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SAN JUAN NATURE NOTEBOOK BY SUSAN VERNON |
Previous columnscurrent columnThe serviceberry and the waxwings | |
SWAN SURVEYPhotos by Matt Pranger
posted 02/05/04
Thousands of swans winter in Washington State. The Skagit Valley is home to both Trumpeter Swans and Tundra Swans. The Comox Valley on Vancouver Island hosts more that 2,000 trumpeters. Our small group of swans winter peacefully here, providing a slender thread of continuity between those two major populations in western Washington.
The wintering trumpeters in the islands are better documented than most swans thanks to The San Juan Preservation Trust. They work in conjunction with The Trumpeter Swan Society to coordinate annual surveys. For nearly two decades, dozens of volunteers have been observing the swans and recording the birds' use of island wetlands. The survey is serious business. As critical habitats diminish and other environmental factors impact waterfowl survivability, these counts become an important indicator of the health of this species and of its environment. The volunteers monitor close to one hundred sites, and in so doing, provide biologists with valuable data about North America's largest waterfowl - once on the brink of extinction. While the numbers vary from year to year, the documented swan population in the archipelago has remained between 60 and 80 trumpeters for several years, although there are many areas that still go unobserved.
I have participated in these surveys for years. It's great fun! All winter, our merry corps of swan watchers keep in touch sharing sightings. We count swans on cold winter days in a biting chill; during windstorms when the big birds stay water bound rather than chance an aerial mishap; and always we count in the drip, drip, drip of the winter rains. The swans are usually easy to spot. Adults often weigh over thirty pounds, and have a wing span of six feet. They are not a subtle presence, although many do have a reclusive nature. Trumpeters mate for life. Juveniles, still in sooty gray plumage, spend their first winter with their parents, and are recognizable in the flocks. The young birds have much to learn about the ways of their winter world. The gregarious swans can raise quite a vocal commotion when they splash down at a favored marsh - raising up to shake the water from their wings as they bugle to set boundaries. Other times, soft murmurs suffice, as if their physical presence needs no elaboration. While counting swans is an on-going process, some years a special survey is conducted under the auspices of the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife. The project extends along the Pacific Flyway. Volunteers count swans at designated sites between noon and two o'clock on a specified day - this year, January 31, 2004. Last Saturday, the weather was perfect for the count. It was clear, mild at 43 degrees Fahrenheit, and the east wind merely ruffled the water at 10 mph. I checked out some sites earlier in the week, and planned to visit a loop of wetlands I hoped would produce results. My first stop was a modest marsh near the north end of San Juan. Thirty years ago, the trumpeters chose this spot to begin populating the islands. A single pair touched down there in the mid-1970s. It is still a favored refuge.
It was quiet when I arrived; only wrens and sparrows chattered from shrubs along the shore. I found a vantage spot behind a thicket of rain-soaked hardhack and scanned the pond. Scaups, Gadwalls, Buffleheads, and Canada Geese were dabbling and diving in the open leads of water. It took a few minutes to spot my first swan, an adult foraging in the cattails at the west end of the wetland. Swans like solitude. I did not move closer to get a better look, but it was not long before I noticed a silhouette shadowing the trumpeter through the rushes. It was a juvenile, still in soft gray plumage. They soon cruised out of sight. I watched for another ten minutes but they did not reappear. With no time to spare, I chose another vantage point and spied four more adults. They, too, remained aloof, so I quickly left as a small flock of geese noisily tumbled out of the sky assaulting the coveted calm. But I had six swans on my tally sheet. Next stop, Sportsman's Lake. As I drove along Roche Harbor Road, I could see six adults foraging in the cats at the south side of the lake. They, too, had found their quiet zone. Not nearly so bashful was a raft of thirty American Coots meandering across the broad expanse of open water in the company of Hooded Mergansers, Double-crested Cormorants, and Common Mergansers. I scanned the perimeter of the lake looking for shy swans peering out of the tall grass. No luck.
My best bet to find more trumpeters was just down the road. Dozens of swans had been sighted at a labyrinth of ponds tucked along a forest edge earlier in the week. Sure enough, as I pulled off the road by the Duck Soup Inn I saw trumpeters on Dream Lake. I stayed in my car - using it as a blind - so as not to disturb them. The soft, white swans were spread across the drab, slaty water in a stark example of winter's many shades of gray. There was a pair of adults with three juveniles resting in the center of the lake; and another pair with one offspring dodging into a cattail crawl. Looking closely along the shore, I could see several swans tipped up, taking advantage of their long necks to feed on underwater vegetation. Identifying swans sometimes necessitates noting big white rumps as well as long slender necks. It took a few minutes of counting and recounting, but I finally settled on twenty-two adults and four juveniles as my total. Even from a distance, I could tell some of the swans were watching me, watching them. The cardinal rule in swan watching is "Do not disturb." Keeping one's distance is vital to insure these birds feel secure. If harassed or unsettled, swans have been known to abandon important feeding and resting areas. I honored their presence by quietly moving on. I finished my loop at Egg Lake. In years gone by, the swans thrived there, but recently their numbers have been down. No swans here. The coots, cormorants, and grebes were right at home, though, and a pair of Bald Eagles kept watch across the waves. There was still time on the clock when I completed my run, but there were other volunteers about the island counting swans, too, so I headed back to town. I wished the birders well, knowing there were dozens of lakes, ponds, flooded fields, marshes, and nook and crannies that were perfect swan habitat. When I got home, I e-mailed Cherill Perera on Lopez with my tally. Cherill has coordinated the survey for years. Her skills in computer technology and data collection have been an asset to the project. The preliminary total for the count was just under 60 swans, including only four on Orcas and eight on Lopez. It will be some time before all the data is compiled, however. In 1932, Trumpeter Swans - plundered for their food, feathers and skins - were nearly extinct . A census revealed that only 69 trumpeters survived in the vicinity of Yellowstone National Park. The slaughter of the birds had been stopped, but most experts thought conservation efforts had begun too late to save them. In 1940, Gabrielson and Jewett, wrote in Birds of Oregon:
Sixty-four years later, Trumpeter Swans flourish in large numbers throughout the United States. And, in the San Juan Islands, as elsewhere, the swan saga continues. Each fall, the trumpeters return to their favored marshes and ponds seeking refuge; and each fall, the swan count commences. The data matters. Public awareness of the swans' presence here is also important to their longevity, as the steadfast birds have become symbols of successful conservation efforts. Now, there are almost as many swans wintering in the San Juans as were counted in that landmark survey in 1932. We know how close the swans came to extinction. It is a survival story worth remembering and building upon. And so, we shall keep counting swans.
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