Dispersal.

Tot: "Look what I found, a dandelion!"

Dad: "Yes."

Tot: "I'm gonna make a wish!" Big inhale.

Dad: "Ah...wait..."

Tot and Dad watch seeds descend upon the garden.

Dad: "Did you wish for more dandelions?"

A shrubbery!

In the forested west end of Ladner Harbour Park, greenery suddenly looms above you, reminiscent of the Knights Who Say Nii. These are vines of English Ivy, Hedera helix, a native of Eurasia and North Africa, and multiple escapee from hanging baskets, planters and gardens here in BC, and elsewhere. It can smother native plants, even the towering cottonwoods of this forest. It denies sunlight to its host, and can increase the susceptibility of host trees to toppling in windstorms. (More on this plant as an invasive here at Evergreen.)

The Knights of Nii wanted a shrubbery. Unfortunately in the clip (linked above), that last crucial word was cropped -- which is what needs to be done to the invaders of the Ladner forest, invaders that themselves are a shrubbery.

(And not one that looks nice.)

A Great (Horned) Owl Hunt.

We had such a good time in Ladner yesterday, and the weather was so nice, that we decided to go back today, to a slightly different spot. We took the turn before the bridge to Ladner Harbour Park, a mile-long, paved road with woodland and marsh on one side, new homes on the other. At the far end was a trail that led out to the edge of the river, which we were about to explore, when a jogging couple in red shirts stopped, briefly, to ask (we were carrying binoculars), "Have you seen the Great Horned Owls on the nest?"

For the second time in two days, a Ladnerite was telling us of GHOWs on nests. Today, regardless of anyone's opinion on owls (see yesterday), we had to go have a look. Where were they?

"Just down there, by the bus stop. You can see them in an open area, from the bus stop, it's the only nest there." Jog jog jog. They were jogging in place as they spoke, and then they were gone.

Okay, seemed simple enough, walk down to a bus stop, then look into the open space in the forest for the nest, which would be conspicuous. Off we went.

We came to a bus stop, and looked at the forest, which didn't seem to be particularly open. Directly in front were masses of flowering willows. What kind? Well, if you knew willows like I know willows, you would know they were willows.

But no owl nest. There was another bus stop a bit further down. Son and I forged ahead, eyes to the woods, as mother and daughter lagged behind. We came to the second bus stop, and scanned the trees for the conspicuous nest.

We saw these--oyster(?) mushrooms on the trunk of a decapitated cottonwood. No open space, no owl nest. The mushrooms were cool though, worth the walk. On we went to bus stop three. (There is always another bus stop in the distance to keep you hopeful.) Could it be that far? As a former middle distance runner, I am aware that joggers have a skewed sense of distance, so yes, it could.

By this point, mother and daughter were quite far behind. We started doing something that seemed a little ridiculous--phoning each other about how things were going, even though we were in plain sight of each other.

I reported that son and I were almost at the next bus stop, which was not necessary.


At bus stop three was a great cottonwood snag, full of the memories of cavity-nesting birds and imprinted with the tunnelling of bark beetles. Cottonwoods fall apart so magnificently--I am falling in love with these trees.

But no owl nest. I was aware that I had a particular search image for the nest, based on several other Great Horned Owl nests I have seen, but which may have been incorrect. I tried to think of what an owl nest I wouldn't normally imagine would look like, to start looking for that too.

Nothing. Phone rang. Mother and daughter were abandoning the hunt, heading back up the road to the car. They would drive down to pick us up.

This added urgency to the hunt. We were by now at the end of the road, a mile from where we started. We would have to find the nest on the way back before the car met us.

Quickly we backtracked, looking, looking, for what we were no longer sure. "This looks like a likely open spot," I would say, but then the spot would close up again, without a nest.

Son was dropping back, almost dragging his binoculars on the sidewalk. "My neck feels kind of hot," he said. I stuffed his binos into my pack.

I could see the car approaching, through a heat haze, like in High Plains Drifter. Oh no. We rushed ahead, looking into the woods. The car drew up.

And then a miracle happened. The red-shirt jogging couple came upon us again. "Did you see it?"

"We missed it," I admitted.

"Just go over to that bus stop, and you can see it from there." The woman pointed at a bus stop on the other side of the road.

"You have to cross the road to look back into the forest?"

You did. We had been walking up and down the wrong side of the road. You see the nest by getting farther away from it.

And so we saw it, a distant tuft of sticks, way up a tree, in a kind of open area. I leaned against a post to snap a handful of pictures through a telephoto lens, hoping one would be steady.

Hoot! (Great Horned Owl on nest, Ladner, BC).

Lousy with woodpeckers.

We always take the River Road route across Ladner on our way to the Reifel Bird Sanctuary, which is a nicer route than the larger road that follows the main drag. It affords glimpses of forest and slough, and halfway along there's one of those tantalizing binoculars roadsigns indicating a wildlife viewing area. "Wonder what's there?" we ask as we drive on by. A wooden bridge leads off the road into an unknown place of islets and boats. Today we decided to stop for a look. We found ourselves at Ladner Harbour Park, which is a modest greenspace-avec-sewage lagoon on the downstream end of a silty pan of land on the south bank of the south arm of the Fraser River, part of the complex of islands and sloughs that fills the water between the cities of Delta and Richmond.

"Yay! A playground!" yelled the youngest, as we drew into the parking lot.

So the ladies went to the playground, and son and I went exploring. First we walked east, to the sewage lagoon, which I didn't recognize as such. It is largely filled with cattails and is surrounded by dykes fringed with willow, elderberry and salmonberry.

Salmonberry blossoms, Rubus spectabilis.

The salmonberries were beginning to bloom, and I expect within a week will be impressive. And you know what blooming salmonberries means, right?

Zzzzzzinnnnng! [Weirdly mechanical buzzing noise.]

Correct. The RUHUs are back!

Rufous Hummingbird, male.

In the hour or so we were there, I don't think we went more than a minute without hearing a Rufous Hummingbird. We saw only a few (all males), but they kept us spinning.

We headed back past the playground, said hi to the youngest who had, I later learned, instructed her mother not to mention anything about birds, because we weren't there for nature walks, which are BORING. We continued on into the west end of the park, which is an impressive forest of black cottonwood (very fun to hug) with an understory of salmonberry, Rosa sp. (nutkana?), Indian plum, etc.

Northern Flicker, male (note red "moustache").

Eagles adorned the tallest trees (ho-hum), and snags were being worked over by woodpeckers--Northern Flickers, Hairy and Downy--and even a Pileated. We didn't see the big bird, but we heard it laughing. We met a birder on the trail who verified that they were around.

Downy Woodpecker, male. Note the dinginess of the Pacific race.

The Downies and Hairies were drumming away, staking claim to swaths of forest. The place was lousy with woodpeckers, thanks to being lousy with wildlife trees, and a bonanza of woodpeckers means, of course, future homes for other species.

I expect the park is also quite batty. We'll have to return on a warm summer evening with a bat detector.

I much enjoyed visiting this place. Even the dogs were friendly. I discovered that, as the crow flies, Ladner Harbour Park is closer to home than is other favourite birding spot, Terra Nova. Unfortunately, it's on the other side of a large stretch of river, and the tunnel beneath is closed to bicycles.

Form the birder who verified the Pileated Woodpecker, I got a tip on an active Great Horned Owl nest not far away, which two of us wanted to check out. However, this was vetoed. Owls are BORING.

Sigh.

Effects of spring on birds of various sizes.

Winter Wrens spend winter being sullen in the undergrowth, scolding, "Chek! Chek! Chek!"

Today, an actually spring-like spring day (at least for a few hours), they switched mode and flew to high perches to broadcast their exuberant, bubbling song. Exuberant? You bet. To the point where after a few minutes of it you want to yell, "Enough already!" If you have ever been in the middle of a deafening chorus of Spring Peepers, it's sort of like that, but from a single, tiny, ventriloqual bird.

Spotted Towhees joined in with their weak trills. Oh towhee, you never really seem to know what's going on, or how to act, but good for you for trying.

Meanwhile, the trees were a-clacking with the sound of Northwestern Crows awkwardly snipping off branches for nests. They build almost shamefully inelegant stick-nests, yet still insist on fresh branches, no second-hand recycles, or windfall off the ground.

The crows took a break to bother an eagle. (They are in the branches above the Great Bird.) Bald Eagles here are dirt-cheap, but it's still interesting to see them perched in a tree in the middle of a suburban neighbourhood-- which reminds me: Once I received a phone call when I worked at a nature centre because there was a Bald Eagle sitting in a tree in the parking lot at Richmond Centre (a large shopping mall).
"Yes?" I said.
"Can you come and get it?"
Apparently it wasn't supposed to be there. It was probably trying to get away from crows.

Great Bird silently steams, and dreams of feeding tender crowlets to its young, in the months to come.

Tree Swallows look like Batman.

Tree Swallows are back, and only slightly jealous that they were not included in I and the Bird #97, along with their congeners the Violet-green Swallows, who were featured in a supporting role.

In their favour, and something Violet-greens cannot claim, the plumage of Tree Swallows resembles the heroic mask-cowl-cape of the Caped Crusader (Adam West version). Inconsequential? Absolutely. But still worth pointing out.

Most importantly, for a meta-bird post that pretty much covers the spectrum of birding through time and space, in this life and beyond, visit Great Auk, or Greatest Auk?’s highly entertaining and informative post.

Picture of a snag.

Yesterday was extremely windy, but made tolerable by flying Rubbermaid garbage cans.

Today was cold, rainy, miserable--the sort of weather you want to walk around in with a slight fever, and then go home and pass out under the covers.

That, above, is a picture of a snag.