PLOVER LOVE
By Carol Taylor
Written About the 2003 Plover Season
Not three decades of work at the National Audubon Society; not field trips to exotic places; not years of compulsive birding; none of that prepared me for the exquisite, intimate delights of piping plover stewardship.
This spring, at Maureen Cullinane's suggestion, I agreed to be a plover steward, and accepted the invitation of Orient Beach State Park Superintendant Sue Wuehler, to patrol the park's plover habitat.
Starting in late April, tramping up and down the beach in mostly dreadful weather, I watched and waited with keen anticipation the arrival of these doughty little blond birds. Every now and then a few flew in on flashing white wings, calling loudly -- their entrances very dramatic to one who has been looking a long time. They would land, run around purposefully, peep and chase each other, only to depart soon after. No sign of nesting, and many days were completely ploverless.
Then came Pearl. I had to name her. She stuck around and she was my girl.
I first noticed Pearl in the same area several days in a row, running around and then lying down, behind a clump of wrack. I lined up some stones by the fence to guide my eyes to the same spot, and there she was, day after day. On May 20th we discovered that Pearl was sitting on 3 eggs, and later, 4. Her mate, Buddy, swapped nest duties with her, and I saw the exchange a number of times. A totally entranced witness, I learned to tell the two apart by their markings, and to distinguish their sweet peeping calls from those of other birds. Finding their nest, however, even with my line of stones, and even when one of them was sitting on it and I knew exactly where to look, was very difficult every time. Unless they moved or called, they were practically invisible.
From May 20th on, I checked them daily, catching a peek of the eggs when they switched places. They tolerated my visits well. I wore the same yellow jacket each time, on the chance they might get used to me..
Stalwart little birds, Pearl and Buddy hunkered down over those eggs day and night through weeks of cold, rainy weather, some days of driving, drenching, stinging rain and high wind that blew their feathers every which way. They stayed, and also managed to avoid detection by foxes and gulls in the area.
June 17 was a perfect day to be born - warm, clear and calm. When I arrived at the nest site and put my binoculars up, there was Pearl with two fluffy chicks, poking their heads out from under her feathers. I stayed and watched, transfixed, practically levitating at what was unfolding before me, and couldn't tear myself away for 3 hours. The chicks came out from under - there were 3 then - tripping and stumbling, as doting Buddy led them around the neighborhood. When they got tired they collapsed on the spot, or struggled back to Pearl who helped them shove their way underneath her, to rest beside the 4th egg, which hatched the following day.
Once hatching was complete, finding the little family again became even more of a challenge. No longer tied to one spot, Pearl and Buddy led their chicks - on foot, because they can't fly for several weeks -- to a distant part of the beach where Sue found them. It was soon apparent that only two chicks survived the perils of the larger world, and after days of combing the area, we could no longer find any members of that little family, so my work came to an end.
I kept the notes of dates, weather conditions and activity on the forms provided me, and savor my plover stewardwhip as a privilege as engaging, exciting and dramatic as any experience I've had in nature. The little one-on-one relationship, the world in a grain of sand -- simply the best.
"UPDATE: Around Labor Day, two immature piping plovers were seen at the far end of Long Beach at Orient State Park. It is very likely that they were Pearl's and Buddy's chicks."