NEWBURYPORT, MASS. — Dunlin have gathered for sleep. Out on the saltpans. More than a hundred. The crest of a great wave, South. They stand stilted on one foot, faces turned all the way round and tucked between shoulders, breathing in their own feathered warmth. The saltpans are shallow, the bottom muddy; one pops up with the effort of pulling free and pogo sticks to a different spot. Indicative of an edginess that ultimately makes them leave; a short flurry of takeoff and land, same thing.
Or maybe not.
At sunrise, beneath the long shadow of the sand dune they are already feeding. Like Singer sowing machines, the foot-peddle kind my grandmother owned. Industrious little grandmothers, that’s what they look like, their stubby little beaks with that downdip at the end going, chakka-chakka, chakka-chakka, chakka-chakka chukka. Stitching for pennies, no time for rest.
And –
Whoofff!
The entire flock is airborne.
Turn Left! Turn right! Towards me now, the knife edge of their wings all in the vertical and all in line.
And TURN!
Wings blue-white in the dune’s blue-grey shadow.
TURN!
Wings red-gold as they rise into sunlight.
TURN!
Drop low wings kissing water.
TURN! TURN! And TURN…
Falcon.
That’s what put the dunlin up.
Not sure which kind. One of the regulars thinks, merlin. Kestrel, merlin, peregrine even, the same for all of them, the half-illumination of early morning works to their advantage. Reduced, so the dunlin hope, by the paradox of confusion in synchronous flight.
As the sun clears the dune the flock breaks into clans and families, to settle in the tall marsh grasses where they continue to feed, hiding as much as they can from the all too revealing day. Until dusk. When they return to the saltpans, out in open, waiting on the dark.
While across the marsh now a northern harrier glides, her eye catching the last radical of light, an ancient and indifferent star.
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Field Note
Parker River National Wildlife Refuge is stopover for thousands of migrating birds. Fall is a little easier them on than Spring as fish and crustacea have had their hatchings. Grasses have gone to seed. There are still many insects. The birds eat and rest, packing in calories as fast as they can. Calories they cannot spend on a whim. The flight displays we find beautiful they find costly. And places like Parker River are an ever-diminishing few.
Synchronous flight is a beautiful thing. Of which dunlin have no conception. No more than pedestrians on a crowded sidewalk in the morning rush, jostling and juggling to get there on time consider their aesthetic from afar or above. Even with that perspective, I could not follow the paths of individual birds. Which is the point.
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Much of the wildlife of the National Wildlife Refuges along the Eastern seaboard can be found at Smeagull’s Guide to Wildlife, http://smeagullguide.org/
About Parker River NWR: https://www.fws.gov/refuge/parker-river
More of Mark Seth Lender’s photography can be seen athttp://marksethlender.com/
Special thanks to Matt Hillman, manager of Parker River National Wildlife Refuge