The Life and Times of Grumpy G: and other intrepid Oystercatcher Chicks
- birdingunfettered2
- 33 minutes ago
- 12 min read
~ By Sumalee ~
We've never had the opportunity to live full-time on the coast, so when an opportunity arose to work in the Fort Bragg, CA area, we immediately began planning for coastal birding on days off. We have a special fondness for shorebirds, and have even taken the Kevin Gower Cornell Lab of Ornithology online course on shorebirds, so we hoped to encounter some.
This particular stretch of Northern California coast features windswept, rocky and craggy cliffsides with offshore rock islands, a landscape worthy of Romantic gothic novels, but with little of the beach and mudflat real estate that small shorebirds (the peeps) need. One headland stretches after another, coastal savannahs laden with wildflowers. Here on the headlands, a birder can access the rock islands where gulls, cormorants, and pelicans prefer to rest via binocular and spotting scope.
V. was sure than we would see Black Oystercatchers sooner than later since they favor rock islands and craggy outcroppings. It was late spring and there were several pairs of Black Oystercatchers (aka BLOY) we began following.
Oystercatcher Nest Sites:
~ Tall Rock and Little C ~
~ Peninsula Rock and Grumpy Gus ~
~ Castle Rock and Contessa ~
June 16. V. spots a BLOY nest with three eggs atop a steep, almost totally vertical rock island. The nest is a scrape, literally some pebbles and rock shards scraped together. We are only able to view the grey speckled ivory eggs at shift change, when one parent arrives after foraging to relieve the other parent, who in turn flies off to forage through mussel beds.
Tall Rock nest site. Our first good view of an oystercatcher scrape nest.
June 21. Now that we know what to look for, and how to look insofar as these scrapes as well as the eggs and even adult birds are well camouflaged by the visual "noise" of craggy, stippled rock formations, we spot another nest with two eggs on a large, broad rock island two or three headlands north of Tall Rock that we would come to think of a castle, and therefore name the site Castle Rock.
Castle Rock nest site. Adult on two eggs, one of which would successfully hatch to become Contessa
This island seems an infinitely safer home for future chicks, with extensive flat plateaus and hideaway ledges. The Audubon app states that BLOY incubation lasts from 24-29 days, so we venture out regularly on days off to monitor the nests. We want to see baby BLOYS! Our friends from a previous gig, skilled birders as well, will be coming into town on holiday and we are excited to show them the nests.
June 23. We should have predicted that the minute we point out one nest, our friend Martin spots another. Leaning out over what S. considered a fatal drop-off, Martin spots an egg--no, wait, a chick--actually a chick half-emerged from his egg under the belly of his parent.
Peninsula Rock nest site. Gus, newly hatched.
June 24. So begins our adventure in monitoring the BLOY chicks of the Point Cabrillo Lighthouse State Park. At Peninsula Rock, we spot Martin's chick, who we dub Grumpy Gus for his squinchy eyes buried in a black-speckled grey puff. As we watch him wander without fear or hesitation away from the nest, eyes still half-closed, we learn something sobering about BLOY chicks: they are too intrepid. Unlike the Pelagic Cormorant chicks, who remained glued in a fixed position to their sheer ledge for weeks, Grumpy Gus and his cohort begin walking about like they own the place on day one or two. They are too little to eat the sea worms and limpets that their parents offer, futilely, trying to entice their chicks by shaking and wiggling the food. At times, the big show works and Gus attempts to eat a sea worm, taking it sideways and dropping it. Finally, he gets a nip at the end of a worm and is able to slurp it up.
Grumpy Gus stymied in his meal as he takes a seaworm sideways. He quickly learns to slurp it up like a piece of spagetti.
July 3. Finally, at Tall Rock and the nest that we have been watching for a little over two weeks, we spot two chicks, one tiny chick still prone beneath its parent next to an unhatched egg, while the other teeters here, totters there away from the nest, led by some invisible instinct to roam. Her parents alternately bring back a bit of mussel or clam, and in one instance, a tiny crab, and dangle it in front of her. She runs to the food, attempts a nip, then walks away.
Intrepid Little C needing all the enticement from her parent to eat. Parent dangles and drops the morsel, but C prefers to walk on and explore.
We suppose the food is just too large for her. We admire the first-borne chick, who we call Colette or Little C after our scamp of a cat, for her adventurous spirit, and we talk ourselves into assuming that evolutionary honing would entail some mechanism to keep Little C from venturing down the rock. V. is excited to have the chicks grow up at the top of Tall Rock because it gives great views of the family. We look forward to seeing the second chick ramble, and to the third egg hatching. We assume our days ahead will be filled with delightful sightings of a clutch growing up. The intrepid nature of these chicks however, would etch a much different reality for us in the coming weeks, and would bring stark awareness to the challenging inter-tidal lives of young oystercatchers.
Meanwhile, at Castle Rock, the nest now contains only one egg and appears to have been abandoned. The adults are out of sight but are heard on the other side of this massive rock island. Why would the adults, who had been so conscientious in taking turns incubating the eggs, both abandon this egg to the open skies where ravens, gulls, and vultures circled looking for an easy meal? V. intuits that the egg is abandoned to enable the parents to follow after the roaming chick.
July 6. At Tall Rock an ominous scene greets us. At the nest, one egg remains, rolled just down slope off the scrape nest and lays abandoned.
The younger, tiny chick is absent. Little C and the parents are also missing. Our binoculars scale down Tall Rock to the narrow bottom. There is Little C, now four to six days old. She has wandered down the 80-90 degree cliff to the bottom of the rock. The ocean laps at the edges of where she stands. V's intuitive guess concerning abrupt nest abandonment proves to be correct. We now have proof that when one chick hatches and wanders from the nest, it forces the parents to sacrifice the unhatched eggs and newborn chicks to the forces that be. We worry that Little C will not be able to climb to higher and safer ground.
July 7. Immediately the next day, we return to check on Little C. She is still at the bottom of the rock. We feel the cold strong wing, with our layered protection, while Little C looks tired and listless, wandering a few paces then sitting to rest alone, totally exposed to wind. Her eyes remain tightly closed. She does not seek shelter beneath her warm parents, for whatever reason. As the tide rises and wave after wave crashes over and fills the low rock area, the fragile, intrepid chick remains within its impending reach. We are powerless to do anything but turn away.
July 8. We spot the Tall Rock parents, one calling (we believe) for Little C, whom we will never see again. At Castle Rock, we hear cries on the far side of the island, so we believe that this chick is probably alive and wreaking havoc. At Peninsula Rock, we briefly spot the camouflaged fuzzy grey of Grumpy Gus, at this point about one third the size of an adult.
Peninsula Rock. Adult watches over young Gus.
July 9. We spot who we suspect are the parents of Little C on the next jetty over from Tall Rock. No oystercatchers frequent Tall Rock for the rest of our stay at the coast. At Castle Rock, we watch a parent bring back food and search for its chick before giving up and eating the meal.
Castle Rock. Adult flew in with food, giving calls, but could not find the chick. We took this as a positive sign that the chick was alive and well.
July 10. Grumpy Gus conspires to lessen our sorrow over Little C's loss. He appears on the lowest part of the peninsula, practicing foraging, dipping and cleaning his bill in the pools created by high tide on chunky volcanic rock, resting near his parents, and running to gulp down the gourmet meals they offer him as they take turns retrieving food during low tide. We do worry that he is treading on dangerous ground but we hope that somehow, his parents will lead him to higher ground when the tide comes in. The good thing about Peninsula Rock is it has three levels, with plateaus, for sheltering from the tide, unlike Tall Rock, which was all top and bottom with no safe shelters in between.
This also was a double-luck day because at Castle Rock, we spot for the first time Contessa, who deigns to come round to the viewer-front of the rock. We name her not only for the castle she inhabited but for her regal manner, in the way she daintily accepts proffered clams and mussels from her parents. Her eyes alert and wide open, she distinguishes herself from Grumpy Gus. She tends to rest between ledges and in crevices.
Castle Rock. A bright-eyed Contessa walked out from the safety of a crevice to receive her meal.
July 14. Both Gus and Contessa appeared. Gus seen stretching his wings.
He's about 22-23 days old and far from fledging, and probably just feeling out his wings.
We scarcely spot Contessa, now 11-13 days old, hiding in a crevice. Her island rock has so many crevices and out-of-view areas that we rarely see her.
July 15. Early morning, we see both of Gus's parents taking turns feeding him sea worms, limpets, and a small crab. He is much more active now, practicing foraging (his bi-colored bill is underdeveloped, short and probably soft, but he makes a great show of poking at rock weeds). He now follows his parents more closely.
July 17 and 19. We see Gus enthusiastically taking meals from his parents. Contessa is absent from view, but we know she is there on the other side of the rock by the impressive two-pronged defensive attack her parents launched against the vultures and ravens circling above that outsize them by 30-50%.
July 24 and 24. We see Gus foraging while still being fed by both parents. He spreads his wings now and again.
Gus gives a little jump flight.
July 30. Last really good look at Gus. His bill is getting larger though still bi-colored, tail is well developed, and his eye ring is beginning to color orange.
Gus growing into his own at about 37 days old.
August 2. We glimpse Gus one more time, when briefly his backside appears just over the crest of the transition rock. Then, we lose him. We come every day possible to look for him, but all we see is his parents roosting, and as we begin to understand, waiting for him. During low tide, neither of them leave their roosts on Peninsula Rock to forage for food. They just sit there, which is typical behavior during high tide. We do not see Contessa for a couple of weeks, but we worry less as her parents continue to bring back food to the island on the other side of our view. We begin trekking out to Peninsula Rock after long 12 hour shifts in desperation. We see Gus's parents, but no Gus.
August 5. After work, we walk out to Peninsula Rock, now frankly desperate to see Gus. The lighting is poor at twilight along the coast. We spot one parent, who flies out to a mussel bed in the distance. Two other oystercatchers immediately emerge from the far side when the parent lands. One of them remains still, strangely doing nothing, while the other two forage the mussels. Then, one flies back to the island adjacent to Peninsula Rock. We wait and watch as high tide comes in, the mussel bed slowly submerged by the waves. The two oystercatchers remain, one very still. We leave, unable to discern if this is Gus and the other parent. Why aren't they flying back?
August 9. In the days between August 5 and 9, we watch the two parents roosting during low tide, instead of foraging for food for an unseen Gus or themselves, for that matter. They sit there, day after day, on Peninsula Rock, without feeding. Are they waiting for Gus to return from somewhere? Today, fatefully, as we watch them roost, one parent gets up, making cries so that the other also stands up and returns the cries, both bowing. Then, in some mutual understanding, they fly off north along the coast. We will never see them again although we return regularly to search. The rock seems lonely and quiet.
Although there is heartache in this tale, there is also joy. We continue to visit the lighthouse headlands as often as we can, just in case Contessa deigns to appear on this side of Castle Rock. Finally, after almost a month, she rewards our diligence with a sighting!
First good look at Contessa since her downy days.
August 11. We are surprised and thrilled to see all three of the Castle Rock family foraging at the bottom of Castle Rock, in full view. With her immature bi-colored bill, Contessa is poking in and out of sea vegetation on the rocks, practicing finding food. Her bill is too short and soft yet to pry open clams and mussels and dig into limpets, but she's making a fine go of it. One parent repeatedly procures a mussel, then visibly dangles the morsel in front of Contessa before planting it into an empty mussel shell. Contessa readily retrieves the morsels from the shell, in a BLOY version of an Easter egg hunt. We venture out to Peninsula Rock to honor Gus's life, and V. spots a Surf Bird and two Wandering Tattlers (new lifers!).
Contessa learning to forage mussel meat.
August 15. We hike out to Castle Rock but don't see any of the BLOYs. V. then spots Contessa on small island just beyond Castle Rock. We sit and watch, worried that there will be another potential tragedy, in that the juvenile initially flies out but fails to return safely (as we surmise may have happened with Gus). The difference is that this island is shorter distance from Castle Rock, unlike the mussel beds way out from Peninsula Rock. Two hours until high tide--will we have to sit around that long in nail-biting anxiety? But after 45 minutes or so, we witness one parent fly back to Castle Rock. Contessa begins a great process of preening her feathers and stretching while the other parent gleans food. That parent feeds Contessa a morsel, she promptly poops, takes one step, then hops and launches. She flies behind the rock beyond our sight, then momentarily we see her and the other parent join the first one on the top of Castle Rock. From our log, we know that we have witnessed one of her first flights, if not the first, and she succeeds. She can fly!
Contessa's fledges at around 46 days old
August 18. As we are nearing Castle Rock, we see Contessa on the near side near the bottom foraging, then suddenly she flies to a far island near the shoreline cliffs. This is a considerably longer distance. She forages amongst the kelp beds. She is utterly alone. We wonder, and we worry, if oystercatchers leave their chicks to fend for themselves when they fledge like so many bird species do. Her bill is still bi-colored and soft, and we've not witnessed her actually pry open a mussel or clam. After about 15 minutes, she flies back to Castle Rock, and the parents come up from the other side and join her. Up until now, she's been silent but we hear her give a few calls, though they are not the clear high cries of adults. As we learn through experience, the BLOY family remains intact after their chick fledges. They do everything together.
We walk south to look at Peninsula Rock just in case, then backtrack north. We hear BLOY cries and see three BLOYs land on the cliffside rocks. One is Contessa and we assume the other two her parents. She preens, and then forages. Suddenly, two other adult BLOY couples land near Contessa and one couple becomes aggressive, approaching her and chasing her away. A big hullabaloo occurs as we see one large oystercatcher intimidatingly spread his wings and screech while approaching Contessa, who has joined her parents. Then, Contessa's parent stretches its wings and cries, returning the show of force until the large bully backs away. The trio then fly back north toward Castle Rock.
August 21. As our time at Fort Bragg comes to a close, we come every day possible to check on the Castle Rock family. They appear to be healthy and happy together. On this last day before final departure, we hope that we'll get just one last look at our feisty sole survivor. Will the gods grant us this lucky joy? We are ecstatic to spot all three oystercatchers on an island near Castle Rock. We watch them forage, and preen, and roost, and then, sending out our most heartfelt wishes and hopes, we turn round and head back, confident that the Mendocino Coast will soon add another adult oystercatcher to its census.
Contessa at around 60 days old. Compared to her parent she still has some growing to do, but she is getting there!
~ In Tribute to Grumpy Gus ~
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