A lone nighthawk snatches my attention today, flying solo and south. Three days hence I will immerse myself in a flock of 40 or more as they hunt the fields along Blue Heron Road. They swoop past me as if I were merely another obstacle.
I can’t focus on one bird. There are simply too many. As I watch one, another will sail past within 10 feet. Charcoal gray missiles with white wing marks, they put on a dazzling display of aerobatic prowess. I watch as they pump one wing at perhaps twice the speed of the other to move either left or right. Flashing their tails they turn and feint, juking and dashing to snatch insects only they can see. I marvel at the turns and wonder at the G forces they must experience.
And then the flock has moved on, leaving me with two or three laggards that continue to entertain me with their skills. At last I can concentrate on one bird to the exclusion of the others. Marvelous!
I remember a similar experience at my parent’s home along the shores of Pokegama Lake. Late in the afternoon as shadows gathered in the yard another flock of nighthawks swooped in to dine on their way south. There were a dozen people standing or sitting in the warm evening when suddenly the flock moved in. For several minutes it was pandemonium as they swept the yard of every living-flying thing. Just as suddenly as they came, they headed across the lake and were gone, leaving us buzzing in startled amazement over the whole experience.
In the south the nighthawk is known as the bullbat, though any relationship between the nighthawk and bats is ridiculous. Perhaps the one thing they do have in common is the crepuscular nature of their feeding. Another misnomer often applied to them is goatsucker. In Europe they were often seen swooping past herds of goats in the evenings and early mornings. No doubt they were attracted to the insects the goats put up, but the observers assumed that the birds were drinking milk from the goats.
Even the name nighthawk is a bit confusing since they have little to offer in the way of the raptors. Their feet are small, weak and not at all like the strong talons of the hawks. The beak is short and has little to offer in the way of a flesh-tearing appendage. When they open their mouth it becomes apparent what they are adept at. It is a wide, gaping maw framed with stiff hairs that aid in catching aerial insects. They, along with the orioles, are among the first of what will become a wave of migrants heading south.
As August slides into September asters and goldenrods make the countryside shine with their blossoms. These represent the masters division of plant identification. We can all identify the genus, we know they are asters or goldenrods, but which ones? In Saint Louis County alone there are seventeen species of asters and that doesn’t include the subspecies, which adds another six to the list.
Itasca, Koochiching, and Aitkin counties have fewer but all have more than eight. If you decide that you’d rather try the goldenrods Itasca County leads the list. There are nine separate species with another seven subspecies. Suffice it to say the task is daunting. I try to examine each new flower but the differences are subtle. Learn two or three of the more obvious ones and things get a bit easier.
Goldenrods offer a few gimmes. The zigzag goldenrod is usually found in the woods, has large heavily toothed leaves and its stem changes direction at each leaf node, hence the name zigzag. The Canada goldenrod looks like many of the others but it is the preferred plant of the goldenrod gallfly. That means if you spot a swelling in the stem chances are it is a Canada goldenrod. The gallfly seldom makes a mistake in choosing her plants. She not only tastes with her feet but she can also determine if it is the right species of goldenrod with her ovipositor.
The last of the “easy” goldenrods is the gray. The flowers are largely found on one side of the inflorescence and the entire flower structure seems to sweep in a gentle arc. They are common along roadsides, not overly tall, and grow in large colonies.
Asters are perhaps a bit easier since their flowers are not all uniformly yellow. The flattopped aster has a large white flowers arranged in a broad uniform disk. The large leafed aster has a blue to purple flower that is seemingly incomplete. It looks as if someone has pulled a few petals from around the head. There are gaps where you would expect there to be rays. That coupled with the large basal leaves and a preference for shade makes it an easy one to learn.
The rest of the asters require a bit more investigation and the aid of a good field guide. The challenge can keep you coming back fall after fall trying to separate all the subtle differences. Many of the remaining ones seem to have a close cousin that makes positive identification a bit of a toss-up.
Photos: This post includes Creative Commons licensed photos by Gavin Keefe Schaefer (first two), Liz West, and stpaulgirl, all from Flickr. Click any photo for larger versions.
Fun write-up on the nighthawks. Remember as a kid laying on the ground watching them swirling overhead — we called them our “Sabre jets” with the stars on their wing tips.
I really enjoy all your Phenology reports.Here where I have lived since 1971, we used to see a light of Night Hawks. I also was amazed to see them roost on oak branches, parallel with the branches. I have not seen one in this area for many years, and there certainly are plenty of mosquitoes and other flying insects for them. I seem to recall reading that their numbers have dropped in much of the country.