s thrush blood serum contained levels of mercury and methyl mercury that were usually associated with wetland bird species such as northern waterthrush and common loon. These results surprised the researchers and ecotoxicologists because a montane bird species with a diet based on terrestrial invertebrates shouldn’t experience methyl mercury contamination. The results implicated two potential sources of mercury contamination in Bicknell’s territory. On breeding grounds, a previously unknown mechanism of terrestrial conversion of methylmercury in leaf litter followed by bioaccumulation in soil invertebrates. Methylmercury may then biomagnify across the invertebrate food chain and into Bicknell’s diet. A second source of methylmercury accumulation now appears likely on Bicknell’s winter habitat on the island of Hispaniola. The concern for Bicknell’;s thrush and other exposed songbirds is that methylmercury toxicity may lead to behavioral problems and reproductive failures as has been observed in Adirondack loons.
If the two nails, global climate change and mercury poisoning, don’t seal the coffin, then perhaps the third problem of winter habitat degradation will. Bicknell’s thrush spends its winter in montane forests on the island of Hispaniola. This island is divided between two nations of the Dominican Republic and Haiti. Poverty, government instability, and excessive human population have resulted in intensive land use and deforestation in Haiti. Wood is the staple energy and heating source for Haitians. Periodic changes in government environmental practices and philosophies in the Dominican Republic keep Bicknell’s habitat walking a thin thread between hope and gloom. In short, Bicknell’s thrush has troubles on both ends of its migration.
The recent quest for clean renewable energy has developed new concerns for montane birds in the northeastern United States. Wind farms have been proposed in prime Bicknell’s habitat on mountain ridges in Maine and Gore Mountain in New York. Environmentalist have temporarily beaten down these proposals, but as the price of oil continues to rise and humans become more desperate for clean energy the halt may only be temporary. No one knows whether wind farms will have a negative impact on Bicknell’s thrush, but it is certainly another encroachment on a species in decline.
Only time will tell if these concerns err on the side of extreme pessimism. Biology and evolution has clever solutions to a multitude of problems. Perhaps Bicknell’s thrush will evolve a strategy to utilize breeding habitats further north or adapt to new plant communities on the rise in the Adirondacks. Both scenario present Bicknell’s thrush with new social struggles and competitive challenges that will need to be solved.
Bicknell’s thrush probably exploited the narrow band of boreal-like conditions just south of the ice pack during the peak of glaciation 18-25,000 years ago in North America. As the climate warmed and the glaciers melted, breeding populations of Bicknell’s thrush followed the spruce forest northward each year during spring migration. This forest continued their march northward and some jumped on the escalator delivering them to higher altitudes in the Catskills and Adirondacks of New York, the White/Green Mountains of Vermont, and the mountain ridges of Maine. Some populations became established in Maine and southeastern Canada. Today breeding populations are generally found in suitable habitat above 3500 feet in the ADK.
It is no longer a secret that the climate is warming. Forest communities in the Adirondacks continue to seek out the ground where the appropriate climate for their survival, growth, and reproduction. This means that the spruce fir forests are moving up peaks in the northeast. As the forest migrates to new heights, their total area declines as one might expect from simple geometric analysis on pinnacles. The rules are simple: higher forest, smaller habitat, fewer birds, and greater risk of extinction. Although the Adrondack mountains are growing at a blistering rate of 3 mm per year, global warming and climate change have and will continue to outpace mountain growth. Thus, sometime in the next century the optimal climate for spruce/fir forests will be gone from most of the northeastern United States.
Climate change brings the nails to the coffin on Bicknell’s inevitable death, but it doesn’t seal its fate. Some believe there is still time to help the species. Population numbers are still high. Perhaps populations can adapt to the rising deciduous forests or migrate further north. Perhaps, the climate change nail will rust before its time.
Other nails exist and are currently being driven into Bicknell’s coffin. The industrial revolution of the 19th and 20th century has brought about atmospheric and ecosystem changes that have had a greater impact in the Adirondacks and northeastern United States more so than anywhere else in the country. Coal burning powerplants in the Midwest facilitated this countries growth and industrial boom. Smokestacks were built high to carry the coal emissions far away in the overhead airstream. As sulfates, mercury, and nitrates dissolved in atmospheric water vapor the pH of the water becomes more acidic. Eventually these pollutants fall over the northeastern mountain peaks in snow and rain precipitation.
Until recently the atmospheric pollutants in the Adirondacks seemed to affect lake chemistry the most. Acidified lakes experienced a shift in types of plankton and lost fish species. Many western Adirondack species are now left with the legacy of no fish and low pH from acid precipitation. Aquatic bacteria in the ponds and lakes converted mercury deposition to the toxic methyl mercury. This in turn has bioaccumulated and magnified in fish and higher order predators such as loons and eagles. In the mountains, acid precipitation altered soil chemistry by leaching important cations and increasing the availability of aluminum in the soil. Aquatic bacteria in the ponds and lakes converted mercury deposition to the toxic methyl mercury. This in turn has bioaccumulated and magnified in fish and higher order predators such as loons and eagles. Spruces seemed to be most affected by acid precipitation and exhibit excessive winter kill of yearling needles. To Bicknell’s thrush all of the problems associated with acid precipitation appeared to be downhill and out of reach.
Then in 2005, Rimmer, McFarland, Evers and colleagues reported that Bicknell’s thrush blood serum contained levels of mercury and methyl mercury that were usually associated with wetland bird species such as northern waterthrush and common loon. These results surprised the researchers and ecotoxicologists because a montane bird species with a diet based on terrestrial invertebrates shouldn’t experience methyl mercury contamination. The results implicated two potential sources of mercury contamination in Bicknell’s territory. On breeding grounds, a previously unknown mechanism of terrestrial conversion of methylmercury in leaf litter followed by bioaccumulation in soil invertebrates. Methylmercury may then biomagnify across the invertebrate food chain and into Bicknell’s diet. A second source of methylmercury accumulation now appears likely on Bicknell’s winter habitat on the island of Hispaniola. The concern for Bicknell’;s thrush and other exposed songbirds is that methylmercury toxicity may lead to behavioral problems and reproductive failures as has been observed in Adirondack loons.
If the two nails, global climate change and mercury poisoning, don’t seal the coffin, then perhaps the third problem of winter habitat degradation will. Bicknell’s thrush spends its winter in montane forests on the island of Hispaniola. This island is divided between two nations of the Dominican Republic and Haiti. Poverty, government instability, and excessive human population have resulted in intensive land use and deforestation in Haiti. Wood is the staple energy and heating source for Haitians. Periodic changes in government environmental practices and philosophies in the Dominican Republic keep Bicknell’s habitat walking a thin thread between hope and gloom. In short, Bicknell’s thrush has troubles on both ends of its migration.
The recent quest for clean renewable energy has developed new concerns for montane birds in the northeastern United States. Wind farms have been proposed in prime Bicknell’s habitat on mountain ridges in Maine and Gore Mountain in New York. Environmentalist have temporarily beaten down these proposals, but as the price of oil continues to rise and humans become more desperate for clean energy the halt may only be temporary. No one knows whether wind farms will have a negative impact on Bicknell’s thrush, but it is certainly another encroachment on a species in decline.
Only time will tell if these concerns err on the side of extreme pessimism. Biology and evolution has clever solutions to a multitude of problems. Perhaps Bicknell’s thrush will evolve a strategy to utilize breeding habitats further north or adapt to new plant communities on the rise in the Adirondacks. Both scenario present Bicknell’s thrush with new social struggles and competitive challenges that will need to be solved.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Citizen Science in the Adirondacks
Mountain Birdwatch is one example of “citizen science” conducted in Adirondack Park. Citizen science is the opportunity for homeowners, landowners, volunteers, and organizations to participate in scientific censuses and endeavors. The Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology has popularized citizen science through programs such as Project Feeder Watch, The Great Backyard Bird Count, and surveys of declining species such as Scarlet Tanager and Cerulean Warbler. The number of opportunities for citizen science are increasing and several national/global programs include Monarch Watch, Journey North, All Taxa Biodiversity (http://www.discoverlifeinamerica.org/atbi/index.shtml), GLOBE at Night (http://www.globe.gov/GaN/), World Water Monitoring Day (http://www.worldwatermonitoringday.org/). One of the longer standing citizen science programs is the annual Christmas Bird Count sponsored by the Audubon Society.
Citizen science actively engages youth and the public in research and education. Participants are provided with training, education, information, and opportunity to learn about the process of science. Discussions and exchanges with scientists is an active means of information dissemination and awareness education directly with the public. In promoting their research, trained scientists gain access to a larger geographical area and time-sensitive data can be collected much more efficiently with volunteer scientists.
New York State has been blessed with many citizen science programs that document biodiversity throughout the state. The New York State Breeding Bird Atlas is one such program sponsored through the NYS Department of Environmental Conservation in collaboration with Cornell University. From 2000 to 2005, more than 1200 volunteers documented the breeding status of 250 bird species in 5,532 (3 x 3 mile) blocks throughout the state. The breeding Bird Atlas provides important baseline data for examining changes in bird distributions and land use management. In comparison with BBA data from 1985, this program has documented the decline of some Adirondack species such as the Spruce Grouse, but also shown an increase in the Northern Parula and the new appearance and successful breeding of the Merlin. These later two species are nearly exclusive Adirondack breeders in New York State.
Adirondack Park is an ideal region for citizen science programs to prosper. The 6 million plus acres with more than 3000 ponds and lakes, more than 100 peaks above 3000 feet, great habitat diversity, and isolated wilderness constitutes tremendous logistical problems for scientists who need access to critical time sensitive data. Bicknell’s thrush presents one such challenge. The species is difficult to find on Adirondack peaks, has an abbreviated vocal period on diurnal and seasonal clocks, and occupies a challenging to navigate habitat. Mountain Birdwatch provides valuable data and observation on Bicknell’s and other montane bird species to researchers such as Dan Lambert (http://www.vtecostudies.org/).
Other citizen science programs exist in Adirondack Park. The World Conservation Society’s Loon Program with more that 500 volunteers conducts an annual census of Common Loons on Adirondack lakes and ponds for one hour on a Saturday in July. Volunteers count the numbers of loon adults, chicks, and juveniles seen on their section of water during the hour. The data allows the WCS to track habitat changes, and population trends of this environmentally sensitive species. The Common Loon is recovering from environmental threats such as lake acidification, habitat change, water traffic, lead poisoning from leaded fishing sinkers, mercury deposition from coal burning plants, and periodic outbreaks of avian botulism in the Great Lakes Region. In 2007, the Loon Program counted 681 adults, chicks, and immature loons on lakes in the Adirondack Region. These data allowed the WCS to estimate that the total Adirondack population has doubled since a census conducted in the 1980s.
http://www.wcs.org/media/file/LoonCensusSummaryResults.2007.pdf
In recent decades, the Adirondack lakes have experience invasions of numerous roadside and aquatic weeds. Terrestrial plants such as garlic mustard and purple loosestrife are high quantity seed producers and spread prolifically by underground stems. These features together with few native predators or herbivores provide opportunities for these weeds to out compete many native species. In aquatic ecosystems, Eurasian milfoil is an invasive species capable of choking rivers, ponds and lakes. Milfoil alters natural nutrient cycles, dissolved oxygen, and light penetration and may indirectly affect aquatic macro invertebrates and fish. Citizen scientists volunteer through the Adirondack Park Invasive Plant Program to document and monitor the spread of invasive species in the park. Stores, boat docks, and parks often display information warning advising boaters to check their gear for Eurasian Milfoil and to report new populations.
http://www.adkinvasives.com/
The Adirondacks will continue as a model park for integrating volunteer stewardship and citizen science into educational outreach and scientific research. The combination of public and private lands interwoven into a matrix permit accessibility of researchers to isolate areas, effective sentinels for water quality and invasive weeds, and the rare opportunity for citizens to participate on scientific endeavors. These opportunities foster ownership and community pride in possession of unique biodiversity and the inoculation of communities and visitors with science education. Citizen science will undoubtedly become more important in the Adirondacks as climate change continues and federal funds for research diminish.
Citizen science actively engages youth and the public in research and education. Participants are provided with training, education, information, and opportunity to learn about the process of science. Discussions and exchanges with scientists is an active means of information dissemination and awareness education directly with the public. In promoting their research, trained scientists gain access to a larger geographical area and time-sensitive data can be collected much more efficiently with volunteer scientists.
New York State has been blessed with many citizen science programs that document biodiversity throughout the state. The New York State Breeding Bird Atlas is one such program sponsored through the NYS Department of Environmental Conservation in collaboration with Cornell University. From 2000 to 2005, more than 1200 volunteers documented the breeding status of 250 bird species in 5,532 (3 x 3 mile) blocks throughout the state. The breeding Bird Atlas provides important baseline data for examining changes in bird distributions and land use management. In comparison with BBA data from 1985, this program has documented the decline of some Adirondack species such as the Spruce Grouse, but also shown an increase in the Northern Parula and the new appearance and successful breeding of the Merlin. These later two species are nearly exclusive Adirondack breeders in New York State.
Adirondack Park is an ideal region for citizen science programs to prosper. The 6 million plus acres with more than 3000 ponds and lakes, more than 100 peaks above 3000 feet, great habitat diversity, and isolated wilderness constitutes tremendous logistical problems for scientists who need access to critical time sensitive data. Bicknell’s thrush presents one such challenge. The species is difficult to find on Adirondack peaks, has an abbreviated vocal period on diurnal and seasonal clocks, and occupies a challenging to navigate habitat. Mountain Birdwatch provides valuable data and observation on Bicknell’s and other montane bird species to researchers such as Dan Lambert (http://www.vtecostudies.org/).
Other citizen science programs exist in Adirondack Park. The World Conservation Society’s Loon Program with more that 500 volunteers conducts an annual census of Common Loons on Adirondack lakes and ponds for one hour on a Saturday in July. Volunteers count the numbers of loon adults, chicks, and juveniles seen on their section of water during the hour. The data allows the WCS to track habitat changes, and population trends of this environmentally sensitive species. The Common Loon is recovering from environmental threats such as lake acidification, habitat change, water traffic, lead poisoning from leaded fishing sinkers, mercury deposition from coal burning plants, and periodic outbreaks of avian botulism in the Great Lakes Region. In 2007, the Loon Program counted 681 adults, chicks, and immature loons on lakes in the Adirondack Region. These data allowed the WCS to estimate that the total Adirondack population has doubled since a census conducted in the 1980s.
http://www.wcs.org/media/file/LoonCensusSummaryResults.2007.pdf
In recent decades, the Adirondack lakes have experience invasions of numerous roadside and aquatic weeds. Terrestrial plants such as garlic mustard and purple loosestrife are high quantity seed producers and spread prolifically by underground stems. These features together with few native predators or herbivores provide opportunities for these weeds to out compete many native species. In aquatic ecosystems, Eurasian milfoil is an invasive species capable of choking rivers, ponds and lakes. Milfoil alters natural nutrient cycles, dissolved oxygen, and light penetration and may indirectly affect aquatic macro invertebrates and fish. Citizen scientists volunteer through the Adirondack Park Invasive Plant Program to document and monitor the spread of invasive species in the park. Stores, boat docks, and parks often display information warning advising boaters to check their gear for Eurasian Milfoil and to report new populations.
http://www.adkinvasives.com/
The Adirondacks will continue as a model park for integrating volunteer stewardship and citizen science into educational outreach and scientific research. The combination of public and private lands interwoven into a matrix permit accessibility of researchers to isolate areas, effective sentinels for water quality and invasive weeds, and the rare opportunity for citizens to participate on scientific endeavors. These opportunities foster ownership and community pride in possession of unique biodiversity and the inoculation of communities and visitors with science education. Citizen science will undoubtedly become more important in the Adirondacks as climate change continues and federal funds for research diminish.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Chasing Bicknell's Thrush
"…only a freak ornithologist would think of leaving the trails [on Mt. Mansfield] for more than a few feet. The discouragingly dense tangles in which Bicknell's Thrushes dwell have kept their habits long wrapped in mystery” (George Wallace 1939).
Quote taken from VINS-2008 (http://www.vinsweb.org/cbd/mtn_birdwatch.html)
You will find Joan Collins and her son William as members #4756 and 4755 on the registry of the Adirondack Forty-sixer Club. Membership in this elite club is guaranteed to those who carefully execute and document the completed hikes of the forty-six Adirondack peaks above 4000 feet. Joan and William climbed the fourth highest peak, Skylight Mountain, on October 8, 2000 to complete their quest to become 46ers.
At least 6000 others have completed the requirements for membership, but few have accomplished this goal over a 14 month time period as William did at age 8. Climbers of the forty-six peaks face boulder fields, stream crossings, steep slopes, wilderness, occasional bears, snow, ice, and weather conditions that are constantly changing. It is not unusual to start out at a base altitude in 70 degree, sunny weather to experience hours of cold winds, fog, snow or ice above 4000 feet. The accomplishment of Joan and William attests to her determination, drive, passion, and attention to detail she models in all aspects of her professional, family, recreational, and volunteer life. These attributes shape Joan’s impact on bird conservation and education in Adirondack Park.
Joan became interested in birds in 2001 under the tutelage of Elliot Adams who was the Mayor of Sharon Spring, NY. He noted Joan’s interest in birds and spent the next 30 days teaching her to identify birds. She was addicted. Her early observations on finding barred owl nestlings and witnessing the white-winged crossbill irruption of 2001 cemented her interest in field ornithology. She eagerly studied and learned the plumages and vocalizations of every bird she encountered. Joan learned quickly and was proficient enough in bird identification to lead her first bird field trip in June 2001(?). A summer doesn’t go by without Joan leading local field trips in the Long Lake region of the Adirondacks.
Joan’s love and enthusiasm for birds grew exponentially. She edited newsletters for the local Audubon society, and by 2005 she had been elected President of the influential High Peaks Audubon Society. Joan has completed surveys for the breeding bird survey as well as the New York State breeding bird atlas, and has written and edited species accounts for the later. Joan’s wrap-sheet of newsletter writings, field trips, and surveys is two arm-lengths long. Joan’s writing includes a first-hand account of snow burrowing in common redpolls. Common redpolls move south to the Adirondacks in winter.
I wrote Joan in July 2006 inquiring on how and when to find Bicknell’s Thrush on Blue Mountain. Bicknell’s Thrush is for the most part a quiet bird that nests in high elevation balsam fir and red spruce forests in the northeastern United States and southeastern Canada. These forests above 4000 feet are dense tangles of dead trees and dark needle bearing trees and shrubs. Although the forest is short (10-25 feet), the thick dark foliage and blow down trees make the forest impenetrable off the trail. It is very easy to become disoriented just feet from the trail. These robin-sized, dark birds are impossible to see unless they are perched on the end of branches singing.
Bicknell’s thrush received formal recognition as a unique species at the annual meeting of the American Ornithological Union in Cincinnati, Ohio. Their decision was based on the seminal research of Canadian Ornithologist Henri Ouellet published in 1993. Formerly treated as a subspecies of the more common Gray-checked Thrush, Bicknell’s had been essentially understudied since discovered by Eugene Bicknell in 1881 in the Catskill Mountains. (http://www.ns.ec.gc.ca/wildlife/bicknells_thrush/e/species_is_born.html). The rugged landscape and habitat of Adirondack High Peaks, the Catskills, and locations in VT and NH made studies at best difficult. Bicknell’s thrush differs from Gray-checked Thrush slightly in color and few physical features such as wing dimensions that make precise identification of these birds in migration a challenge even for skilled ornithologist. Nevertheless, the Ouellet study provided a firm foundation for recognition of Bicknell’s Thrush as a separate species. Although the songs and calls of these species sound very similar to humans, Bicknell’s doesn’t respond or react to gray-checked songs when their played in the field. The two species have separate breeding grounds and some molecular data suggests that Bicknell’s may be more closely related to another thrush called the Veery. Subsequently, Lambert, Rimmer, and Goetz have established that Bicknell’s winters on the island of Hispaniola in the Greater Antilles. Gray-checked thrush winters in Central America.
Joan responded to my email request that Blue Mountain in Hamilton County had a stable and relatively large population of Bicknell’s thrush. She indicated that dawn or dusk was the best time to hear and see this bird. The tone of her email suggested the bird is a finicky singer preferring clear skies, cool temperatures, and no winds. Because the bird hides well in the spruce/fir foliage, Joan suggested that June and September were the best months to see the birds when they are at the peak of singing performance. In June, the birds are preparing to nest and mate, and in September juvenile birds are practicing their newly acquired singing ability.
Quote taken from VINS-2008 (http://www.vinsweb.org/cbd/mtn_birdwatch.html)
You will find Joan Collins and her son William as members #4756 and 4755 on the registry of the Adirondack Forty-sixer Club. Membership in this elite club is guaranteed to those who carefully execute and document the completed hikes of the forty-six Adirondack peaks above 4000 feet. Joan and William climbed the fourth highest peak, Skylight Mountain, on October 8, 2000 to complete their quest to become 46ers.
At least 6000 others have completed the requirements for membership, but few have accomplished this goal over a 14 month time period as William did at age 8. Climbers of the forty-six peaks face boulder fields, stream crossings, steep slopes, wilderness, occasional bears, snow, ice, and weather conditions that are constantly changing. It is not unusual to start out at a base altitude in 70 degree, sunny weather to experience hours of cold winds, fog, snow or ice above 4000 feet. The accomplishment of Joan and William attests to her determination, drive, passion, and attention to detail she models in all aspects of her professional, family, recreational, and volunteer life. These attributes shape Joan’s impact on bird conservation and education in Adirondack Park.
Joan became interested in birds in 2001 under the tutelage of Elliot Adams who was the Mayor of Sharon Spring, NY. He noted Joan’s interest in birds and spent the next 30 days teaching her to identify birds. She was addicted. Her early observations on finding barred owl nestlings and witnessing the white-winged crossbill irruption of 2001 cemented her interest in field ornithology. She eagerly studied and learned the plumages and vocalizations of every bird she encountered. Joan learned quickly and was proficient enough in bird identification to lead her first bird field trip in June 2001(?). A summer doesn’t go by without Joan leading local field trips in the Long Lake region of the Adirondacks.
Joan’s love and enthusiasm for birds grew exponentially. She edited newsletters for the local Audubon society, and by 2005 she had been elected President of the influential High Peaks Audubon Society. Joan has completed surveys for the breeding bird survey as well as the New York State breeding bird atlas, and has written and edited species accounts for the later. Joan’s wrap-sheet of newsletter writings, field trips, and surveys is two arm-lengths long. Joan’s writing includes a first-hand account of snow burrowing in common redpolls. Common redpolls move south to the Adirondacks in winter.
I wrote Joan in July 2006 inquiring on how and when to find Bicknell’s Thrush on Blue Mountain. Bicknell’s Thrush is for the most part a quiet bird that nests in high elevation balsam fir and red spruce forests in the northeastern United States and southeastern Canada. These forests above 4000 feet are dense tangles of dead trees and dark needle bearing trees and shrubs. Although the forest is short (10-25 feet), the thick dark foliage and blow down trees make the forest impenetrable off the trail. It is very easy to become disoriented just feet from the trail. These robin-sized, dark birds are impossible to see unless they are perched on the end of branches singing.
Bicknell’s thrush received formal recognition as a unique species at the annual meeting of the American Ornithological Union in Cincinnati, Ohio. Their decision was based on the seminal research of Canadian Ornithologist Henri Ouellet published in 1993. Formerly treated as a subspecies of the more common Gray-checked Thrush, Bicknell’s had been essentially understudied since discovered by Eugene Bicknell in 1881 in the Catskill Mountains. (http://www.ns.ec.gc.ca/wildlife/bicknells_thrush/e/species_is_born.html). The rugged landscape and habitat of Adirondack High Peaks, the Catskills, and locations in VT and NH made studies at best difficult. Bicknell’s thrush differs from Gray-checked Thrush slightly in color and few physical features such as wing dimensions that make precise identification of these birds in migration a challenge even for skilled ornithologist. Nevertheless, the Ouellet study provided a firm foundation for recognition of Bicknell’s Thrush as a separate species. Although the songs and calls of these species sound very similar to humans, Bicknell’s doesn’t respond or react to gray-checked songs when their played in the field. The two species have separate breeding grounds and some molecular data suggests that Bicknell’s may be more closely related to another thrush called the Veery. Subsequently, Lambert, Rimmer, and Goetz have established that Bicknell’s winters on the island of Hispaniola in the Greater Antilles. Gray-checked thrush winters in Central America.
Joan responded to my email request that Blue Mountain in Hamilton County had a stable and relatively large population of Bicknell’s thrush. She indicated that dawn or dusk was the best time to hear and see this bird. The tone of her email suggested the bird is a finicky singer preferring clear skies, cool temperatures, and no winds. Because the bird hides well in the spruce/fir foliage, Joan suggested that June and September were the best months to see the birds when they are at the peak of singing performance. In June, the birds are preparing to nest and mate, and in September juvenile birds are practicing their newly acquired singing ability.
The past two years, I have tried on three separate occasions to see and hear Bicknell's Thrush on Blue Mountain in the Adirondacks. For the past 15 years I have taught a three-week field biology course at fifteen miles away at Raquette Lake during August. The timing and relative proximity to Blue Mtn. seem to provide a good opportunity. In August 2006 and 2007, several students from my Field Biology class departed Raquette Lake at 4 A.M. to begin the hike up Blue at 4:30 A.M. The trip was also repeated in June 2007 with my son, Cory, and Tom Pasquarello. Although we chose beautiful mornings for hikes, I only heard three "veeer" calls with the bird remaining hidden.
We were determined
for 2008 to have different results. On June 2, 2008, Tom and I rolled into Long Lake to stay at the home of Joan Collins. Joan’s home is in a rustic setting on 140 acres overlooking Long Lake. Black-throated blue warblers, ovenbirds, and hermit thrush sang near the porch of her home. At dusk common loons howled from the lake below and barred owls hooted in the surrounding forest.
We learned about Mountain Birdwatch during Joan’s vegetable lasagna dinner. Mountain Birdwatch was organized by the Vermont Institute of Natural Science (VINS) Darryl Lee McGrath, a journalist from SUNY Albany, brought salad and fresh bread and I shared some of the cucumber soup made for my wife’s birthday the day prior. Darryl was working on a booking examining New York endangered bird species and the people who study them.
Joan laid out the plans for our ascent on Blue: 1:45 a.m. wake-call; 2:30 departure; 2:45 arrival at trailhead and 4:00 arrival to the Blue Mountain peak. Joan would sit, observe, and listen for white-throated sparrow, winter wren, Bicknell’s thrush, blackpoll warbler, Swainson’s thrush from five pre-determined points near the mountain top. We were instructed to be quiet and not move a muscle during these census periods. Joan would record the relative locations of calling, singing, and visual birds within a 50 m radius from her location. This information would be noted on a circular graph that would be filled with the bird species four-letter code (BITH for Bicknell’s Thrush) and lines drawn to indicate birds responding to songs and calls.
Blue Mountain (elevation 3759 feet) stands as a majestic pinnacle in the skyline from Raquette Lake. During August, the sunrises over Blue and the sunset paints the mountain with beautiful colors. In my early years at SUNY Cortland, several warned me of the dangers of hiking Blue Mountain with a class. The trail runs along an old creek bed with basketball sized rocks. The upper third of the trail is steeper with smooth surfaced rocks that are slippery when wet. The trail poses many business opportunities for orthopedic surgeons. My family’s first ascent of Blue occurred in when my children were 5 and 7 years of age. The trip up and back took five hours. The kids thought the hike was punishment, the parents thought is was an endurance test on our patience.
The wake-up knock on the door arrived as planned. There wasn’t much sleep between 9 p.m. and 1:45 a.m. as the barred owl outside the window gave short performances all night. The Adirondack sky at 2 a.m. was very dark. The brilliant Milky Way belt cut the sky in half from north to south. Joan zipped along the curvaceous road from Long Lake to Blue Mountain in her Toyota Prius. My Saturn GLS was racing to stay within site of Joan’s Prius.
At 2:45 a.m., after signing in at the trailhead, we began the hike. It was a mental challenge to make our bodies work to avoid treacherous rocks. The forest was dark and silent except for headlights and the sounds of rubber hiking boot heels hitting rocks and rayon sliding past rayon on our legs. At five feet, Joan has a small stature, but appears natural, confident, and surefooted in walking the mountain in the predawn hours. She carries a backpack with clipboard, extra clothes, water, and essential items. I don’t know the weight of the backpack, but the size was easily half the height of Joan.
Joan often completes the Blue Mountain hike and survey alone and in the dark. Her stories describe other feats of bravery in the name of bird surveys. Pillsbury and Kempshall Mountain are two other peaks where Joan completes surveys alone. Kempshall sounds like a hell-filled climb requiring trail blazing and camping overnight. She recalls encountering two lost soles on a recent Kempshall excursion who eventually followed her to the summit for a cold night of unexpected “roughing-it.” The next morning Joan led the two beleaguered gentlemen out of the forest and back to their car.
We stopped occasionally to remove extra layers of clothes and once at a small stream that crossed the trail. Joan spoke of how this stream with small shrubs has attracted at least one breeding Canada Warbler which was new to this trail. The trail was dark except for the occasional reflection of streaming water or the whitish glow of hobblebush flowers littering the ground. The clear, cool, early morning hours changed as we approached the mountain. A grayish black cover began to block out the Milky Way and a dull roar of wind moved the forest overhead.
At precisely 3:55 A.M. we heard our first Bicknell’s thrush sing a couple of hundred feet below the summit. We froze in our tracks and listened intently. My heart pounded with excitement and for a moment I stopped breathing. Joan heard other distant calls and then instructed us to remain quiet on our final approach to the summit. The final trek passed quickly with great anticipation and the summit was reached by 4:15 A.M.
Joan quickly established a work platform with headlamp and notes on a flat working surface. The mountain has a lone fire tower and an acre of exposed granite surrounded by dense Christmas tree shaped firs and spruces. Our signal to remain still arrived precisely at 4:30 A.M. when Joan announced the time. Quickly Joan started listening and recording the locations and behavior of the five target species on the summit. I used the direction of Joan’s headlamp and her slight head movements to identify the direction of important bird vocalizations.
Several thrushes were in the dwarf forest to our left (west) and uttered several different calls. One eager singer was volleying between singing posts just downhill from our position. My ears perked with excitement. Even Pasquarello had an intense look upon his face. I believe he was studying the method and intensity of Joan recording notes and listening for birds. During the ten minute summit observation period, Joan noted four Bicknell’s thrushes, one Swainson’s thrush, and one white-throated sparrow. The summit winter wrens did not begun to sing until after Joan departed for census point 2. In the early morning hours of June 3, 2008, Joan recorded 19 bird species across all five census points. This included a total of 8 Bicknell’s thrushes.
Tom and I remained on the summit for nearly an hour following the count. Except for a brief tracking of a Bicknell’s thrush on the western slope we remained quiet and in our own world. I followed the pattern of flight of the singing male for almost 20 minutes as it volleyed back and forth over its territory singing from a new location every few minutes. I had a brief 30 second glimpse of the bird against the gray sky while it delivered song from a utility wire. After two years of searching, my goal of hearing and seeing a Bicknell’s thrush was fulfilled. The key to my earlier failures became evident at 5:40 A.M. when the last Bicknell vocalization was heard for the morning. By 6:15 we were ready to leave. (http://facultyweb.cortland.edu/broyles/bicknell.wav)
Later Installments. There are many lessons from the chase and encounter of Bicknell’s thrush on Blue Mountain. These included (a) remaining discoveries, (b) climate change and environmental politics, and the importance of citizen science in the Adirondacks. These issues will be explored in upcoming Broyles Blogs.
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