Mills: The Hidden Pond

The birder’s mental map is dotted with hidden lakes, hidden ponds, hidden pools, hidden valleys. Sometimes these informal designations become honest-to-goodness toponyms: in 2001, for example, Bill Scott referred to the “somewhat hidden pond” at Tucson’s Sweetwater Wetlands; by 2004 Philip Kline could call it “the hidden pond” and assume that everyone would know what he meant. Now that fine little puddle is officially The Hidden Pond–even though much of the vegetation has meanwhile been removed, leaving it hidden in name only.

Here in New Jersey, there’s a truly hidden pond in the extreme northwest corner of Mills Reservation, tucked into the intersection of Ridge and Reservoir Roads and guarded all around by some of the prickliest roses you’ll ever find yourself tangled in.

It’s just a tiny wet spot in the forest with some phragmites, some dead trees, and some open sky, but I’ve started making it my first destination when I bird the Rez. The roses and the soggy earth keep the scofflaw dog owners and mountain bikers more or less away, and the bottles and cans are all of a reassuringly distant vintage. So I have the place to myself–and the birds, too.

Yesterday morning I splashed my way in to find a small flock of parulids, mostly Yellow-rumped Warblers, of course, but also including a couple of Blackpoll Warblers and a lone hen-plumaged American Redstart. Tufted Titmouses and Golden-crowned Kinglets were playing around the edges, and a Scarlet Tanager–getting slightly latish, I suppose–was flycatching low in the woods.

This is consistently one of the best spots at Mills for Downy Woodpeckers, drawn to the skeletons of the drowned trees, which also offer perches to House Finches and House Sparrows, two introduced species that are hard to find in the denser, darker parts of the Reservation.

And of course there are emberizids. The chinking of White-throated Sparrows has become the constant accompaniment to any walk at Mills, and Eastern Towhees are suddenly all over the place. Yesterday morning’s Song Sparrows were expected (but still my first for the location), and an unbearably cute little Field Sparrow was a major bonus.

This hidden puddle should remain productive until it freezes (or, much less likely, dries up) this winter. It looks like just the place for a Virginia Rail, a wayward Sedge Wren, or even just a lingering Common Yellowthroat. I’ll be watching.