June 5: Camden Harbor

Foggy harbor.

Couple buys a print

of the lighthouse they can't see.

Posted with Blogsy

May 27: Monhegan Light

On the island--

mesmerized by the sweep

of lighthouse's beam.

Posted with Blogsy

September 28: NE winds up to 25 MPH

atop Lighthouse Hill

windblown thoughts scatter

flickers across the meadow

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May 23: While listening to woodcocks after sunset

Island constellation:

Jupiter, crescent moon,

Venus, lighthouse.

Posted with Blogsy

May 23: While listening to woodcocks after sunset

Island constellation:

Jupiter, crescent moon,

Venus, lighthouse.

Posted with Blogsy

March 6: Ferry to Nassau

Sadly, we had to leave Small Hope Bay Lodge today. In hopes of finding some pelagic birds, we decided to take the Bahama Fast Ferry from Fresh Creek. Friday is ferry day at the Lighthouse Marina, and the dock was bustling with cargo being forklifted off the boat and onto trucks. We were among the few passengers and had the entire top deck to ourselves; from that vantage point, we saw what was probably that first Bahama Oriole calling from the same perch as a few days before. We were also eye level with Royal Terns flying past as we left the dock.

The turquoise water of the shallows quickly gave way to the deep blue waters of the Tongue of the Ocean, an oceanic trench between Andros and New Providence Islands that is up to 6,600 feet deep. Out in the deep water, we saw no birds, but we did see several flying fish, which thrilled me as they buzzed for many yards over the waves below.

Pulling into Nassau, we approached the old lighthouse, on one side of which you can see the towers of Atlantis Resort & Casino on Paradise Island, and on the other, several multi-story cruise ships. And when we land, we're down below waiting for a taxi into the city.

Flying fish--

I wonder which element

it enjoys most.

Bahama Fast Ferry awaits us in Fresh Creek

Lighthouse Marina as we leave Fresh Creek

Looking back on shallow water as we cross the Tongue of the Ocean

Entering Nassau: Atlantis on Paradise Island to the left; cruise ships to the right

Posted with Blogsy

March 2: Elbow Cay

Our ferry to Elbow Cay didn't leave until 10:30, so we had a few hours this morning to bird the grounds of the Lofty Fig, where we're staying. Jeannette and I were hanging out by the pool when we heard the call of the elusive (to us) West Indian Woodpecker, a species we hadn't yet managed to see. Joined by Derek and Paul, we headed to the back of the property, past the ubiquitous dog, and eventually caught a glimpse of the bird as it flew into a large ficus. More enjoyable were our looks at a little wave of about a dozen migrant warblers, most very familiar to us in Maine if not usually so spectacularly: at one point I was looking at a Prairie, a male Cape May, a Yellow-throated, and a Worm-eating Warbler all together. We won't see them here for another couple of months at least, and I guarantee I won't be seeing a line-up like that.

Elbow Cay is about four miles off Abaco. A tall, red-and-white-striped lighthouse stands at the head of the harbor of Hope Town, a historic, colonial town that has retained a lot of its original character in its quaint and colorful cottages. Apparently the lighthouse was not appreciated by island residents when it was first built because it deprived them of shipwrecks, their main source of livelihood.

After lunch at a pier restaurant from which we could watch colorful fish, gulls, and even a sea turtle, we walked through town past cute shops and the harbor to bird our way south. Along the way, a West Indian Woodpecker strafed Paul and landed in a tree right overhead, so we finally got our good look at that bird. We walked a few miles to the pretty Abaco Inn, which is sited at a point between a surf beach to the east and protected shallows to the west. To the east, beyond that surf is open ocean to Europe. We enjoyed a cocktail from this vantage point and then got a ride back to town, with time to get an ice cream cone before the ferry.

Under the crashing waves

what wreckage remains--

shells, ships, history.

Hope Town Lighthouse, Elbow Cay

Hope Town

Hope Town

Wayfinding in Hope Town

Surf beach off the Abaco Inn--nothing beyond here but open ocean to Europe

Posted with Blogsy

May 23: Monhegan twilight

Woodcock's sky dance--
lighthouse beam sweeping over
the two of us, the bird.

Monhegan Island, view from the lighthouse

Monhegan Island Light

March 3: Sun and snow

The sky brightens at Owls Head Lighthouse, as we look across the water toward the Camden Hills, where snowfall veils the summits of Bald and Ragged Mountains, and clouds hang heavy over Megunticook and Mount Battie. With spotting scopes we find offshore one loon beginning to get its spotted breeding plumage back, some guillemots, and a lone Razorbill.

Lone loon afloat on cold seas,
lowering clouds.
Our light won't last.

June 2: Nesting

We spent all morning on the Friendship V whale-watching boat out of Bar Harbor on a pelagic birding trip as part of the Acadia Birding Festival. We cruised way out into the Gulf of Maine past four different islands with lighthouses on them, including Petit Manan, which is part of the Maine Coastal Islands NWR. The island was a chaotic mass of terns and gulls in the air and on the rocks, screeching and crying shrilly, and in the water, flotillas of puffins, razorbills, guillemots, and murres. How the interns who live on the island don't go insane from that constant noise is a mystery, but the sheer dynamic swirl of life out on these nesting islands is awe-inspiring--especially when you consider that these birds are creating life on virtually bare rock, their nests just tiny hollows along a bleak shore.

Gulls near Egg Rock

After a hot shower and lunch, I had to rush off to guide my afternoon field trip at Asticou Azalea Garden and Thuya Garden in Northeast Harbor. While the flowers seemed a little ahead of last year, with many of the azaleas and rhodos gone by, there were still breathtaking patches of blooming beauty--a fire-red azalea that looked like it was flickering, a virtual burning bush; apple trees still laden with white blossoms; these allium poking up amid ferns:

Allium with ferns, Thuya Garden

Rhododendrons, Thuya Garden

What moved me the most, though, were not the stunning flowers and the Japanese aesthetic of Asticou, nor the mix of cultivated and wild at Thuya, which is tucked into a forested hillside, fenced in like the Secret Garden. It was a female redstart on a nest right near a trail, the little warbler startling off it every time someone walked by, chipping nearby with obvious agitation. Why would she choose that spot? Was she drawn to a view of the flowers? Will her eggs survive all the disruptions? Is she any better off than a tern laying her eggs on bare earth, at the mercy of the gulls?

Can you see the redstart nest (sans bird) in the center of this bush?

Startled off her nest,
the redstart chirps in distress--
so precious, each egg.