This is part of the 2020 Digital Seaside Center. For more Digital Seaside Center content, click here.

Hello everyone! Welcome back to Local Wildlife Weekly.

This past holiday weekend was a bit different than most, but still (for better or for worse) saw crowds descend on beaches throughout the region. Fireworks blared over the Sound, lighting up the night with sound and color. People whooped and hollered and ran barefoot over the sand, leaving litter and debris in their wake. Dogs chased runaway frisbees up into the dune grasses. The period around Fourth of July, in all its bravado, is one of high risk for beach-nesting birds. These remarkable species make do in an already exposed and unforgiving habitat, and the pressures put on them by human neighbors exacerbate such stressors to no end. As a result, they are some of our most threatened local species. Few are as imperiled as the much-loved, much-hated, piping plover.

Introducing: The Piping Plover

An adult male Piping Plover at Milford Point, Milford, CT. Photo by Brendan Murtha.

The piping plover, Charadrius melodus, may not exactly fit the bill of the “little known” species I promised to profile in this blog series. By some definitions piping plovers are exceedingly well known (even notorious in certain circles). Yet for all their infamy they are rarely ever seen. As a result, the debate surrounding this bird is often so charged and misinformed that the character and ecology of the plovers are effectively sidelined; the birds become more symbol than living, breathing organism. This is a shame. For all their political baggage, piping plovers are some of the most unassuming and gentle of our local birds. They are a delight to observe and it is an honor to share beach space with them. In this post I will attempt to “reclaim” the plovers, presenting their story on their own terms. I harbor the belief that even the most militant opponents of closed and monitored beaches would soften up if they took time to know the plovers; they are simply not the enemy these people are looking for. If some readers have no idea what conflict I’m referring to here, I will explain— but first, some background.

Piping plovers are just one of many migratory shorebirds you can see on the shores of the Long Island Sound. They are in family Charadriidae, which includes both plovers and lapwings (not found in North America). Functionally this family is often grouped with the “sandpipers” (family Scolopacidae) to comprise what we locally call “shorebirds” (a term I used above); these birds share characteristics including long-ish legs, migratory tendencies, and a taste for invertebrates in the intertidal zone. Plovers are typically squat and round, with stubby bills, and unlike sandpipers like to pick instead of probe. Piping plovers can not stick their bill deep into the mud, and instead peck food from the surface— especially small worms if they can find them. Most species of shorebird we see around the Sound are just passing through in spring and fall, on their way to and from high arctic breeding grounds, but piping plovers are one of a handful of species that stay through the summer to raise young on our shores. These birds have claimed a habitat few others can handle— the open, exposed beaches of the Atlantic Coast.

To us beaches can seem idyllic, lulled in the soothing hum of crashing waves and basking in warm, brilliant rays. The hot, gleaming sands are inviting; the elements feel good on our skin. Many of the characteristics we look for in a good beach, however, make it a harsh place for wildlife to make a living. There is no shade, no cover: the sun beats down, the rain falls hard, the winds whip without reprise. Heavy surf washes clean most deposition, so not much organic material accumulates— shifting sands support little life. Any bird nesting on a beach must nest on the ground, where predators (foxes, raccoons, gulls) have easy access to tasty eggs and young. This is no easy place to raise a family. Piping Plovers deserve every parenting award in the book.

While the sheltered beaches of the Sound are not nearly as tumultuous as those on the open coastline, many of these stressors remain. Watching little piping plovers tame these conditions, and thrive in them, is as remarkable here as it is on Cape Cod (or elsewhere). In some ways the Sound provides ideal plover habitat, for with little wave action rich intertidal zones develop— plovers benefit immensely from having rich muds in close proximity to white sands. Such a combination is unusual, however— too few waves and a shoreline turns to mudflat or marsh, too many waves and there is little food to eat. It is partly for this reason Plovers love narrow barrier beaches, where they can move from nests on the sandy outer shore to foraging areas on the muddy margin inside. Finding the right balance is difficult.

The birds depend on bright sands for nesting because their camouflage is impeccably suited for that habitat: garbed in a pale, washed-out gray, they can melt into the landscape when unmoving. People don’t often think of birds when they think of camouflage masters, or at least not birds of the shore, yet piping plovers could give any woodland insect a run for their money. Restricted to upper reaches of the beach due to tides, plovers will lay eggs in a mere scrape of the sand, barely a discernible nest. These may be tucked into the shadow of a beach-grass clump or a piece of driftwood/debris: the tiny, speckled eggs are almost invisible against the dusted patterns in the sand. Young plovers, tiny and downy, are also finely speckled and have a convenient habit of vanishing when still, as the photo below might illustrate. This camouflage is a necessary adaptation to deal with one of the dangers of open-ground nesting: predators are a constant concern.

Spot the Piping Plover chick! (Hint: it’s against the cluster of slipper shells on the right-hand side). Photo by Brendan Murtha.

This female Piping Plover matches the sandy backdrop almost perfectly. Photo by Brendan Murtha.

Of course, this camouflage can also work against the bird when humans are around. Without malicious intent, clumsy beachgoers can trample nests and young simply because they don’t see them. This issue is made much worse in beach-areas with off-road vehicles. Such is the unique predicament of the piping plover— the adaptations it’s developed to survive are now being used against it. Human beach traffic was the “predator” plovers never saw coming.

Piping plovers were probably never a particularly abundant shorebird— they nest in a restricted habitat and are always found in low densities. This made their decline in the 20th century all the more concerning. As Atlantic shorelines were developed and the leisurely “beach-day” was made recreationally accessible to more and more people, nesting plovers found themselves with fewer and fewer places to go. They were pushed into unsuitable habitat and areas with many predators (both native and introduced). Coexistence between plovers and crowds looked to be impossible. Conservation efforts finally ramped up after the plovers were federally listed in 1986, and soon the beach enclosure became a standard tool of management. Roping off large areas of the beach from public access— pristine habitat coveted by beachgoers— was bound to draw ire, and it certainly did. When the plovers started interfering with coastal development projects, that ire turned to hatred. Due to the plovers’ small size and secretive nature, most beachgoers and developers never see them— all they can see are vast stretches of enticing beachfront roped off, ostensibly empty. Here was the insult, the divide, upon which plovers became a symbol of government/conservation overreach. In some areas the tension is still high— litigation continues on Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard as we speak. The invisible enemy is apt to get under ones’ skin, and it’s clear many beachgoers don’t have a concrete sense of the wonder being preserved through these measures. Overcoming that divide is difficult, but education is an essential step.

There are disjunct piping plover populations surviving on alkaline flats and lakes of the high prairie, as well as on the shores of the Western Great Lakes. Each population faces its own slew of threats, but few have drawn the national attention of those on contested Atlantic shorelines. Still, the efforts are paying off. While the plovers are still uncommon and local, their numbers are increasing— numbers on the Atlantic Coast have nearly doubled since a low of just 790 pairs in 1986. Still, that puts their population at less than 2,000 pairs today— this is still a threatened bird by any standard. More work is needed. Now, in the face of rising sea levels and strengthened hurricanes, previous methods are not enough— the plovers can’t catch a break!

In Connecticut piping plovers can be found at a handful of locations, and this year have expanded into new nesting areas (including closer to Greenwich than ever before). Especially early in the season, the birds were benefitting immensely from the low beach traffic. They are still having a good season statewide. Still, it shouldn’t take a global pandemic for one of our most adorable and wholesome birds to feel safe and secure— the onus is on all of us to understand and respect the plovers even when things are back to normal. It is important we understand why they’re threatened and why the conservation measures put in place look the way they do. These are not random acts of overreach— the beach is the plovers’ home, and they don’t have much home left. Most of us are mere visitors there.

I hope you come away from this post with a newfound appreciation and understanding for the plovers’ natural history and resultant conservation. I also hope you get a chance to interact with plovers someday, if you haven’t already— just remember to be cautious, polite, and to keep your distance. Plovers can be tame if you afford them room to thrive— the birds will continue to do their thing, a remarkable show of resilience in the face of all this. In a time where resilience seems a more necessary trait than ever, we should feel lucky to watch and learn from them. Solidarity forever!

Until next week! Cheers!

- Brendan Murtha, 2020 Seaside Center Naturalist