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Cardinal Marsh
As soon as we stepped out of the car, we heard Marsh Wrens calling and the primitive, strangling sound of Yellow-headed Blackbirds. Soon, a Sora whinnied and a Killdeer called its name. Dickcissels clicked. Willow Flycatchers flew out from perches to catch insects in midair. Acrobatic swallows swooped to skim prey near the surface of a pond. Great Blue Herons waited patiently to snap aquatic creatures from shallow water.
It was July 2, 2004 and we had arrived just in time for the evening performance at Cardinal Marsh, a 566 acre Iowa State Wildlife Area and Audubon Important Bird Area about 15 miles west of Decorah, Iowa that consists of wetland, woodland, grassland, savanna/shrub, and riparian habitats. With me were Dennis Carter, longtime Iowa birder and aficionado of the marsh; Tex Sordahl, Luther College ornithologist; my friend Mary Lewis, who kindly indulges my passion for birds; and Dana Gardner, illustrator of field guides for birds and the books of Alexander Skutch. I have known Dana since 1999 when he contacted me about illustrating some of my columns for the “Fillmore County Journal.” Whenever he visits his hometown of Lanesboro, Minnesota, not far from my home in the woods, we look for birds together in our favorite haunts and other hot spots in the area, including Cardinal Marsh.
As we walked the path around three ponds, we heard the squeaky song of an American Redstart and the “wichity, wichity, wichity” of a Common Yellowthroat, but no other warblers. Dennis and I lamented the alarming decrease in warblers over recent years. Other species, however, did not disappoint us. Indigo Buntings sang “fire-fire, where-where, here-here.” Chipping, Field, and Song Sparrows were abundant, as were Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers and Northern Flickers. In the third pond, we witnessed the most entertaining event of the evening--two male Ruddy Ducks in display, raising their tails over their backs, bouncing their heads, slapping their astoundingly bright blue bills against their chests, and rushing across the water with much splashing of wings and feet. By the time we returned to the car it was almost dark. We had hoped to hear the gulping call of the thunder pumper, an American Bittern, but no such luck.
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