With the shore ponds of Monmouth County mostly frozen, Alison and I spent a short hour at the tip of the Manasquan jetty yesterday mid-day, relishing the sunshine, grateful for the lack of wind, and dispassionately observing the gradual congelation of the blood in our toes.
There weren’t huge numbers of birds, but as always, the birding was fun. Common and a few Red-throated Loons put the fear of God into the fish at the mouth of the inlet, and small flocks containing all three scoters — the vast majority, as expected, Black Scoters — were in constant view on the water or slithering through the air in loose lines offshore.
The paved portions of the jetty were nearly ice-free (else we would not have been out there), but the giant tinker toy structures were still coated in a thick frosting.
That glaze was the source of some consternation for the Purple Sandpipers.
Just a few moments after we arrived, a nice flock of about 80 Purples, probably flushed by the adult Peregrine Falcon that kept buzzing us and them, flew in to land at the base of the structure.
In best purple piper fashion, every time a wave hit the jetty the flock would fly up, chittering, to land above the spray on top of the hexagonal pillars. And then, slowly at first, ever faster, and finally entirely out of control, they slid on splayed orange legs to the edge and fell fluttering off, landing, if they were lucky, on a more or less dry and more or less horizontal surface.
After a pause to catch their breath, they were back down, busy, along the water’s edge, only to repeat the whole drama with the next wave.
I almost think the birds were having fun. I know we were.
