from Kathy Kreutzer, Chesterfield, VA October 3, 2003 RITUALS Who Needs Baseball? Birders Have Their Own Fall Classic By JOE ROMAN OLLOWING the Connecticut coastline, a short-winged predator flapped over the New Haven airport one morning last week and on to an open field. Down below, eight hawkers in full plumage ? sunglasses, baseball caps and jeans ? glanced up and trained their expensive eyes ? Swarovskis, Leicas and Bausch & Lombs ? on the bird. "A sharpie straight overhead," one called out. The sharp-shinned hawk flew on, toward Interstate 95 and the white oil-storage tanks that hug New Haven Harbor, and continued its journey south. Each fall, millions of hawks, falcons and ospreys leave their northern breeding grounds for warmer weather. Many spend the winter in the South, while others, like broad-winged hawks, migrate to Central and South America. From ridges and coastlines across the country, hundreds of volunteers scan the sky to count them. In Connecticut, local ornithologists watch over Lighthouse Point from late August to the end of November. Four miles south of downtown New Haven, Lighthouse Point is situated at the end of a wide peninsula, which funnels migrants from Northern New England and Canada past this coastal watch site. Despite the urban setting, the park has some of the highest hawk counts in the Northeast. It was an excellent day for ospreys. These fishing hawks, with their white bellies and black wrist patches at the front of their underwings, are relatively easy to identify. Even at a distance, the long crooked wings, which form an avian M, are discernable. As one osprey glided overhead, an agile sharpie dive-bombed the larger bird, then fluttered on. Unfazed, the osprey glided over Five Mile Point Light, the octagonal sandstone lighthouse that gives the park its name, if no longer its purpose (the beacon is now dark; the foghorn silenced years ago). "I got a bird, a scope and a half above the cottonwood," a hawker called out. In my beat-up binoculars, I couldn't find a thing. Even when I located the speck, it resembled a tiny staple punched through the cloud more than any silhouette in a Peterson field guide. I learned to hold out for the naked-eye birds, those large enough to spot simply by looking up at the sky. And soon the sharp-shinned hawk's "flap, flap, flap, glide" and squared-off tail, and the northern harrier's white rump and constant readjustments in course became familiar traits. In all, 201,630 migrating raptors were recorded in the Northeast last year: 13,854, mostly sharp-shinned hawks, passed over Lighthouse Point. The Hawk Migration Association of North America maintains tallies from more than a hundred migration sites on its Web site www.hawkcount.org. Once you are familiar with the two-letter abbreviations used by birders ? a bald eagle, for example, is "BE" and a sharp-shinned hawk "SS" ? you can follow the migration from the Niagara Escarpment in southern Ontario to Veracruz in Mexico. FOR a self-chosen few, this event has all the excitement of postseason baseball. From the waning days of summer through November, the birds will pass in a more-or-less predictable procession. Ron Bell, the count coordinator of Lighthouse Point, said that in a typical year ospreys and kestrels start migrating first, followed by the sharpies, Cooper's hawks and harriers, which can be seen in September and October. Red-tailed hawks and turkey vultures are at the bottom of the lineup, migrating in October and November. By noon, the count was over 200 at Lighthouse Point, mostly kestrels. But as in baseball, there are stats, and then there are moments of true beauty. I watched a hawk shift in a thermal, the afternoon sun lighting its russet-colored breast. The black border along the trailing edge of the wings was as striking as the white band on the tail. As it glided to another thermal, I got it ? a broad-winged hawk. And then a dark speck approached, with the no-nonsense determination of the private jets lifting off from the nearby airport. The stout neck and horizontal wings, I was told, were characteristic of the bald eagle. Though immature, it was the largest raptor of the day. There are two major Eastern flyways, one on the coast and the other down the ridges of the Appalachians. Last week, I climbed up Blueberry Hill in Granville, Mass. Surrounded by deciduous forest, a 54-acre clearing is maintained for an annual blueberry harvest, providing a 360-degree view of the Berkshires. At 1,476 feet above sea level, the hawkers cling to two large rafts of concrete, installed by the site's coordinator, Seth Kellogg, who runs a septic business when he's not watching hawks. (His business card lists "avianotary" among his vocations.) On this inland flyway, migrants use thermals and the updrafts from surface winds over mountain ridges to travel distances that can exceed 100 miles a day. I was fortunate to see a kettle that afternoon, a group of 34 broad-winged hawks rising in an updraft and gliding south. To save energy and gain speed, long-distance migrants glide from thermal to thermal, like monkeys swinging from trees. After the kettle, a kestrel, naked eye, swooped in. It hovered, then captured a dragonfly. Barely shifting its flight path, the small falcon ate its morsel on the wing. According to Mr. Kellogg, the long-term data from these counts, which are sent to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and recorded by the hawk migration association, show that kestrel, sharpie and broad-winged populations are all declining in the East. Why? "Deforestation is affecting broad-winged hawks in Central and South America," Mr. Kellogg said. The destruction of habitat in Canada, the use of DDT in Latin America and the decline in prey species like songbirds could also be reducing these predators. One exception to this general decline is the bald eagle, which according to the hawk count has continued its "meteoric rise" in recent years. All these raptors are fortunate to have such sharp-eyed, dedicated monitors watching their populations across the decades. As the sun set, the winds and thermals dropped down. We watched two ospreys muscle across the horizon, looking for a place to spend the night, and decided to call it a day. The official counter, John Weeks, tallied up 119 broad-winged hawks, 187 migrants in all. On the drive home, after two days in the field, my eyes kept falling on the wayward flapping of the pigeons, the starlings dropping like confetti from the pines. Then on a rise in the road, a bird was perched on a power line overhead. Given the small size and the mascaraed streak beneath the eye, I was sure it was a kestrel. As it hovered into the updraft, I identified my first migrant. Travel Information Depending on the weather, hawkers watch the skies from late August to the end of November. To reach Lighthouse Point Park in New Haven, take Interstate 95 to Exit 50 (Woodward Avenue), turn right at the second light on Townsend Avenue, and then right on Lighthouse Road. Follow signs to the park. Blueberry Hill is in the Phelon Memorial Forest in southwestern Massachusetts. From Granville, Mass., take Route 57 west for four miles and turn right on North Lane. Park in the small lot 1.4 miles on the right, and follow the path on the right to the top of the hill. Quaker Ridge at the Audubon Center in Greenwich, Conn., also attracts hawks and watchers. From Interstate 684, take Exit 3 (Route 22 in Armonk, N.Y. Go north on Route 22 to Route 433 (Riversville Road). Turn right on Route 433 and continue 2.5 miles to the Audubon Center. Copyright 2003 The New York Times Company | Home | Privacy Policy | Search | Corrections | Help | Back to Top You are subscribed to VA-Richmond-General. To unsubscribe, send email to va-richmond-general-request@xxxxxxxxxxxxx with 'unsubscribe' in the Subject field. To adjust other settings (vacation, digest, etc.) please visit, //www.freelists.org/list/va-richmond-general.