THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, August 19, 1996 TAG: 9608170060
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Larry Maddry
LENGTH: 79 lines
There are only a scant handful of aviaries devoted to marsh birds in the United States, and the one at the Owl Creek Marsh Pavilion is one of them.
Searching for the birds while standing on one of the wooden walkways rising above the marsh grasses is like attempting to find the hidden critters in a children's comic book drawing: Can you find the birds in this picture?
There are about thirty marsh birds lurking in the mud and grasses, or roosting in the trees, inside the half-acre canopy of nearly invisible netting.
But finding all of them takes a keen eye and patience.
Fortunately, some are obvious. Shreet! Shreet! Where's that sound coming from? Oh, over there by the pond.
A pair of cinnamon-colored whistling ducks were calling their two-week-old ducklings to the pond's ledge. The ducklings toddled over like dark, peeping powder puffs, bumping into each other as they huddled around their proud parents. Then, one by one, they jumped into the water from a height of a few inches, hesitating before belly-flopping into the drink.
Everyone enjoys the ducklings, the first birds to have hatched since the aviary at the Virginia Marine Science Museum opened June 15.
``We are very pleased,'' said Judy Urwin, the aviary's exhibit specialist. ``The successful breeding of the ducklings means we've provided a natural environment that's suitable for the birds here.''
At the opposite end of the pond, a submerged hooded merganser raced swiftly beneath the clear water with neck extended. The duck resembled a Navy frogman in a black wet suit and flippers.
A large crow caws boisterously at all hours from wherever he has perched. He swaggers about like a small town sheriff, thinks he owns the place.
And then there's the red-headed, pileated woodpecker. The woodpecker can be heard before he's seen, drumming into a tree with his bill for insects.
The woodpecker is one of the great entertainers in the aviary. The bird taps away all day long, using a long tongue to probe for insects after drilling a hole in a tree.
Sometimes the woodpecker becomes so distracted by his work he accidentally falls off a limb. ``It's a sight,'' Judy said. ``He then extends his wings and spins around like a fluttering leaf until he hits the ground.'' Unharmed but embarrassed, the woodpecker gazes about to see if anyone has been watching before going about his business.
The herons are much more elusive. The pair of great blue herons camouflage themselves in the tall reeds. They stand poised for minutes without moving, then extend their long legs as though testing thin ice, moving stealthily toward a juicy fiddler crab.
A yellow-crowned night heron was so still as he stood on the edge of a shallow pond that I didn't notice him until Judy pointed.
``Most of the birds here have had injuries,'' Judy said. ``That's why they are here.''
I think the night heron I saw was the one Museum Director Mac Rawls found this summer near his home and brought to the museum. A veterinarian treated the bird for a bullet wound, which had shattered a bone in its wing.
The aviary was Rawls' idea. He said he had visited the Sonora Desert Museum near Tuscon a few years back and had been impressed with the aviary there, which exhibits desert birds in their natural habitat.
``I hoped we could do the same thing for our salt marsh birds that they did for the ones in their desert,'' he explained.
Judy said the museum will eventually have fifty marsh birds on display, but it will take time before the aviary is completely stocked. Getting the birds is slow business, partly because the marsh birds have to spend a month in quarantine before it can be determined they are free from diseases. Then they must become acclimated to the aviary by spending time in a large introduction cage away from other birds.
My favorite bird in the exhibit was a fairly common one. A turkey vulture.
That vulture, as large as a condor, is a stitch. He reminds me of Black Bart in a grade B western. Old Bart scoots along the perimeter of the aviary, running stealthily, shoulders hunched in a perpetual sulk, dragging his tail, cutting his eyes to the left and right as though only a few steps ahead of a posse.
Whatever you do, don't leave without catching his act. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo by GARY C. KNAPP, The Virginian-Pilot
These 2-week-old ducklings are the first birds to have hatched in
the new aviary. by CNB