Nature: Show-off herons shine in national park

A juvenile least bittern in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park

Columbus Dispatch

September 17, 2017

NATURE
Jim McCormac

Cuyahoga Valley National Park’s 51 square miles preserves a treasure trove of biological diversity. Ohio’s only national park, it occupies the state’s most populous region and is bookended by Akron and Cleveland.

Although waterfalls, forests, rock formations, streams and other scenic items of interest lure visitors, it was one of the world’s smallest herons that drew me to the park a few weeks back.

For most of the summer, an uncharacteristically conspicuous pair of least bitterns put on a show along a boardwalk that bisects a lush marsh. As an Ohio breeding bird, this one is especially noteworthy. The least bittern is listed as threatened by the Ohio Division of Wildlife, and nesting locales are few and far between.

The least bittern is a true elfin in a family of typically robust birds. One of these diminutive waders is about the size and weight of a blue jay. For comparison, its much-better-known relative, the great blue heron, has a wingspan over four times longer than the bittern’s 17-inch set of flappers. The larger heron is nearly four times as long and weighs 30 times more than the bittern’s paltry 80 grams.

Size doesn’t dictate beauty, though, and the least bittern is exquisite. The bird’s feathers are a palette of rich chestnut, tan and cream. Greenish-yellow skin forms goggles around the eyes, and a stiletto-like bill fronts the face. Perhaps most amazing are the little bird’s big feet. They are disproportionately huge, the greatly elongated toes useful in tightly clutching the stalks of aquatic plants.

One reason the Cuyahoga Valley birds caused such a stir was the ease of seeing them. I’ve seen a fair number of least bitterns over the years, but I’ve heard far more. They frequent the densest stands of cattails and other wetland plants, and are often impossible to see. Only the curious cuckoo-like murmurings of the herons give them away.

My experience was typical of most visiting birders. Shortly after my early-morning arrival, one of the bitterns was spotted lurking at the edge of some cattails. Before long, another bird joined it. For the rest of the morning, great views were freely had.

Better yet, the extroverts were two juveniles — especially good news, as nesting was obviously successful. The adult birds called regularly from the cattails, but they did not show themselves during my visit.

It was a rare experience to observe the bitterns clambering about vertical cattail stems, stabbing at small fish and frogs with their daggerlike bills. At one point, a bird popped out in the open on some spatterdock lilies, enabling me to take the accompanying photo.

We have not been good stewards of wetlands, and least bitterns and many other species have suffered accordingly. These tiny herons were once common in Ohio wetlands, but they have declined tremendously. For instance, famed ornithologist Milton Trautman recorded nearly 100 pairs nesting most years around Buckeye Lake in the 1920s and ’30s. Today, there are none.

It is fortunate that we’ve set aside natural areas such as Cuyahoga Valley National Park to protect some of our biodiversity.

FURTHER AFIELD

Jim McCormac will present "A Romp through Ohio's Flora and Fauna," with photos, at 7:30 p.m. Sept. 26 at the Grange Insurance Audubon Center, 505 W. Whittier St. The presentation is free, and no reservations are required.


Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first, third and fifth Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at www.jimmccormac.blogspot.com.

Least Bittern

A richly vegetated marsh in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park near Akron, home to a celebrity avian family in weeks past. I apologize for the rather poor photo above, but this is what one gets when shooting landscapes in harsh midday sun without a filter. I meant to shoot some lay of the land images upon first arrival not long after dawn, but became engaged with shooting birds right off the bat.

For weeks, reports had been circulating of an especially cooperative clan of Least Bitterns in this place. North America's smallest heron is not an especially easy bird to find in these parts - listed as threatened in Ohio - and even less easy to photograph, at least well. Being a fan of herons in general and Least Bitterns in particular, I finally made the pilgrimage on August 21.

It didn't take long to find the birds. A pair of adults successfully raised four (so reported, I only saw two) offspring. At the risk of redundancy, the little leasts were quite talkative, and their coocooish murmurings drew the assembled birders' attention to them. Here, one of the juveniles peeks from a nearly impenetrable wall of cattails. This is often how one sees these little waders - peering from a dense mass of vegetation. Note its exceptionally large feet, the better to adeptly clamber around on plant stems.

A Least Bittern is comparable to a Blue Jay in weight, and it's not much larger in dimensions. It would take about nine of them to equal the mass of its bigger brother, the American Bittern. Even more would be required to match the weight of a Great Blue Heron - 30 to be nearly exact.

This photo illustrates why Least Bitterns can be devilishly hard to see. They are prone to skulking in thick cattail stands like this. Often the only evidence of their presence is their vocalizations, some of which sound much like a cuckoo. Even if I had only seen the birds as presented in these first photos, I would have been pleased. But the juveniles, having not yet learned to hide themselves, were prone to coming right out in the open. I never did see an adult, though, although I'm told they too on occasion show nicely.

After a bit, one of the young birds fluttered out of the cattails and into the much more open spaces of the spatterdock-dominated part of the marsh. Some wispy down feathers can still be seen jutting from the bird's crown. This one put on quite a show for those of us in attendance, and offered wonderful photo opportunities.

As this bittern matures, it will probably become less obliging of its human admirers. Least Bitterns habitually forage along the edge of dense emergent marsh vegetation, as in the first two photos of the bird. In such haunts, they are often partly concealed and if disturbed can instantly melt away into the vegetation. To see one out in the open, posing on a lily pad, was quite a treat.

This beautiful elfin heron was probably quite common in Ohio's marshes in days of yore. Since European settlement, about 90% of Ohio's wetlands have been lost to agriculture and other forms of development, a trend typical throughout Midwestern America's breadbasket. The bittern and many other marsh birds have declined accordingly, and now seeing Least Bitterns around here is a big deal and an exceptional treat.

Least Bittern and Glacier Ridge

One of central Ohio's birding hotspots this summer has been Glacier Ridge Metropark on the northwest side of Columbus. This is the view from the observation tower. We are fortunate that Franklin County Metroparks is very advanced in their thinking regarding land management and habitat restoration. The agency has restored acres and acres of wetlands in this area, producing fabulous results.

If you want to learn more detail about the Glacier Ridge wetland restoration, CLICK HERE for a column that I recently wrote for the Columbus Dispatch.

This slough is ground zero for a hefty collection of very rare breeding birds for the central Ohio area, and in some cases ANYWHERE in Ohio. Our rarest rail, the mighty King Rail, bred here as did a small army of Sora and Virginia Rails. Pied-billed Grebes and American Coots have nested, as have many species of more common fare. Dragonflies, butterflies and other insects abound. Interesting native wetland plants are popping from the seedbank in prodigious numbers.

And to think, this land was in corn and beans a decade ago. In the business of wetland restoration, it's all about location, location, location. This area is on the eastern fringes of the formerly vast Darby Plains prairie and this region once harbored many prairie sloughs that would have been full of birds that are now imperiled in Ohio.

Photo: Bruce Miller

I was saving the (arguably) most interesting Glacier Ridge breeder for last. Bruce Miller, who is an outstanding photographer based in Columbus (his website is HERE) was kind enough to share his stunning Least Bittern shots with us. The Least Bittern is the smallest heron in the Americas, and is quite the rarity with us, now being listed as threatened in Ohio.

Photo: Bruce Miller

This is a great photo and reveals a few things about the foraging abilities of the Least Bittern. One, note the size of those feet! Those long toes and roughened soles are great adaptions for clinging with ease to the stalks of cattails. The ability to grip plants growing in water that would be too deep for the tiny heron to wade in allows it to exploit a much wider spectrum of feeding opportunities. It should also be noted that Least Bitterns favor large, often nearly monotypic stands of cattails, and that such luxuriant growths are not a bad thing in a marsh. While big cattail stands are not a rare thing, there are far fewer around than there once was and a number of marsh-breeding bird species are thoroughly adapted to this habitat.

Photo: Bruce Miller

A Least Bittern can compress its body to impossibly slender dimensions. If the situation warrants, the bird can pancake itself to a width of about one and a half inches. It's no secret how they slip through seemingly impenetrable stands of cattails.

One of these birds weighs about 80 grams - less than a Common Grackle. Least Bitterns are also normally quite secretive and can be incredibly difficult to glimpse. Their throaty cuckoo-like calls are often the only clue that they occupy a marsh. But these Glacier Ridge birds have been incredibly extroverted and score of birders have seen them.

But Bruce's great photographs allow us to study this fascinating little heron in ways that field observations seldom will, and I appreciate him sharing the fruits of his labor.