Many people who visit St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge are careful spotters of birds and other wildlife. They make an important contribution to data collection from the observations they record on the designated charts at the Visitor Center. The information is valued and valuable. For exampleone of my responsibilities is compiling the rare and occasional wildlife sightings from the charts as part of the archive data. Being a birder of sorts, not only am I delighted with the assignment, but it is fascinating and informative, as well.

Naturally, access to such data led to begging. I asked to go with Refuge Biologist Joe Reinman on one of his waterfowl counts recently. “I promise I won’t talk.” I was curious to learn how Joe did this job for science, keeping such careful track of patterns for over 20 years at this refuge in the service of Fish and Wildlife.

Early on a cold, grey December morn, we set out in Joe’s pickup and began a serious, systematic perusal of every refuge pond. My job was to unlock and resecure the gates, sit still, and shut up. Now and then my skills were good enough that I could point out a few ducks for the count, but largely I tried to behave. Mostly I watched as Joe’s window-mounted scope swept slowly and methodically, left to right over an imaginary grid in each pond. I counted too, learning to use patterns of land and birds to help, and mentally compared my count to Joe’s. I came closer to his as the day passed.

We made a quick sweep at the lighthouse and noted 22 Oystercatchers on a sandbar not far off shore. “I’ve never liked that name. What’s to catch?” That opened a day-long reflection on bird names. “Clark’s Nutcracker. Not too inventive – ‘Oh look, that bird’s cracking a nut. We’ll call it….’” Later, “Yellowlegs. See, now there’s a good name for a bird.” And so on.

Part of Joe’s responsibility is managing and monitoring the complex water systems at the refuge. Some impoundments are fresh water, some brackish, and some tidal. At each pond, Joe recorded the water level, and at one, late in the day with a promise of more rain to come, he leapt out of the car, took a longhandled hook from the back of the truck, leaned over the concrete barrier, and yanked a board from the gate. Out gushed the water, making its way back to the Gulf. Careful follow-up monitoring over the next few days will govern further decisions.

We sighted a respectable variety of ducks in the impoundments. Joe’s keen eye identified various species in flight, by profile, by dabbling or diving, and of course by full view in the scope. Our view was enhanced by the raised levees that networked the impoundments, but tall grasses and small islands here and there made accuracy a real challenge.

Seeking a specific species count among thousands of birds is a challenge made even more difficult by the behavior of several cavorting Bald Eagles. The young birds teased the waterfowl, flying over, faking a dive, and scattering everything within a 220 yard radius to safety on another pond, usually, the one where Joe just completed the count. Joe’s dignity and integrity as a wildlife biologist prevents him from taking aggressive action.

The nemesis for the day, though, was American Coots: as time passed, through the cold and rain showers, now and then

heard Joe mutter, “Tired of counting Coots. I’m so tired of Coots.” It seems that these birds consider St. Marks NWR the Winter Resort of Choice for 2009. “I want to count no more Coots,” Joe moaned. But still, around every bend, Coots. The numbers approached 25,000. That’s a lot of Coots.

Coots are here in record numbers, according to Joe. He is forthcoming with information. Speculation includes that the water is too high in other locations and there is better feeding here; because of all the rain, there may be too much particulate matter suspended in the water elsewhere. Is this considered an irruptive population? Maybe.

At the end of the day, the clouds forgave the sun and allowed it to shed spectacular light over the refuge. Chilled and tired, we locked the final gate behind us and headed home. Joe whispered to the wind, “There are Coots I missed. I certainly missed Coots today.” Rest easy, Joe. A job well done.