UPLAND SANDPIPERS

     One afternoon in the middle of August, several years ago, I saw a flock of about twelve birds fly swiftly across the country road I was driving on in southern Lebanon County, Pennsylvania.  Those birds flew low, and close to my car, allowing me a good, though quick, look at them.  They had pointed, swept-back wings and were a bit larger than American robins.  They were light-brown with darker streaking and had small heads and large, dark, appealing eyes.  I couldn't identify them, because they were new to me.  But looking in a field guide of birds in eastern North America, I learned they were upland sandpipers, an inland kind of shorebird that nests on prairies and other tall-grass habitats during spring and summer, mostly in northcentral North America.  I realized, too, that those uplanders must have raised young in the surrounding 70 plus acres of tall grass along the country road I was on.  And, in August, gathered in preparation for their migration to Argentine grasslands to continue consuming invertebrates, and escape the northern winter.
     Upland sandpipers arrive in the remaining prairies and other grasslands of the Lower United States, Canada and Alaska by the third week in April.  Their nesting habitats in the mid-west were larger before that part of the continent was cultivated.  This sandpiper species also reared offspring in the eastern United States when that region was cleared of forests for farming, including in southern Lebanon County.    
     About ten pairs of uplanders arrived on the 70 plus acres of tall grass used to raise beef cattle to hatch four young per pair.  Early in May, for at least a few years, I visited those acres to hear and see those inland sandpipers courting.  Males climbed high in the sky until they were mere specks, then each one uttered drawn-out whistles that rose in pitch, then descended like long "wolf" whistles of an impudent, teenage boy.  Then those little, dark spots floating high on the wind, plummeted to the ground, leveled out on quivering, shallow-beating wings and landed on fence posts as male upland sandpipers.  Each bird then raised and lowered its wings gracefully and chattered a few series of rapid notes, as if getting in one more claim of its breeding territory.  A few male uplanders courting at once was always exciting to experience from those fields of tall grass where male eastern meadowlarks and red-winged blackbirds also once sang.  
     Each female upland sandpiper, like females in the rest of her family of shorebirds, lays one brood of four eggs each spring.  Female uplanders lay and brood theirs in grass nurseries under tall grass.  The young hatch fuzzy, camouflaged, open-eyed and ready to seek their own invertebrate food among the dense jungles of tall grasses.  Some uplander eggs are preyed on by skunks and raccoons.  And red foxes and long-tailed weasels eat some of the young, particularly before they can fly.  But some uplander chicks grow to full size and can fly within several weeks.
     Unfortunately for the upland sandpipers in that area of southern Lebanon County that I have visited annually, the grassland farm was sold and the new owner plants corn and soybeans.  The sandpipers were out of luck for nesting grounds there.  Loss of nesting habitat is the most serious problem uplanders face.     
     However, upland sandpipers still raise offspring in parts of the American and Canadian prairies and tall-grass meadows, habitats they need to hatch youngsters.  There the long, haunting whistles and rapid chatters of male uplanders are still heard drifting down to waves of wind-blown, tall grass.
     The wild, unique whistles of upland sandpipers high in the sky are exciting to hear.  And the lithe, handsome figures of those birds perched on fence posts are thrilling to see.  I sincerely hope these beautiful, charming birds can keep raising young each year among acres of wind-waving, tall grasses.