September 21-27, 2024 with Megan Edwards Crewe
Geography. Weather. Instinct. Those three major factors – and a host of lesser ones – push tens of thousands of birds (plus untold numbers of butterflies and dragonflies) to head south along the New Jersey coast each year. And the narrow peninsula at the southern end of the state, with Cape May at its very point, is where all those creatures are concentrated before they venture out across the ocean or the wide Delaware Bay. That concentration, of course, depends some on wind direction and the weather, and our tour this year didn't get the ideal combination of either. Instead of our hoped for northwesterlies, we had a week of unrelenting east winds, which tend to push migrants back across the state so that they go down the western side of the Delaware River, missing most of New Jersey entirely. And though rain was forecast daily for the week, we escaped largely unscathed -- good news for the birds (and perhaps the birders!), but it meant no mass downing of migrants due to poor weather. However, though the spectacle of migration was much subdued, we certainly weren't birdless. After all, any week long trip that sees three species of rail well can't have been all bad!
We started our birding at Cape May Point State Park (CMPSP), a place we'd return to regularly throughout the week, to take advantage of its picnic shelters and restrooms. From the rightly famous hawkwatch platform at the corner of its parking lot, we scanned out over Bunker Pond, finding a host of hunting herons, a smattering of shorebirds and far too many Mute Swans. After our first picnic breakfast, we spent the morning on a couple of the park trails, racking up more than 60 species as we wound through the mix of forest and wetlands. A row of junipers along the edge of parking lot proved to be a magnet for migrants, with an ongoing hatch of some small insect bringing American Redstart, Northern Parula, Cape May, Pine, Palm, Yellow, Blackpoll, Black-throated Blue and Black-and-white warblers into view during the course of the week. Belted Kingfishers hunted from posts, White-eyed Vireos chortled from scrubby bushes, and a mix of Northern Flickers and Red-bellied Woodpeckers bounded past the parking lot. This was certainly our best location overall for raptor watching. On that first morning, Sharp-shinned and Cooper's hawks shared airspace, flap-flap-gliding their way over woods and ponds and parking lots, and eventually circling higher and higher until we lost them in the blue, blue sky. They were joined by a few soaring Bald Eagles and Broad-winged and Red-tailed hawks, while American Kestrels, Merlins, and Peregrines started out strafing nearby areas before heading into the heavens too. And we had one of the few 'write-ins' of the trip when we spotted a Dickcissel feeding among a group of House Sparrows near the hawkwatch platform.
Though the lack of visible migration kept Higbee Beach WMA from being as productive as we'd hoped, our early morning there was not entirely birdless. We spent most of our time along the edge of the canal, working through the big gull flock congregating around the Cape May ferries, practicing the separation of Lesser and Greater Black-backed gulls from American Herring Gulls and watching Forster's Terns throwing themselves into the drink while Spotted and Semipalmated sandpipers patrolled the rocky jetty below us. The woods themselves were quiet, save for a few Gray Catbirds mewling from the bushes, a tight flock of Cedar Waxwings overhead, and a few Common Yellowthroats twitching along the edges of the road.
The South Cape May Meadows proved itself a bright spot, with a sprinkling of Stilt and Pectoral sandpipers among the more numerous Greater and Lesser yellowlegs, and side-by-side Sora and Virginia rails cavorting right out in the open along the edge of the reeds. A few Swamp Sparrows flicked through trackside vegetation while Song and Savannah sparrows scurried more boldly on the path itself. Scruffy bushes near the parking lot held a lingering Eastern Kingbird and a showy Brown Thrasher, as well as our only Prairie Warbler. Cape May's beachfront provided some lovely views of a big flock of roosting Black Skimmers and Royal Terns, plus a flyby skein of five Brown Pelicans. We spotted a pair of Common Ravens -- formerly a scarce species in Cape May, but now breeding in small numbers in the county -- cavorting over Cape May Point's Sunset Beach, and a visit to the nearby Cape May Bird Observatory property added our only Swainson's Thrush, with a Red-breasted Nuthatch, Ruby-crowned Kinglet and an early Yellow-rumped Warbler flicking through trees nearby.
We ventured out of Cape May county one day, heading north up the coast to the Edwin B. Forsyth NWR, a vast mosaic of wetland and woodland just north of Atlantic City. The huge impoundments there held plenty of waterfowl, with scores of American Black Ducks (the species for which the reserve was initially established), Northern Shovelers and both Blue-winged and Green-winged teal, as well as a little flotilla of very handsome Wood Ducks and our only Northern Pintails. Though shorebird numbers were definitely impacted by the impressively high water levels, we did find a Solitary Sandpiper with one group of Semipalmated Sandpipers. Northern Harriers quartered low over the marshes, more than 100 White Ibis (mostly youngsters) poked and prodded in the shallows, and an adult Bald Eagle made a few ponderous passes overhead. But the big treat here were two sparrows -- the lovely, orange-faced Saltmarsh and the plainer, darker Seaside -- which we found feeding in some tall grasses near the start of the wildlife drive. Strong winds and the natural wariness of the sparrows meant it took some time for everybody to get a satisfactory look, but we got there in the end!
We spent one pleasant afternoon floating around Jarvis Sound on the flat-bottomed "Osprey", getting up close and personal with some of the many denizens of Cape May's extensive salt marshes. On the long stone jetties protecting Cape May's harbor, we found a couple of wary immature Great Cormorants and dozens of Black-bellied Plovers and Short-billed Dowitchers sprinkled among scores of American Oystercatchers. Ruddy Turnstones patrolled marina seawalls, a Black Scoter made brief surface appearances between repeated dives, Tricolored and Little Blue herons hunted the high marsh, and groups of White Ibis flew past in quick-flapping lines. At the Wetlands Institute, we counted eight species of heron and egret -- including both Black-crowned and Yellow-crowned Night-Herons -- scattered across the saltmarsh or roosting in a big juniper stand. A mob of 'Western' Willets and Greater Yellowlegs preened or snoozed on shallow ponds in the high marsh, with a handful of Dunlin and Least sandpipers among them. In the small row of trees near the parking lot, we spotted a couple of still-bright Baltimore Orioles and a very elusive Yellow-billed Cuckoo. On Avalon's beach, we watched a shifting flock of Sanderlings huddle against the unrelenting east winds, with a lone Red Knot tucked in among them and a scattering of Semipalmated Plovers snuggled into footprint hollows nearby. And who will soon forget the surging river of a thousand Tree Swallows twittering their way -- almost within touching distance -- over our heads as we crossed the dunes? It was like being in a snow globe.
On our last morning, we made a visit to Two Mile Landing to look again for Clapper Rails -- and were rewarded in spades. The tide level was perfect and we watched at least three different individuals as they bathed and preened and prowled across the exposed mudflats looking for tasty morsels. What a treat it was to see these typically skulking birds right out in the open! Scanning a distant mixed flock of gulls, terns and shorebirds on another exposed mudflat in Jarvis Sound netted a couple of lingering Common Terns for those who'd missed the one on our boat trip and a host of Boat-tailed Grackles decorated pilings and rooftops around the landing's restaurant and marina. We nosed into the edge of Cape May NWR's Two Mile Unit to finish the tour. Though the beach was blocked off (the better to protect resting birds), an accessible viewpoint let us watch a Caspian Tern quarter back and forth along the surf line while we were serenaded by the onomatopoeiac calls of the tour's only Eastern Towhee.
Thanks so much for joining Mollee and me for the week. Though the lack of migration left a bit to be desired, we hope you learned a thing or two, and enjoyed the birds we DID see. And we hope to see you all again on another tour somewhere soon. Until then, good birding!
You can see my complete trip report on eBird at this link: https://ebird.org/tripreport/293702
-- Megan