Readers’ wildlife photos

For many of you it’s been a three-day weekend; have you considered sending me photos? This is the last batch I have.

And today’s batch comes from reader Jan Malik. Jan’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge his photos by clicking on them.

My home state of New Jersey is, for the most part, nothing to write home about, but it does have a few redeeming features, and one of them is the spring migration of birds (the fall migration is also good). Cape May, on the Delaware Bay side of the peninsula, is a particularly good spot to observe birds migrating from far south toward the Arctic. During my visit at the end of May, I took a few pictures of common bird species. I did my best to identify them, but small shorebirds can be difficult to pin down exactly to a species.

First, a pair of Willets (Tringa semipalmata), which may not be migrating too far but are rather already on their nesting grounds—they breed in Atlantic coastal marshes. Their calls are quite similar to those of oystercatchers, but a little less piercing:

Next, a Dunlin (Calidris alpina) in breeding plumage. They are fairly widespread in North America and may fly as far as Greenland or Nunavut. The spring coloration is far more striking than it is in winter;

A Red Knot (Calidris canutus) with its unmistakable cinnamon-orange breast and belly. These are long-range migrants; American birds winter in Tierra del Fuego and fly up to 9,000 miles to breed in the High Arctic. A good portion of their lives is spent along migration routes:

This is what Cape May beaches can look like during the peak of Red Knot migration. I think I took this picture in 2013. There was a fear that Red Knot numbers would decrease drastically, even to zero by some extrapolations (meaning complete extinction). Lately, their numbers seem to have stabilized, but their future is not secure. They rely heavily on horseshoe crab eggs in the Delaware Bay area, and these interesting animals are also under a lot of pressure—a perfect example of the ecological dependence of one species on another:

A Ruddy Turnstone (Arenaria interpres) in full breeding plumage. They also travel to the High Arctic but winter closer to home, in South America or the southern US states:

A Semipalmated Sandpiper (Calidris pusilla). It is a small American bird that spends its winters primarily along the northern coast of South America, as well as the Caribbean:

A Sanderling (Calidris alba) in full breeding plumage. These are cosmopolitan birds, present everywhere except Antarctica:

I suspect this is also a Sanderling, but still in winter plumage. Transitional plumage is exactly what makes shorebird identification tricky:

Coastal marshes had several nesting Seaside Sparrows (Ammospiza maritima). I think I could only see the males, who were singing from conspicuous perches, while the females stayed low. I consider these sparrows to be honorary shorebirds—they also probe mud for invertebrates with their large, sharp bills:

A local resident, an American Oystercatcher (Haematopus palliatus):

Another local, a Laughing Gull (Leucophaeus atricilla), eating a cluster of horseshoe crab eggs (together with a few beach pebbles). These “crabs” play an oversized role in the New Jersey coastal ecosystem:

Here, I suspect a Short-billed Dowitcher (Limnodromus griseus), almost identical in bill length to its “long-billed” cousin. Their bills are sensitive and tactile, allowing them to probe mud and sand fast, relying entirely on the sense of touch and feeding even in darkness:

During the peak of the spring migration, the birds continue their flight well after sunset. Living in the ‘Armpit of America’ has its moments: