Of Pears and Coyotes

Elvis, a GPS collared coyote.

Photo credit: Numi Mitchell, The Conservation Agency

One pleasant day in 2015, I found myself in a suburban yard, looking high and low for road kill, compost, dog food, and other common coyote attractants. I was with Dr. Numi Mitchell of the Narragansett Bay Coyote Study (NBCS) and we were tracking a coyote named Elvis; data from his GPS collar indicated he liked to visit this yard in particular. Neither one of us could figure out why Elvis was so interested in the yard; there was no large dumpster, no bowl of kibble, not even a compost pile! We were totally stumped – until we noticed the pears. There, scattered across the yard, were freshly fallen pears – each with a single coyote sized bite missing. We looked up, and lo, there was a pear tree, source of this bountiful harvest.

The thing about coyotes is, sometimes it’s hard to predict what they’ll eat. Their natural diet is mostly rodents, rabbits, and other small critters, but given the chance, they’re more than happy to eat delicious human food, pears included. And when they know such-and-such human house has food, they’re going to come back.

Nothing good comes of coyotes associating humans with food; inevitably it leads to aggressive, over-familiar coyotes creating problems throughout the neighborhood. There are no good endings for problem coyotes; for their sake as much as your own, it’s best to ensure you aren’t accidentally feeding coyotes.

So how do you keep coyotes out of your yard? Fear not, for there are a lot of simple steps you can take to keep food locked up and coyotes away! (CoyoteSmarts has additional tips and tricks here.)

Compost, Recycling, and Dumpsters

• Make sure all dumpsters and garbage bins have a securely closed lid (use clips or bungee cords where appropriate)
• Rinse cans and bottles before adding them to your recycling or use a covered recycling container
• Use a compost bin with a secure lid

Fruit Trees

• It’s rare, but there have been some cases of coyotes climbing trees
• Promptly collect and dispose of any fruit that fall off the tree
• If you think coyotes are climbing your trees, harvest them early

Pets and Pet Food

• Cats and small dogs are the most vulnerable to coyotes, although even large dogs may be attacked if coyotes are in a territorial mood
• Fences should be at least four feet tall and extend at least six inches below ground
• Don’t leave pets alone outside, especially after dark
• Catios and harness training are two great ways to let cats enjoy time outdoors without compromising their safety
• Kibble is delicious! Don’t leave pet food outdoors where coyotes can reach; if you must feed your pets outdoors, make sure the food is elevated and hard to access (you may still run in to problem with raccoons, however)

Livestock

• Make sure chickens and other small animals have a secure enclosure
• Guardian animals like llamas and livestock guardian dogs are a great deterrent 
• Carefully dispose of carcasses where coyotes can’t access them

Want to know more? Visit CoyoteSmarts!
Learn more the Narragansett Bay Coyote Study here.

I wrote this post as part of my final project for a public engagement class. If you have a spare moment, I’d greatly appreciate it if you filled out an anonymous survey to help me improve my writing and outreach. Thank you!

Roseate Migration

August is a strange time of year. I consider it a summer month, but migrating birds draw my mind towards Autumn. My Fish and Wildlife internship has ended, drawing my mind towards winter.

Least tern chicks.

I was very fortunate to spend the summer monitoring piping plovers, least terns, and American oystercatchers. I spent nearly every day walking on the beach and looking at birds; paradise! I especially enjoyed watching the subtle ways the beach changed – plants reestablishing on dunes, the Card’s Pond breach opening and closing, and the shift in which bird species were present or absent. The piping plover season ended early this year, which means that while there are still piping plovers running around and growing fat on insects, worms, and crustaceans, all of their chicks have fledged and are nearly indistinguishable from their parents. All of the oystercatcher chicks have also fledged, but there are still some least tern chicks hanging around, sitting on the beach and waiting for their parents to bring them fresh fish. I hope they grow quickly and well, for much like piping plovers, least terns are migratory birds. Autumn is coming and they have a long journey ahead of them: piping plovers to the south Atlantic and Gulf coasts, least terns to Central and South America.

Roseate tern.

Nor are they the only migrating birds; in the past month I have seen numerous sanderling, ruddy turnstones, common terns, and roseate terns, to name but a few of the species passing through. I am especially heartened to see the roseate terns because they are an endangered species and this is the first time I’ve seen them. They’re gorgeous birds, with long, elegant wings and a deeply forked tail. They have a pale gray upper body, a white underside, and during the breeding season they have a black bill and matching black cap. They also have a faint rosy wash on their breast feathers, but it’s very subtle and all of the birds I’ve seen have already begun transitioning to their nonbreeding plumage.

Although it is part of their historic range, roseate terns don’t breed in Rhode Island. They breed on select coastal islands extending from New York to Canada and currently their biggest colonies are at Great Gull Island in New York and Bird and Ram Island in Massachusetts. Most of the time roseate terns nest near common tern colonies. Although both species nest directly on the ground, common terns prefer to nest in open areas while roseate terns generally prefer to nest under rocks and vegetation. Their ground nesting strategy leaves both species vulnerable to predators, especially great horned owls, mink, and raccoons. To protect their nests, eggs, and chicks, adult birds will dive bomb any predator that approaches, pooping on them for good measure. 

Banded roseate tern.

Due to their endangered status, roseate tern colonies are intensively monitored and protected. Many of the young birds are captured and banded before being released. Currently, each bird is given two bands: a service band on one leg and a field readable band on the other leg. The service band is metal and contains a number unique to that individual bird, but in very small numbers. It can only be read if the bird is recaptured. Field readable bands have larger numbers and are easier to read; they can be either metal or plastic. Plastic field readable bands come in different colors and are numbered. They are designed to be read from a distance with the aid of a scope, or bird telescope, so that the birds can be identified without recapturing them. Banding birds allows scientists to study survival rates, migration, and reproductive success among other things.

Migration is a long and risky process. Roseate terns fly all the way to Brazil, where they spend the winter. Since Brazil is so far away, roseate terns don’t fly the entire way at once. Instead they stop along the way at various locations known as staging areas. Staging areas give migrating birds a place to rest and forage, gathering their energy while they wait for favorable winds to continue their migration. Although all of the juvenile roseate terns at staging areas have learned how to fly, they are still learning how to hunt and are dependent on their parents for food. Parents that return with fish are duly greeted by their loud, hungry young, bills wide open.

I spent the last couple weeks of my internship monitoring mixed species flocks of staging terns at three different beaches in Rhode Island: Trustom Pond, Napatree Point, and Sandy Point. Access is limited to prime staging habitat in all three areas to limit disturbance to the birds. This is necessary because every time they are disturbed, roseate terns (and other migratory birds as well) waste valuable energy flying away instead of resting or eating. If they are disturbed too often, they may abandon their young.

Me (left) and Brandi-Lyn Colacone (right) using spotting
scopes at Trustom Pond. Photo courtesy of Tori Lima.

The flock size at each beach varied day to day, from zero to over six hundred terns. To avoid flushing the birds, I would set up my scope at a nonthreatening distance and creep closer, sometimes no more than a few steps at a time. Either with a partner or on my own, I first estimated the flock size, then conducted an exact count of the flock size, before settling down to go through the birds one by one to determine their species (common tern, roseate tern, black tern, etc) and age (juvenile, adult). Given enough time, I would also search for banded birds. 

Certain species are distinct and easy to identify (black tern, Forster’s tern, sandwich tern), but the majority of the flock was always composed of common terns and roseate terns, who look very similar once they’re in nonbreeding plumage. The juveniles aren’t too hard to tell apart – roseate terns have darker foreheads, black bills with no hint of orange, black legs instead of pink, heavier scalloping on their back feathers, and no carpal bar on their wings – but the adults are a different story. The key differences between adult common terns and roseate terns are how much black they have on their bill, how dark their plumage is (kind of light grey

Juvenile Forster's terns.

versus very light grey), and how dark the tips of their wing feathers are. To increase the difficulty, many of the birds I saw were sitting down (can’t see their legs), preening (can’t see their bills), facing the wrong way (can’t see their bills), or hiding behind another bird (can’t see anything). Sometimes the entire flock would flush and fly away due to a pedestrian walking by, a helicopter, or no discernable reason - perhaps they all spontaneously decided they wanted to sit three inches to the left of where they were sitting before. I learned to balance speed, accuracy, and patience. I also learned to appreciate subtle differences between the birds and focus on markings I would never notice under different circumstances. I got to watch small, intimate moments like a roseate tern preening its breast feathers or a common tern feeding its overgrown chick. I got to watch a common tern return from sea with a fish, only to be chased by several other terns and a seagull, all screaming at the top of their lungs. I saw species I’ve never seen before and may never see again, including two sandwich terns that were at Trustom Pond for a single day several weeks back.

Roseate terns are still passing through Rhode Island, so I humbly ask that you help make their migration a success. Respect any fencing and closed off areas. If you flush the birds or they appear agitated, then you’re too close. Back off a little way and watch them from a distance. Roseate terns perceive dogs as predators, so leave your pets at home for just a little while longer.

Thank you. 

Fake Least Tern Colony

An adult least tern in breeding plumage.

Least terns are the smallest American tern, measuring only nine inches long. They’re awkward on land, with oversized wings and tiny legs, but graceful in the air as they soar and dive. They’re also federally endangered in the interior US and threatened in several states, including Rhode Island. 

A least tern nest.

Least terns nest on sandy beaches. They dig shallow depressions in the sand, called “scrapes,” and lay two eggs. The eggs are well camouflaged with a sandy-gray color and black splotches, but the breeding adults are downright gaudy, with jaunty black caps and white unibrows. They nest in raucous colonies, shouting their presence to the world. This approach is perhaps a little foolhardy, for least tern chicks and eggs are little more than tasty snacks for seagulls, crows, foxes, feral cats, and other predators. Least terns aren’t defenseless, however; they will dive bomb and defecate on any predator that dares approach.

Due to their threatened status, least terns are monitored by the Fish and Wildlife Service – who I’m working for this summer as an intern. As part of an ongoing effort to protect least terns, this year we installed an electric fence in one of the overwash areas at Quonnie Beach. A shock is only provided if two wires are touched simultaneously, so predators like foxes, skunks, and raccoons get a small shock if they try to cross, but piping plovers and other small shorebirds can run through the bottom of the fence without problem. The fence is solar powered.

Of course, an electric fence doesn’t do any good if the least terns nest outside of it. So in mid-May we set up a fake least tern colony.

A fake least tern.

For the fake colony, we set up two solar powered speakers that broadcast the recorded calls of a real least tern colony. This attracted the interest of one or two least terns that flew by and called out while we worked. Next we arranged plastic terns around the speakers, carefully spacing them a meter and a half apart with an even ratio of couples and singles. Prior studies suggested that the fake colony would work, but holding the fake terns in my hands, I wondered if the real terns would be taken in. And just how badly would they be fooled? Would a clueless male attempt to woo a plastic bride with a freshly caught fish?

A crow attacking a fake least tern.

The first bird to approach the colony wasn’t a least tern at all, but a crow.  A bold bird, it flew down and approached the dummy terns before we left the fenced area. This was a source of concern since crows are known to prey on least tern chicks and eggs – a trait the crow demonstrated by attacking the dummy terns. Perhaps baffled by the terns’ stubborn refusal to fly away upon its approach, the crow approached the dummy terns from behind and pecked at their tails. No luck; the dummy terns remained in place, keeping their hypothetical eggs well hidden. The crow stepped back and examined the dummy terns from a different angle before trying again. Still no luck. Giving up, the crow flew away.

An annoyed piping plover.

The second bird to be fooled was a piping plover, a small, sand-colored shorebird that also likes to nest on sandy beaches. This particular bird had established a territory nearby and came over to give those obnoxious terns a piece of its mind. It ran about and peeped at them; “Mine! Mine! Mine!” Eliciting no stronger reaction than the crow, the plover left.

Within an hour, the stars of the hour arrived. Gee, those dummy least terns sure picked a fine location for a colony! A nice flat, sandy stretch of beach, just the ticket. Two terns flew down and started scraping. Other terns landed nearby.

This annoyed the piping plover all over again. Returning, the piping plover resumed its peeping, but the real terns were even less impressed than the fake ones. Not even the plover’s aerial display made them budge. This was their colony and they were staying.

*****

 A real least tern examining some fake least terns.

Now that three weeks have passed, I wish I had good news to share about the colony. I wish I could say that all of the terns are nesting where we want them to, well within the electric fence and away from the nearby sand road. That isn’t the case. A glitch in the MP3 player made it freeze and a strong wind blew over and scattered most of the dummy terns. We’re responsible for monitoring twelve other beaches and can’t check each beach every day, so it took several days to fix the dummy terns and even longer to find the source of the error with the MP3 player. In the mean time, the real least terns decided to pick their own colony location – and settled on nesting just outside the electric fencing. A few pairs at the edge of the colony are inside the fencing, but the majority of the colony is unprotected. It took a full day to set up the electric fencing and it would take just as long to move, creating a huge disturbance for the birds. For that reason alone, moving the fencing isn’t an option.

Fortunately none of the terns decided to nest in the sand road, but it’s still disappointing to see so much hard work come to so little. Of course this is the first year the electric fence and fake colony were attempted; there were bound to be problems. Next year will be better. And the least terns are still doing okay this year; there’s still hope. After all, there was no electric fencing last year and the least tern colony at Quonnie Beach still fledged 111 chicks.

Return of the Piping Plovers

An adult piping plover in breeding plumage.

Piping plovers are small, plump, sand-colored shore birds. They live and nest on sandy beaches, splitting their time between the south Atlantic and Gulf coasts in the winter and the north Atlantic coast, Great Plains, and Great Lakes in the summer.

This will be my second summer monitoring them.

Last summer I had a six month internship at Fire Island National Seashore in New York. I’d never heard of piping plovers before applying for the internship, much less seen one. My first impression of a real, live piping plover was that it was very small and very silly. I found the way they dashed about on their long, orange legs to be especially amusing.

This year I have a three month internship for the Fish and Wildlife Service in Rhode Island. The plovers are familiar to me now and look, well, very plover like – exactly how they should. The only surprise my first glimpse of a piping plover provided was the sudden realization that I missed them.

Not piping plovers.

Last summer I struggled to learn the difference between a piping plover, a sanderling, a killdeer, a ruddy turnstone, and a semipalmated plover. I assembled a careful list of traits – sanderlings have a long bill, killdeer have two neck rings, ruddy turnstones have a white diamond on their back, semipalmated plovers are too dark – that I ran through as I stared at birds through binoculars. Always the most important question: is it a piping plover? This year I know the birds well enough that I don’t have to raise my binoculars to tell if that bird way down the beach is a piping plover or not. The color, the size, the way they move, the part of the beach they’re on… I know these birds. I know their behavior, their tracks, their nests, and their chicks.

A piping plover scrape with one egg.

Last year the first thing I learned about piping plovers was, “Expect the unexpected.” I also learned that plovers like to build their nests, called “scrapes,” in a sandy open area, perhaps among sparse dune grass on or behind a dune. This year I learned that plovers are willing to bend that rule, given the opportunity. Hurricane Sandy did just that, flattening dunes and sending sand further back than before, even among the coniferous trees that line the dunes on some of the beaches. The plovers are nesting in all kinds of strange locations, including under knee high coniferous trees, under dune overhangs, and among dangling, tangled tree roots. In some areas they’re even nesting next to the sand roads that meander behind the dunes.

Last summer I monitored the piping plovers from a distance, watching each pair with binoculars for 20-30 minutes at a time. I was primarily interested in the plovers’ behavior and whether they were digging scrapes, courting, or incubating a nest. I only ever wandered through the roped off, protected areas to check how many eggs (if any) were in a scrape. Only twelve pairs of birds nested on the entire island, so the other intern and I could afford the time it took to observe the birds.

An adult piping plover feigning a broken wing.

That isn’t the case in Rhode Island. The US Fish and Wildlife Service is responsible for monitoring thirteen different beaches and last year there were seventy seven pairs of nesting piping plovers. Although there is a larger crew of people, the large area that needs to be covered demands a different style of surveying. Now I meander through the protected areas, trying to simultaneously watch each step and scan the ground ahead for tracks and scrapes. I watch for plovers too, but I rely on their tracks more than their behavior.  I try to balance speed with efficiency so that I can minimize disturbance to the birds while still finding nests. And in the end I still use the plovers as my guide. I can tell when they’re trying to lure me away from a certain area – so I walk away from them, to where they don’t want to me to go. I can tell by how distressed they are (ignoring me, calling softly from a distance, calling loudly from nearby, flopping on the ground and feigning a broken wing, flopping on the ground and feigning two broken wings while calling piteously) whether they have a nest nearby and how close it is – although personalities vary and some plovers are more protective than others. I feel terrible each time I disturb the birds and minimize it as much as I can. My favorite nests are the ones that have already been found; I can check to see if the birds are incubating with binoculars and give the nest a wide berth while walking past.

The first nests are due to hatch this week. Soon enough there will be awkward, downy chicks roaming the beach. 

Farewell Plovers

The last piping plovers in the Wilderness fledged today. Three piping plover families with chicks remain, but they’re all in the communities: Lighthouse Beach, Point O’Woods and Water Island.

The first piping plover of the season arrived at Fire Island on March 9 and I arrived shortly thereafter, on March 25. Migratory bird and summer intern, we both made a long journey to come here: the plovers came from their wintering grounds on the south Atlantic and Gulf coasts and I came from the Midwest. Of the two, the piping plovers’ journey is the more impressive, for they are tiny, potbellied birds, smaller than a robin. Shore birds, they live on sandy beaches and rely on their overlong legs to get around, only resorting to flight for long distances and speedy escapes.

We fenced off miles of the upper beach in areas where the plovers like to nest and we waited. The male in each plover pair shoved his chest in the sand to dig shallow “scrapes,” or small hollows in the sand where plovers lay their eggs. Each male dug multiple scrapes, scattered here and there, that the females tested before deciding which one to use. “Not this one, honey, I don’t like the view.”

Plovers lay four eggs, one every other day. Each egg is the size of a grape, sand colored and speckled with black. Camouflage is a plover’s first line of defense, and they do it well, but the foxes have as much experience hunting as the plovers do at hiding. That’s why we add a second line of defense: a 30 foot metal wire exclosure around each nest. The exclosures keep foxes, crows, hawks, feral cats, and other predators away from the nests, but have big enough holes to let the plovers run in and out the bottom.

Piping plover eggs hatch twenty eight days after the last one was laid. The chicks are precocious, like ducks and chickens, and within a few hours of hatching they’re up and running around the beach, searching for insects, worms, and small crustaceans to eat. They’re born with oversized runner’s legs and a round, downy body perched on top. The chicks are clumsy at first and trip when they run, but soon gain poise and confidence.

Growing quickly, by two to three weeks of age the chicks tower over their younger brethren. They’ve exchanged their fuzzy down for sleek feathers and some of the stronger ones begin to test their wings, stretching them above their heads or flapping them while they run.

At the age of 25 to 35 days, the chicks fledge and learn to fly. Full grown, the fledglings are the same size as their parents and the only way to tell them apart is that the fledglings have black bills rather than orange.

The last days of July are running through my fingers and I feel like summer is ending, even if it’s hardly begun. My schedule has become the plover’s schedule and they’re leaving me now, growing up and flying south. They’ll return in the spring, I know, but I’ll have moved on. The plovers are leaving and soon I will follow. 

The Osprey and the Plovers

We (Rafael Cruz, Jennifer Popham and I) were driving a Polaris, a type of small UTV, when we first saw the osprey. It rested at the base of the dunes, eating a fish. We maintained our course and the osprey flew away as we approached. I was excited to see my first Fire Island osprey, but our priority was to monitor piping plovers, so I didn’t assign any particular significance to the sighting.

My attitude changed when I saw the osprey perching on the predator exclosure for nest 4A.

Piping plovers are protected by the Endangered Species act. One of the measures taken to protect plovers at Fire Island is erecting predator exclosures around nests to prevent cats, foxes, raccoons and other predators from eating or damaging the eggs. The predator exclosures are made out of wire mesh and have holes big enough to admit a piping plover, but small enough to keep out predators. The exclosures also have mesh netting stretched across the top to keep out avian predators.

The osprey meant no harm; the exclosure struck it as little more than an ideal place to perch and eat its fish. Maybe keep an eye out for that pesky Polaris that kept chasing it down the beach.

The plovers saw it differently. Neither bird was incubating the nest; both were too busy running around outside the exclosure, trying to attract the osprey’s attention and lure it away. One of the most common ways plovers lure predators away from their nests is by pretending they’ve broken a wing, marking them as easy prey. They’ll stay just ahead of any predator that chases them, ending the ruse and flying away once they’re far enough from the nest. One of the two plovers at nest 4A decided to take the extreme approach to this technique, spreading both wings and flopping on the ground like a small child having a fit.

Rafael and I approached the exclosure to scare away the osprey and it flew away once we were close enough, fish and all. We retreated and one of the plovers returned to the nest to resume incubation.

The osprey hadn’t flown far, no more than 50 meters down the beach, and the other plover still wasn’t satisfied. It is one of the boldest plovers I have ever encountered, for even though it was smaller than the fish the osprey was eating, let alone the osprey itself, the plover passed a few feet in front of the osprey before sitting down, pretending to incubate a nonexistent nest. The plover did this multiple times. Ospreys only eat fish  and this osprey showed no interest in the pipsqueak plover that passed it by – but how was the plover to know that? It was a brave little bird, but after a little while it gave up the ruse and returned to the nest. We scared the osprey away one last time, just to be sure, for there are many places on the beach that are good for eating fish, but each and every plover nest is precious.