The Plover Diaries

[Apologies for this misplaced post. I went back to edit some funky formatting, lost the post altogether, and when it reappeared, it had jumped ahead several weeks.]


Friday, August 19.

I was northbound again. It’s always a thrill when Mighty Mac comes into view.

There were high wind warnings, same as last year. I gripped the wheel and survived the crossing. 10 hours after leaving home, I reached my destination: Grand Marais, Michigan, on the south shore of the Greatest Lake, Superior.

I was on a mission. To help protect a young Piping Plover chick.

Saturday, August 20. 24 days old.

The Piping Plovers (Charadrius melodus) of the Great Lakes are critically endangered and have been protected under the U. S. Endangered Species Act since 1986. Predators (crows, gulls, corvids, falcons, and herons; coyotes and dogs) take their toll. Storms wash away nests. Invasive plants alter shoreline habitat. Invasive aquatics have led to an increase in Botulism E outbreaks. Development encroaches on beaches. ATV riders run over nests.

Thanks to the efforts of individuals, government agencies, conservation groups, and universities, the numbers rose from 17 breeding pairs in 1986 to 71 in 2009, but dropped to 60 in 2010 and 55 in 2011. (The BP Deepwater Horizon oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico is likely responsible for the most recent decline.) The birds are still very much in danger of being extirpated in the Great Lakes region.

The Grand Marais population is fortunate to have a dedicated band of volunteers to help protect the shorebirds. Volunteers and temporary staff, funded by a grant from the National Fish & Wildlife Foundation, are on the beach from 6:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. throughout the breeding season, monitoring nests and chicks, asking owners to leash their dogs, deterring predators, and keeping vehicles off the beach.

The first clutch of early summer was taken by crows when the hatchlings were only a day old. The parents re-nested, it was unusually late in the season, and monitors were needed. I signed up to volunteer for several days.



On Saturday morning, the flightless chick wasn’t moving. He (or she) was alive but wasn’t foraging along the edge of the lake or river as had been his custom. Four hours passed and the monitoring crew was becoming seriously concerned and exploring options. Intervene or not? Call in a veterinarian? Drive the chick to plover wintering grounds in Florida? Any decision would have to be made through the U. S. Fish & Wildlife Service. And it was the weekend.

It had been a chilly night and as the sun warmed the beach and little feathers, the chick started moving about. Some of the volunteers thought he had been chilled by the cool temps, as he had only recently learned to regulate his body temperature.

Others thought he might be lonely and depressed. Of four eggs laid, this was the only survivor. One egg failed to hatch, one young chick had died of exposure after being separated from his or her parents, and the third was taken by a predator. Mom had migrated 3 weeks ago and Dad left yesterday. You can’t get much more alone than that.

I would have a 3- or 4-hour shift for the next few days.

I crossed the dunes,

waded across the Sucker River to the peninsula, and searched for the bird.

At times, he was actively feeding along the riverbank or the lake shore.

Other times, he was snoozing.

Sunrise on the riverbank,

and on Lonesome Point to the east.

Views were breathtaking in every direction.

Sunset over Grand Marais

Sunday, August 21. 25 days old.

The day started with thunder, lightning, and rain. ‘Though the morning was colder than the previous day, the chick was up at dawn, actively working the beach for insects and aquatic invertebrates. This led some of us to believe that he had, indeed, been feeling alone the previous morning. The storm left, the sun shone, a light rain moved back in, then out again.

This is how I spent my days.
Find the chick on the beach.

Zooming in should help. (All of these photos are zoomed and cropped. The goal was to remain 75 - 100 feet from the chick at all times so he wouldn't relate too much to humans.)

When he decided to cross from the river side to the lake side, he moved like a bullet across the sand. I had difficulty keeping up with his tiny 2" legs.

Monday, August 22. 26 days old.

A Merlin was in the neighborhood early this morning. The volunteers on duty at the time were alarmed, and rightfully so, but in the end, the falcon moved on and didn’t do any harm.

My 10:00 – 2:00 shift was relatively uneventful. I flapped my arms like a big bird to scare away a gang of juvenile seagulls. The weather was stunningly perfect: cool temps, warm sun, soft breeze, crashing waves. I sustained a sunburn.

Volunteers reported that he’d made a few short flights of 25 and maybe 50 feet. I wondered how I would keep up with him in the morning.

Tuesday, August 23. 27 days old.

It was my first dawn shift and I was fearful that I wouldn’t be able to find him. My worrying was unnecessary, as I saw him working the bank before I even crossed over the river. He alternated between feeding on the waterline and snoozing invisibly in the rocks. The wind was stiff. It was the first time I’d been truly cold on the beach. He wasn’t doing much flying yet but he did fly 3 feet over a puddle of water, then acted aggressively to move some Semipalmated Plovers and Sanderlings off of "his stretch" of beach.

Find the chick in the picture.

There he is!

Find the chick in the picture.

Do you see him now?

There he is!

Plover with driftwood

By this time, I was becoming quite attached to him.

Wednesday, August 24. 28 days old.

Another early morning shift. He was feeding along the riverbank at dawn.

His visibility changed with the lighting conditions. I kept an eye on him nearly all the time; he was such a trickster when he wanted to blend into the landscape. But during his naps, I snapped a few pictures.

Bankside sand

A freighter on the horizon

He's awake again! Feeding along the river.

His tail feathers have developed since I first met him.

A long view of the beach

Feeding along the river

An hour later, he made his way to the mouth of the river. Then he flew across! It was only 20 or 30 feet, and his flight gained an altitude of just 2 feet, but it was a real, purposeful flight.

But holy wah! I had to stick with him and couldn’t determine the depth or strength of the river. I walkie-talkied my contact who instructed me to head back over the Sucker through shallow water, wade west, then make my way back to dry land. I tore off my shoes, peeled off my pants to my shorts, made the crossing and caught up with the chick on the island.

He was feeding in new territory.

And then, holy wah! He flew over a second mouth. I could see the riverbed this time and crossed over, sinking in soft sand on the far bank. I was soaked but too excited about his flight to care. He fed and rested, rested and fed. A Merlin flew along the far riverbank and moved on.

And that’s where I left him. My tour was done.

He will have a very short time to build his flight muscles and hone his flying skills, then will join other migrating shorebirds to make the trip south.

Thanks to Kathy and Bill Davis for their commitment to the birds, for hosting and spoiling me, and for a wonderful experience.

The program runs largely on volunteers and more will be needed next summer. If you love birds, adventure, beautiful landscapes, and want to make a difference, leave a comment and I'll connect you.