Published: 10/14/2006

Finding rails is an adventure close to home

Words on Birds

Steve Grinley

I've had numerous comments about my birding "adventures," which I've shared with you in this space. Many enjoyed last month's journey through Arizona, where I was challenged by narrow mountain roads, steep canyons and rattlesnakes on my quest for birds. But I found out this week that one doesn't have to venture out of town to find adventure.

On Monday morning, Ron Lockwood of Bolton tracked me down at the Mass. Audubon Joppa Flats Education Center to inform me that he had seen a yellow rail that morning in the marsh near Plum Bush, just this side of the Plum Island Bridge. He said he had been looking in that area for the last 10 years for a yellow rail, thinking it was an ideal habitat for one. They do breed in northern Maine and eastern Canada, so they must come through here in migration. It is difficult enough to find rails - even our local breeding rails do a fine job of slithering through the marsh grasses undetected. They move between two blades of grass without moving, as in "thin as a rail." The yellow rail is the second smallest rail and a rare fall migrant in Massachusetts. Most of the recent sightings, since the mid-1950s anyway, have been from Cape Cod.

Needless to say, I headed straight for Plum Bush. Ron had to leave, but he gave me directions to where he had seen it. I called my friend, Phil Brown, and told him about the bird. He was in Ipswich, but said that he would meet me there in 15 minutes. When I arrived at the area just south of the Plum Island Turnpike, it was after low tide and the astronomically high tide that was expected that afternoon was beginning to come in. Phil arrived and we walked out into the marsh, walking parallel to the road toward the river. Of course, my rubber boots were not in the car, but my hiking shoes were getting old enough to sacrifice for this bird.

Phil and I split up and meandered our way along the numerous canals and ditches, occasionally hopping over one to get to the next. Our only hope was to flush the bird and then get on it with our binoculars. We encountered a few saltmarsh sharp-tailed sparrows, but no rail. Two hours of searching turned up nothing, and we were worried about being stranded by the tide. We made our way back to the cars and decided to go to the Island and bird for a while. We planned to come back at high tide, hoping that the bird would be up high enough to scope from the parking lot.

As it turned out, we had few birds on the refuge. At around 2 p.m., we decided to make our way back to Plum Bush and, we hoped, the rail. Driving up the refuge road, I received a call from Ida Giriunas: "Steve! Chris Floyd, John and Audrey are out in the middle of the marsh with a scope and they are waving their arms like they have the bird! There is no way I can get out there." I told Ida that we were on our way. Now, Ida is an 80-something feisty lady and excellent birder, whom I've spoken about before. When we arrived at the paved parking lot at the bridge, Ida had her two ski poles with her and was determined, despite hip-replacements, etc., to see that bird. Molly, in her 70s, was with Ida, and equally determined.

Out in the middle of the marsh, or should I say water, were Chris, John and Audrey, with a scope and signaling that they had the bird in sight. The tide was very high - two feet above the marsh grasses with only the stands of phragmites and cattails rising above the water. It was near impossible to tell where the canals and ditches were, as the tall grasses waved under the water. Phil and I did know that there was a deep canal running along the road and beside the paved lot that would easily be over our heads, so we went back to the Plum Bush turnout and walked in from there, as we had done that morning. We tried to follow the route we had taken in the morning and avoid the deep ditches and canals as best we could. Phil went first and I tried to follow, but I could not move as fast as he through the deep, flooded grass. I looked back and Ida and Molly also began to feel their way along, trying to follow our lead.

As Phil approached the others with the scope, I wasn't so lucky. One foot found a ditch and I went down, over my waist, binoculars and all. Thank goodness they were waterproof! I recovered and continued on, stumbled again, but finally reached the others. A look through the scope yielded a bird not more than 12 feet away, hidden in the grass. I could make out an eye, and then a bill, and as it moved slightly, the striping on its back. Not the best look, but enough to identify it as a yellow rail. As we positioned ourselves around the bird, John found another hole and went in over his waist. I did the same, this time in a muddy ditch so my jeans were full of mud and I got wet up to the chest. Luckily I had my cell phone in my left shirt pocket, which somehow remained dry as the right pocket was drenched.

Chris went back to help Ida and Molly find their way around the ditches. I would certainly have been of no help. They finally arrived and had the same views, although from slightly different angles, of the rail. We then saw Davis Noble of Marblehead and Steve Sutton of Lancaster making their way to us. However, they had even more problems than I at negotiating the canals and, at times, we couldn't even see Davis' white hat, and he is much taller than I! When Davis and Steve finally arrived a half hour later they were dripping from the neck down and Davis' digital camera was wet, the bird had moved enough in the grass and we couldn't see it.

After searching the grass with our binoculars and scope and not having seen the bird leave, we decided to approach the spot. Phil, Steve and I surrounded the spot and walked toward each other. When we met, the bird was not there. We went back and forth several times over the area, and nothing! The bird had disappeared. Phil walked one more time over the spot and, suddenly, out flew the rail! It flew about 30 feet, for all to see the white wing patches, and it lit atop a grass clump where Phil got pictures and I and others got full views. After viewing the bird for a few minutes, it again disappeared and further searching seemed fruitless.

We were all wet and tired. Someone commented that we were lucky that it was warm enough so that we weren't cold standing in two feet of water in wet "street" clothes. The tide was now receding and we decided to give the rail and ourselves a rest. We made our way slowly back to the cars, wet and tired, but satisfied with finding a yellow rail, which was a life bird for most of us.