Given my predilection for marshy, swampy places, it should come as no surprise that on my very first morning in Maine, the first place I headed was... a saltmarsh. Scarborough Marsh, to be specific, south of Portland on the winding Nonesuch River. It was here, in a drizzly rain shortly after dawn, as we squelched through mud and shooed away mosquitoes, that I fell in love with the state of Maine: dark green woods bordering the vividly verdant saltmarsh, brooding clouds reflected on the surface of glassy water, crisp air perfumed with a delightful combination of saltmarsh and conifers that I can't quite describe, and, of course, birds.
It was during my marshland reverie, as we attempted to cross a particularly soggy spot on a precarious plank, that Eric, hood drawn tight against the increasing rain and droning insects, mused aloud that this particular part of our "vacation" would be difficult to explain to our friends and family back home.
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| The Nonesuch River meanders through Scarborough Marsh |
I don't know about that... Just look at this place!
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| Rain clouds - and blue sky! - reflected in the quiet river |
The Scarborough Marsh is not all mud and bugs, by any stretch! There is an Audubon Center conveniently located along the roadside, with informational signs and kayaks, and the Eastern Trail (a 60+ mile route designed for off-road cycling) offers perfectly dry access for birders who want to venture into the heart of the marsh.
And venturing into the marsh is a must-do activity for anyone interested in birds, as this habitat offers an absolute wealth of avian wonder!
The target birds here are the two "sharp-tailed" sparrows, Nelson's and Saltmarsh Sparrow, once lumped together as a single species. Here, their ranges overlaps and they may or may not interbreed (but probably do), the hybrid individuals distinguishable by their unique "mah-kings," according to a local Maine birder I talked with.
As the rain stopped and the sun came out, I heard my first distant Nelson's Sparrow, singing out his unique staticky song, which sounds a little like the word "seasick" (easy to remember: just think of what a bummer it would be to be a seasick admiral) or the sizzling sound of water hitting a hot frying pan. (Have a listen
here.)
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| Nelson's Sparrow |
With some patience, I was able to see several Nelson's Sparrows a little closer, as they perched on the tallest clumps of vegetation to sing for a few sometimes very brief moments before diving for cover in the grass.
The population of Nelson's Sparrows which occurs along the Atlantic Coast comprises a separate and distinct population from those that are found inland, where they inhabit freshwater wetlands in the northern mid-west and Canadian prairie provinces. Individuals of the inland population are brighter in color, while those along the Atlantic coast are much more drab.
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| Nelson's Sparrow |
The song of the closely-related Saltmarsh Sparrow is longer than that of the Nelson's Sparrow: a quiet, amorphous meandering assemblage of sputtering, wheezy buzzes and hisses. Another odd song for a bird, but one that I quite enjoy! (Listen
here.) Not a particularly attention-grabbing sound, the soft song of the Saltmarsh Sparrow rewards those who listen quietly to the subtle sounds of the marsh.
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| Saltmarsh Sparrow |
Furtive little birds, Saltmarsh Sparrows tend to stay low - very low - where they are concealed in the short, dense vegetation of their coastal habitat. They pop up now and then to sing from tall (relatively speaking) clumps of grasses, before ducking down again into the cover they so love. Here in the northeastern marshes, fleeting glimpses of small brownish birds fluttering short distances just above the tops of the grasses, then landing deep in the grass, where they are perfectly, maddeningly invisible, are almost certainly one of these two species. Separating them is often best left to the well-attuned ear.
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| Saltmarsh Sparrow |
Song Sparrows were also common and abundant in the brushy vegetation along the edge of the marsh, as were Yellow Warblers, Common Yellowthroats, and American Goldfinches. The marsh was full of birdsong! Red-winged Blackbirds sang out lustily across the marsh, while a single Alder Flycatcher called from the trees at the far edge. Dotting the edges of wetland pools were white Great and Snowy Egrets alongside dark Double-crested Cormorants and Glossy Ibis. And of course, my favorite saltmarsh song rang out continually across the expanse: the rollicking song of the Willet. (Listen
here.)
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| Song Sparrow |
Head north with us again as we bird our way through New England!
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