Carolina Beach delights

[Shantanu Phukan <phukan@email.unc.edu>]

Since it has been so appalingly slow around here I made a mad dash down to
the Carolina Beach and Fort Fisher spits yesterday in search of the Gull
Billed Tern and Wilson's Plovers, two birds which continue to elude me. 
Within minutes of walking out onto the Carolina Beach spit I had a Gull
Billed hunting over the grasslands--how easy it can sometimes be, and how
embarrassing that it took me two full years before I got it. 

But the most amazing and heart-warming sight was of a mixed flock of 30
Semi-Palmated Plovers, a dozen Sanderlings, Least and Western Sandpipers,
Whimbrels and two Short Billed Dowitchers feeding on an exposed mudbank in
the middle of the marsh which I could walk out into since it was very low
tide. At first the Sanderlings completely threw me since I am used to
their pearly white winter plumage; and for a while I fantasized about
Temmink's Stints or some other such Siberian rarity, but there were just
too many of them to be vagrants, and it was only after much fumbling that
I hit upon their summer plumage. What a transformation! And then just as I
was absorbing this little lesson in flew three Dunlins, also in full
breeding garb, complete with that black belly patch. Now Dunlins are birds
that one thinks of in monochrome, and again what an amazing change,and how
utterly unmistakable these were.

There were courting Least Terns at the head of the spit, the males would
fly in with tiny silver fish writhing in their bills, and instead of
gulping them down would land next to the females and strut about. I never
did see the female accept one, but I assume she eventually did; but what
she did display was a lofty unconcern in the face of such ceremony.

Stpping at the Carolina Beach State Park headquarters I hoped for a
painted Bunting in the scrub around the little pier and parking lot, and
as if by magic one started to sing the moment I got out of the car. In
tracking it down I heard the quivering high pitched calls baby birds make
when parents aproach the nest with food, and so I assumed that it must be
a gnatcatcher nest up in the middle story since a pair was repeatedly
calling from nearby. Half an hour of staring produced no nest, and int he
meantime the calls seemed to move around a lot, leading me to think that
the baby birds must be ventriloquizing (do they do this as protectice
strategy?). The Painted Bunting in the meantime moved to a branch above my
head and poured its heart out in rich, rambling song. And finally, what
appeared was not a bunch of helpless, pink babies, but a strapping and all
too capable cowbird baby harassing its warbler parents for food, which
they ernestly went about collecting and thrusting down its gaping maw. I
couldn't tell if they were Pines or yellow Throated warblers, since I
heard both int he pines, but I never did get a good look at the
parents. The baby, on the other hand, was hard to miss. Not a sight to
warm the heart, but...

The spit at Fort Fisher had more Semi Palmateds, a Lesser yellowlegs, an
astonishingly bright painted Bunting (even for a painted Bunting), lots of
ibises and Loisiana Herons, but no more Gull Billed Terns. The prize here,
however, was a Black Bellied Plover in full breeding plumage, and if I had
thought earlier that Dunlins transform I was too easily impressed, for
this transformation really takes the cake. I mean I regularly see Black
Bellies and seldom  toss them a second look, they're a dime a dozen and
drab as can be. I had never before seen one at this time of the year and I
would greatly recommend that all of us Piedmonters head down o the cost to
look at familiar shore-birds--it will be an interesting exercise in
identification, and one that will leave you breathless.

And as I was recovering from the juxtaposition of the black and the white
on the plover in the reedy margins behind there was a furtive movement and
out slipped a Clapper Rail, planted itself in the channel, and began to
bathe. I froze and then realized that I didn't need to since for some
reason it had decided to not, for once, be elusive. And so I crept upto
within twenty feet of it as it finished its bath and started to
preen. That done, it spread out its short stubby wings, and walked about
sunning them, sort of like a mobile Anhinga on the ground. I have never
seen a rail do this, nor have I ever had such a leisurely look at a
Clapper Rail. Fifteen minutes later as I started worrying about the ferry
leaving for Southport the Rail was still there, the Semipalmated plovers
were still sprinting as fast as their little legs would carry them, and
the BB Plover had decided to give me another look by flying in a graceful
arc over the channel. 
I drove to the ferry terminal seeing another painted Bunting perched on a
dead snag, and then feasted in celebration at the Phoenix Cafe at
Wilmington (at the corner of Front and Dock), place I would highly
recommend for an Italian meal. Granted, Phoenix is a bit pricey, but then
a much-awaited Gull Billed Tern, courting Leasts, showy Buntings and a
bold Clapper Rail deserve a good Italian celebration.

Shantanu Phukan

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SHANTANU PHUKAN
Lecturer in Urdu-Hindi & Indian Literature
University of N. Carolina, Chapel Hill
Curriculum in Asian Studies
Alumni Hall 413C
Chapel Hill, N.C. 27599

phukan@email.unc.edu
919-962-6825
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