Category: Aquatic Birds

  • Fall Migrations Along Onslow County

    Fall Migrations Along Onslow County

    Late August does not look much like fall along the Onslow County coast.

    The sand is still hot. Afternoon thunderstorms still build over the mainland. The ocean can remain warm enough that stepping into it hardly feels like relief.

    But beneath the surface, fall has already begun.

    Fish that spent summer scattered through sounds, creeks, reefs, and nearshore water begin gathering. Shrimp start working their way out of nursery creeks. Mature female blue crabs move toward saltier water. Schools of mullet begin appearing along the beaches. Sharks that spent the warmer months farther north or inside coastal waters begin shifting south or offshore.

    Above them, the birds begin changing too.

    Some are preparing to leave. Others are arriving from places hundreds or thousands of miles away. Still others simply become more noticeable because suddenly there is food everywhere.

    What looks from shore like a few gulls working over the water, a school of baitfish flashing beside a pier, or pelicans repeatedly diving beyond the breakers is part of something much larger.

    For a few months each fall, the food web itself begins to move.

    When the Water Begins to Change

    Animals do not wait for a date on the calendar. Along the coast, fall arrives through changes in water temperature and daylight, but also through salinity, currents, rainfall, food availability, and the timing of reproduction. Different species respond to different combinations of those signals, which means the seasonal movement beginning beneath the surface is not one migration triggered in one way.

    For some animals, cooling water begins narrowing where they can comfortably remain. King mackerel (Scomberomorus cavalla) favor warm coastal water and become less common as temperatures fall much below about 68°F, while cobia (Rachycentron canadum) begin leaving northern summer habitats as water cools through roughly the same range. Spotted seatrout (Cynoscion nebulosus) respond differently. Rather than leaving our estuaries altogether, they begin shifting toward creeks, channels, and deeper water where a few additional feet of depth can provide protection from the colder temperatures still to come (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2022; Jensen & Graves, 2020; Ellis, Buckel, & Hightower, 2017; Ellis, Buckel, Hightower, & Poland, 2017).

    King mackerel (Scomberomorus cavalla), a warm-water coastal fish that becomes less common as fall temperatures drop. | Image credit: Sylvain Le Bris, iNaturalist
    King mackerel (Scomberomorus cavalla), a warm-water coastal fish that becomes less common as fall temperatures drop. | Image credit: Sylvain Le Bris, iNaturalist

    Temperature can work together with another signal that changes every year whether the weather feels like fall or not: shortening daylight. Blacktip and sandbar sharks moving along the western Atlantic begin their southward migration as sea-surface temperatures change and the days grow shorter, leaving northern and Mid-Atlantic summer habitats and gradually shifting toward the South Atlantic Bight and Florida for winter and spring (Manz et al., 2025).

    For other animals, autumn movement is tied less to escaping cooling water than to reaching the next stage of their life cycle. Southern flounder (Paralichthys lethostigma) spend their first years in estuarine waters, where shallow sounds, rivers, and creeks provide nursery and feeding habitat. Females begin maturing surprisingly early: some are reproductively mature by age one, most by age two, and nearly all by age three. Immature fish can remain within the estuary through winter, but once mature, southern flounder begin joining the fall movement through the inlets and toward offshore spawning grounds (Midway & Scharf, 2012; Craig et al., 2015).

    That means fish of different ages can occupy the same estuary through summer and then take different paths as fall develops. A young flounder may remain behind while an older fish that spent the season feeding in the same system begins moving toward the ocean.

    So while late-August water may still feel thoroughly summerlike to someone standing waist-deep at Topsail, the animals beneath the surface are already responding to a season that is only beginning to become visible above it.

    One of the first clues may simply be a fish jumping beside you.

    The Mullet Begin to Run

    Striped, or sea, mullet (Mugil cephalus) spend much of the warmer season feeding throughout estuaries, sounds, tidal creeks, and protected coastal waters. By late summer, however, their movements begin to change. In North Carolina, striped mullet travel most actively between August and November as mature fish leave rivers, sounds, and tidal creeks for marine spawning habitat. Their journey carries them through the inlets and offshore into the South Atlantic Bight, with spawning habitat extending from nearshore waters toward the outer continental shelf where shelf water meets the influence of the Gulf Stream (Bacheler et al., 2005). For fish that spent the summer inside an estuary, that is a considerable change in geography, but still a relatively regional migration compared with species that will later continue much farther south along the Atlantic coast.

    Striped mullet (Mugil cephalus) schooling in shallow coastal water. | Image credit: rangerval, iNaturalist
    Striped mullet (Mugil cephalus) schooling in shallow coastal water. | Image credit: rangerval, iNaturalist

    They begin making that seasonal journey relatively young. About half of North Carolina striped mullet are reproductively mature by age one, although maturity varies among individuals, and older adults may return to estuarine habitats after spawning. Rather than leaving the estuary permanently as they mature, they move between estuarine feeding grounds and marine spawning habitat as part of a seasonal cycle (Bichy, 2004; Bacheler et al., 2005).

    For beachgoers, this can become one of the easiest fall migrations to notice. Fish that spent summer spread through rivers, creeks, and sounds begin collecting into increasingly conspicuous schools as they move toward inlets and coastal water. Once along the ocean beach, dense schools may travel remarkably close to shore, sometimes darkening the shallows or stretching along the surf zone beyond what can be seen from one spot. Mullet are frequent jumpers as well, so a school may first reveal itself as silver fish repeatedly breaking the surface.
    By the time those schools reach the inlet and beach, they are carrying more than themselves with them. Striped mullet feed low in the food web, consuming algae, detritus, and organic material associated with estuarine sediments. As thousands of them move out of the estuary, that stored production moves with them and becomes available to the larger fishes, sharks, and birds that feed along the coast (Bacheler et al., 2005).

    Those predators are already moving through the same corridor. Bluefish (Pomatomus saltatrix) feed heavily on schooling fishes such as mullet, menhaden, and silversides. Spanish mackerel (Scomberomorus maculatus) work schools of anchovies and other small baitfish, while blacktip sharks (Carcharhinus limbatus) and spinner sharks (Carcharhinus brevipinna) take advantage of dense concentrations of coastal prey.

    The fall mullet run is therefore more than thousands of fish leaving an estuary. It is estuarine production moving through the inlet and onto the beach, where it begins to intersect with predators following their own seasonal routes.

    That intersection is what makes the migration suddenly visible. A school that might otherwise pass unnoticed can tighten near shore as bluefish, mackerel, sharks, and birds begin responding to the same moving concentration of prey.

    Spanish Mackerel, Bluefish, and the Surface Chase

    Sometimes the easiest way to find a migration is not to look for the animals themselves, but for what happens to the water when they arrive.

    Spanish mackerel (Scomberomorus maculatus) spend the warmer months moving north along the Atlantic coast, reaching North Carolina in spring and remaining through summer and early fall while coastal water stays above roughly 68°F. As that warm-water window begins closing, they turn south again toward winter habitat off Florida, feeding heavily along the way on anchovies, silversides, menhaden, mullet, and other small schooling fishes (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2026; Sutherland & Fable, 1980).

    Spanish mackerel (Scomberomorus maculatus) traveling in a dense school. | Image credit: Shutterstock
    Spanish mackerel (Scomberomorus maculatus) traveling in a dense school. | Image credit: Shutterstock

    Bluefish (Pomatomus saltatrix) are moving through the same changing coast, but their fall pattern varies with age. Smaller bluefish tend to migrate south along the shoreline as water cools, while larger adults make more of an inshore-to-offshore shift. Farther north, fall movement begins as water drops into roughly the mid-50s Fahrenheit, gradually carrying fish into the warmer coastal waters to the south (Lund & Maltezos, 1970).
    By the time those movements reach the Carolina coast, they are crossing water already crowded with prey. Anchovies, silversides, juvenile menhaden, and other tiny schooling fishes—many of the fishes beachgoers collectively call “glass minnows”—can become compressed near the surface, and even wash onto shore, as mackerel and bluefish strike through the schools from below.

    Little tunny (Euthynnus alletteratus), better known locally as false albacore, can join that fall activity around inlets and nearshore waters as well. They too make seasonal movements along the Atlantic coast, shifting north through the warmer part of the year and south again through fall and winter while feeding in fast-moving schools (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2026).

    Little tunny (Euthynnus alletteratus), also known as false albacore, moving in a feeding school. | Image credit: aurelpap, iNaturalist
    Little tunny (Euthynnus alletteratus), also known as false albacore, moving in a feeding school. | Image credit: aurelpap, iNaturalist

    From the beach, separating one predator from another may be nearly impossible. What becomes visible instead is the chase. A patch of otherwise smooth ocean suddenly begins to boil as tiny fish scatter across the surface. Gulls and terns converge overhead, pelicans turn toward the commotion, and dark backs or silver flashes cut through the school below.

    Sometimes the entire event moves several hundred yards down the beach within minutes.

    And the animals doing the chasing are still part of the food web themselves. Spanish mackerel and bluefish may be predators here, but both can become prey for larger sharks and tunas farther up the same moving chain. A small fish feeding on plankton becomes food for a mackerel; that mackerel may later become food for a shark.

    Fall has compressed several levels of the food web into the same patch of water, and for a few minutes the whole thing becomes visible from shore.

    The Sharks Following Fall

    Shark migration can sound dramatic because sharks are dramatic animals.

    Ecologically, however, their fall movements make perfect sense. Food is moving, water temperature is changing, nursery seasons are ending, and remaining in shallow water becomes increasingly expensive for animals whose body temperature largely follows the environment around them.

    Blacktip sharks (Carcharhinus limbatus) and spinner sharks (Carcharhinus brevipinna) are warm-water coastal sharks frequently associated with schools of mullet, menhaden, and other fishes.

    Blacktip (Carcharhinus limbatus) and spinner sharks (Carcharhinus brevipinna) can look very similar; fin markings and body proportions help separate the two. | Image credit: Bowers & Kaijiura, 2023
    Blacktip (Carcharhinus limbatus) and spinner sharks (Carcharhinus brevipinna) can look very similar; fin markings and body proportions help separate the two. | Image credit: Bowers & Kaijiura, 2023

    As coastal waters cool, these highly mobile sharks begin shifting south. For blacktips, that can mean a substantial journey: sharks that spent the warmer months along the Carolinas and farther north move down the Atlantic coast toward Florida, with large winter aggregations forming in the warm coastal waters of southeast Florida. Spinner sharks also shift south as autumn progresses, although exactly how their seasonal routes connect Carolina summer habitat with winter habitat farther south is less clearly understood (Manz et al., 2025).
    Their movement is not caused by prey alone. Temperature and the gradually shortening length of the day contribute to the timing of autumn migration, while concentrations of prey can influence where sharks pause and feed along the route (Manz et al., 2025). That shortening daylight is the actual span between sunrise and sunset—not the hour shown on our clocks. The gradual loss of daylight from late summer into fall provides a predictable seasonal signal even when water temperatures vary from one year to the next.

    The shallow coastal habitats these sharks use during migration are also important much earlier in life. Blacktip pups are born in protected nursery areas away from most adults, and young sharks can remain associated with shallow coastal habitat for several years as they grow. Males generally reach maturity around four to five years old, while females mature closer to six or seven; spinner sharks follow a similarly slow timetable, with females maturing later than males (Carlson et al., 2006; NOAA Fisheries, 2017).

    That means the shallow water along the coast is not simply a birthplace young sharks immediately leave behind. It can remain part of their world through several juvenile years before the broader seasonal movements of adulthood become established. Exactly how strongly young sharks remain connected to individual nursery areas is still being studied, but nursery habitat can shape where they spend some of the most vulnerable years of their lives (Heupel et al., 2007; NOAA Fisheries, 2017, 2024).

    Around New River Inlet and the beaches of Topsail, those later seasonal movements begin intersecting with the migrations already underway. Schools of mullet, Spanish mackerel, and other coastal fishes can create concentrated feeding opportunities along the same corridor, and both blacktips and spinner sharks may breach during fast pursuits, with spinner sharks sometimes twisting through the air in the leaps that gave the species its name (Bangley, 2014).

    A beachgoer watching a fall bait ball may therefore be seeing several stages of the coastal food web converge in the same narrow stretch of water.

    Atlantic sharpnose sharks (Rhizoprionodon terraenovae) use shallow coastal waters, sounds, bays, and estuaries throughout the warmer months. Adults are generally only a few feet long and feed on small fishes, shrimp, crabs, squid, and other coastal prey (Bethea et al., 2006; Roskar et al., 2024).

    Their fall movement is much smaller in scale than the southward migration of blacktips. During summer, Atlantic sharpnose are abundant in the shallow nearshore waters of Onslow Bay, where both immature and mature sharks occur and pups are likely born. As autumn progresses, they become less common in those shallow areas and shift toward deeper coastal habitat. Adults have even been found using offshore wrecks in North Carolina during winter before returning toward shallower water in spring (Roskar et al., 2024).

    So for Atlantic sharpnose, fall may mean moving offshore without leaving the region entirely. Predation does not disappear from the coastal food web; it simply shifts into a different part of it.

    Atlantic sharpnose shark (Rhizoprionodon terraenovae), a small coastal shark common in North Carolina’s warmer months. | Image credit: Virginia Institute of Marine Science
    Atlantic sharpnose shark (Rhizoprionodon terraenovae), a small coastal shark common in North Carolina’s warmer months. | Image credit: Virginia Institute of Marine Science

    Sandbar sharks (Carcharhinus plumbeus) show how different that scale can become. Young sandbars spend the warmer months in shallow nursery habitat farther north along the Mid-Atlantic, then move offshore and south during late September and October. Many repeat that seasonal route for several years as juveniles, wintering from North Carolina toward Florida before returning north in spring. As they grow, the journey expands, with older sandbars ranging from southern New England to Florida and Cuba (Merson & Pratt, 2001; McCandless et al., 2007; Kohler et al., 1998).

    Their autumn departure is tied closely to cooling water and shortening day length, while prey encountered along the route determines where they may stop and feed (Manz et al., 2025).

    Sandbar sharks (Carcharhinus plumbeus), a large coastal species that shifts south and offshore as fall progresses. | Image credit: Simon Peggs, iNaturalist
    Sandbar sharks (Carcharhinus plumbeus), a large coastal species that shifts south and offshore as fall progresses. | Image credit: Simon Peggs, iNaturalist

    Off Onslow County, artificial reefs and natural hard-bottom habitats add patches of structure to that broader migration corridor. AR-342, the Onslow Bay Saltwater Fishing Club Reef, lies in about 49 feet of water and is one such patch where fishes and other prey can concentrate along the shelf (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2017).

    A reef does not have to be an animal’s destination to matter. Sometimes it is simply a place to feed before the migration continues.

    AR-342, the Onslow Bay Saltwater Fishing Club Reef, shown within the nearshore reef network off Onslow County. | Image credit: NC Division of Marine Fisheries
    AR-342, the Onslow Bay Saltwater Fishing Club Reef, shown within the nearshore reef network off Onslow County. | Image credit: NC Division of Marine Fisheries

    Cobia and the Last Warm-Water Feeding

    Cobia (Rachycentron canadum) are another warm-season visitor beginning to run out of time. During spring and summer they move north along the Atlantic coast, using coastal and offshore waters from the Carolinas into Chesapeake Bay and farther north. They favor warm water, generally around 68–86°F, and as autumn temperatures begin slipping toward the lower end of that range, they start shifting offshore and south toward warmer winter habitat (Jensen & Graves, 2020).

    Cobia (Rachycentron canadum), a warm-water coastal fish that begins shifting offshore and south as autumn temperatures cool. | Image credit: georgeh04, iNaturalist
    Cobia (Rachycentron canadum), a warm-water coastal fish that begins shifting offshore and south as autumn temperatures cool. | Image credit: georgeh04, iNaturalist

    That places coastal North Carolina somewhere in the middle of the journey. The cobia moving through our waters are not necessarily arriving for winter or leaving from a summer home here. 

    For many, this stretch of coast is part of the route between the two.

    Along the way, structure matters. Buoys, wrecks, reefs, and artificial reefs can gather baitfish and other prey into small pockets of activity in otherwise open water, giving a traveling cobia a place to feed before continuing south (Jensen & Graves, 2020). A reef that holds feeding cobia may also be busy with reef fishes, passing mackerel, schools of bait, and other predators using the same patch of water for their own reasons.

    By fall, the coast begins to feel less like a collection of separate habitats and more like a series of connected stopping places along the migration route.

    Flounder Leave Through the Bottom

    Not every migration announces itself at the surface. Some of the most important fall movement in Onslow County happens quietly along the bottom.

    Southern (left) and summer flounder (right) both spend much of their early lives over shallow estuarine and coastal bottoms before mature fish move offshore to spawn. | Image credits: J. Weferling, iNaturalist (left); harrier, iNaturalist (right)Southern (left) and summer flounder (right) both spend much of their early lives over shallow estuarine and coastal bottoms before mature fish move offshore to spawn. | Image credits: J. Weferling, iNaturalist (left); harrier, iNaturalist (right)
    Southern (left) and summer flounder (right) both spend much of their early lives over shallow estuarine and coastal bottoms before mature fish move offshore to spawn. | Image credits: J. Weferling, iNaturalist (left); harrier, iNaturalist (right)

    Southern flounder (Paralichthys lethostigma) spend the first years of their lives inside estuaries, lying over mud, sand, oyster habitat, creek bottoms, and other shallow nursery and feeding areas where they prey on fish and crustaceans. In North Carolina, many females begin reaching reproductive maturity around ages one to two and roughly 16 inches in length, although growth and maturity vary considerably among individual fish (Midway & Scharf, 2012).
    That means a southern flounder can spend years growing within the estuary before ever contributing to the offshore spawning population. Immature fish may remain within estuarine waters through winter, while mature fish begin leaving in fall for offshore spawning habitat. Fish encountered farther offshore tend to be larger and older, while younger fish remain more closely associated with the sounds, rivers, and creeks where they grew (Craig et al., 2015).
    A fish that spent its first years nearly invisible beneath New River mud can suddenly become part of an offshore migration.

    Summer flounder (Paralichthys dentatus) make a similar outward journey, although their early life follows a slightly different timetable. Larvae and juveniles use coastal bays, sounds, and estuaries as nursery habitat for roughly their first 18 to 20 months, and most reach reproductive maturity around age two to three. In the South Atlantic Bight, about half are mature by roughly 11 to 12 inches total length, although females generally mature at a somewhat larger size than males (Packer, 1999).

    Like southern flounder, they spend their younger years feeding and growing in protected coastal habitat before mature fish begin moving offshore in fall toward continental-shelf spawning grounds. By then, the fish leaving the estuary are not simply larger versions of the juveniles that remain behind; they are the part of the population capable of producing the next generation.
    So the two flatfish a beachgoer might easily confuse are doing something remarkably similar at this time of year. Both spend their younger years in shallow coastal and estuarine nursery habitat, and both eventually move offshore to spawn. What differs is the timing—how quickly they mature, how long they remain closely tied to those nursery grounds, and where along the coast each species is most concentrated.

    The Fall Runs Gather Nearshore

    The familiar fishes around piers change with fall too.

    Spot (Leiostomus xanthurus) and Atlantic croaker (Micropogonias undulatus) spend important parts of their early lives inside estuaries, feeding over sandy and muddy bottoms on worms, small crustaceans, organic material, and other small prey (Warlen & Burke, 1990; Ross, 1988)

    Atlantic croaker (Micropogonias undulatus) and spot (Leiostomus xanthurus), two familiar estuarine fishes that move toward coastal spawning waters in fall.  | Image credit: C. Dzbanski
    Atlantic croaker (Micropogonias undulatus) and spot (Leiostomus xanthurus), two familiar estuarine fishes that move toward coastal spawning waters in fall. | Image credit: C. Dzbanski

    Spot remain closely tied to estuarine nursery habitat through their first year, gradually moving into deeper and saltier parts of the system as they grow. By fall, the larger fish begin gathering closer to channels, inlets, and the ocean before continuing toward offshore spawning grounds south of Cape Hatteras. There, spawning continues through fall and winter in substantially warmer shelf water, roughly 63–77°F, with the strongest activity around 68°F (Warlen & Chester, 1985; Allen et al., 2024).

    Atlantic croaker follow a similar route on a slightly different schedule. Young croaker enter low-salinity estuarine nursery areas after being spawned offshore, then grow rapidly through their first year. As fall develops, many begin moving back toward open coastal water, with the spawning migration beginning as early as September and continuing into winter (White & Chittenden, 1977; Norcross & Austin, 1988).

    Weakfish (Cynoscion regalis) join that same seasonal pull toward the coast. Through spring and summer they use sounds, estuaries, and nearshore habitat, feeding heavily on shrimp, crustaceans, and smaller fishes. As autumn water cools toward about 75°F, they begin gathering and shifting offshore and south; during warmer years, some linger longer before making that move (Krause et al., 2020).

    Weakfish (Cynoscion regalis), a fall migrant along the Atlantic coast and currently listed as Endangered on the IUCN Red List. | Image credit: aiden007, iNaturalist
    Weakfish (Cynoscion regalis), a fall migrant along the Atlantic coast and currently listed as Endangered on the IUCN Red List. | Image credit: aiden007, iNaturalist

    By this point in fall, fishes that spent summer scattered through different parts of the estuary are beginning to converge along the same channels, inlets, and nearshore corridor. The movement is outward, but not entirely.

    While larger spot and croaker are leaving for offshore spawning grounds, their next generation is already beginning the opposite journey. Larvae produced offshore in fall and winter can begin entering North Carolina estuaries by late fall and early winter, with that inward movement continuing through spring (Warlen & Burke, 1990; Allen et al., 2024).

    So even as one generation moves out through the inlet, another is beginning to come back in.

    The Fish That Stay—but Change Address

    Migration does not always mean leaving Onslow County. For some fishes, fall means finding a different part of the same estuary.

    Spotted seatrout (Cynoscion nebulosus), or speckled trout, remain in coastal North Carolina through winter, but they do not necessarily stay where they spent August. As the shallow sounds and creek edges cool, trout begin gathering around channels, deeper holes, creek mouths, and other places where a few extra feet of water can provide more stable temperatures.

    Spotted seatrout (Cynoscion nebulosus) moving through shallow coastal water before shifting toward deeper winter habitat as temperatures fall. | Image credit: charliew82, iNaturalist
    Spotted seatrout (Cynoscion nebulosus) moving through shallow coastal water before shifting toward deeper winter habitat as temperatures fall. | Image credit: charliew82, iNaturalist

    That difference becomes increasingly important as winter approaches. Spotted seatrout begin showing cold stress when water falls below about 45°F, and prolonged periods below roughly 44.6°F can produce substantial winter mortality in North Carolina. Deeper sections of an estuary can remain slightly warmer during a severe cold event, giving fish somewhere to retreat when the shallows become too cold (Ellis, Buckel, & Hightower, 2017; Ellis, Buckel, Hightower, & Poland, 2017).

    So the autumn congregation of trout around creek mouths, bridge structure, channels, and deep holes is more than a change in where they happen to be feeding. By fall, they are beginning to settle into the parts of the estuary that may carry them through winter.

    Black drum (Pogonias cromis) reorganize themselves through fall as well, although their movement depends partly on age. Young black drum spend their first year within estuaries, feeding over mud, sand, oyster habitat, and other bottoms rich in worms, small crustaceans, and mollusks. As they grow, they begin using saltier water and deeper coastal habitat, while larger fish are often associated with oyster bars, bridge and dock pilings, channels, and other structure where clams, oysters, crabs, and other bottom prey collect (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2026).

    Black drum (Pogonias cromis) use estuaries when young, then shift toward deeper, saltier water as they grow and fall progresses. | Image credit: zachs, iNaturalist
    Black drum (Pogonias cromis) use estuaries when young, then shift toward deeper, saltier water as they grow and fall progresses. | Image credit: zachs, iNaturalist

    By late fall, black drum generally shift away from the shallowest summer habitat toward deeper bays, sounds, channels, and offshore water. Unlike spotted seatrout, there is not one well-defined temperature at which that movement begins. Instead, cooling water gradually changes where suitable feeding and winter habitat remain available, with older fish tending to range farther toward high-salinity and offshore waters (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2026).

    A piling or oyster bar that held one mix of fishes through summer may still be occupied in November, but by a different combination of animals using the same structure for colder-water feeding and refuge.

    The habitat has not disappeared. Its seasonal community has changed.

    Shrimp Begin Pouring Out of the Creeks

    Some of the most important migrants along the Onslow County coast are only a few inches long.

    White shrimp (Litopenaeus setiferus), locally called greentails, spend much of their early lives inside estuarine nursery habitat. They grow rapidly in warm water, and once they reach only about 0.8 to 1.2 inches long, they begin leaving the shallowest marsh habitat for deeper creeks, rivers, bays, and sounds. By late summer and fall, larger young shrimp—often around 4.7 inches or more—are moving farther downstream toward channels, inlets, and ultimately the ocean (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2023).

    White shrimp (Litopenaeus setiferus) grow quickly in estuarine nurseries before moving downstream toward sounds, inlets, and coastal water in late summer and fall. | Image credit: portulaca, iNaturalist
    White shrimp (Litopenaeus setiferus) grow quickly in estuarine nurseries before moving downstream toward sounds, inlets, and coastal water in late summer and fall. | Image credit: portulaca, iNaturalist

    Cooling water helps drive that progression, but rainfall can accelerate it. Heavy freshwater input lowers estuarine salinity and can push shrimp downstream and toward the ocean before they otherwise would have left. That means a wet fall and a dry fall do not necessarily produce the same migration (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2023).

    The shrimp are responding to an estuary that is changing around them, and almost everything seems interested in eating them. Flounder, speckled trout, red drum, weakfish, sharks, wading birds, and humans all take advantage of shrimp as they move through the coastal food web (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2023).

    A strong outward movement of white shrimp is therefore not merely a shrimp migration. It is a moving food resource.

    When those shrimp leave marsh creeks and spread toward the sound and inlet, predators that were previously separated begin encountering the same pulse of prey in increasingly narrow parts of the estuary.

    The estuary briefly becomes a funnel.

    The Blue Crabs Take Different Roads

    Blue crabs (Callinectes sapidus) complicate the idea of a single fall migration even further because males and females do not necessarily go the same direction.

    Blue crab (Callinectes sapidus) in shallow estuarine habitat; mature females eventually move toward saltier water and coastal spawning areas. | Image credit: lenora_irene, iNaturalist
    Blue crab (Callinectes sapidus) in shallow estuarine habitat; mature females eventually move toward saltier water and coastal spawning areas. | Image credit: lenora_irene, iNaturalist

    Adult males generally remain farther upriver in lower-salinity water, while mature females move toward saltier portions of the estuary and eventually toward inlet and coastal spawning habitat. Females can travel considerable distances during this migration, using salinity gradients, tides, and currents to move toward the high-salinity water needed for spawning (Bell & Eggleston, 2023; Forward et al., 2003).

    That split makes sense once their life cycle is considered. Females typically mate in brackish estuarine water, then store sperm until they are ready to produce an egg mass. As spawning approaches, they move toward the lower estuary and inlet, where much saltier water provides the conditions their developing larvae need. Eggs hatch near the mouth of the estuary or just beyond it, and the larvae are carried offshore before later returning toward the coast as postlarvae (Forward et al., 2003; Epifanio, 2019).

    The same inlet therefore serves two directions of the blue crab life cycle: mature females move outward toward spawning water, while a later generation is carried back toward estuarine nursery habitat.

    For a blue crab, the difference between a brackish river and a salty inlet is not simply scenery. One supports mating and much of adult life, while the other provides the salinity needed to begin the next generation.

    A single life cycle requires both.

    Rays Begin Leaving the Shallows

    Large dark wings moving beneath clear water are among the more obvious signs that rays are using shallow coastal habitat during summer. By fall, where those rays appear—and how they move through the coast—begins to change.

    Cownose rays (Rhinoptera bonasus) are highly mobile schooling rays that use North Carolina sounds, estuaries, and nearshore waters during the warmer months. Through summer they may be scattered across that habitat, sometimes appearing alone or in small groups over shallow flats and sounds. As fall develops, rays that have been using North Carolina estuaries begin moving toward the ocean side, while migrants arriving from farther north join the same southbound corridor along the Carolina coast.

    That is when larger schools can become more noticeable along the beaches and nearshore waters. Their movement continues south toward winter habitat off Florida, with cooling water helping shape when they leave northern and estuarine habitats (Goodman et al., 2010; Omori & Fisher, 2017; Bangley et al., 2021).

    Cownose rays (Rhinoptera bonasus) traveling in a school, a familiar sight as they gather and move along the coast in fall. | Image credit: Chesapeake Bay Program
    Cownose rays (Rhinoptera bonasus) traveling in a school, a familiar sight as they gather and move along the coast in fall. | Image credit: Chesapeake Bay Program

    For someone watching from Topsail, the rays seen scattered through the sound during summer can become part of something much larger by fall. A few dark wings moving over an estuarine flat may give way to schools traveling along the ocean side as North Carolina becomes part of the passage between northern summer waters and winter habitat farther south.

    Southern stingrays (Hypanus americanus) make a quieter seasonal shift. Their summer presence along North Carolina is part of a much older warm-season pattern, with southern stingrays historically documented moving north along the Carolina coast as warmer water expands their usable habitat (Coles, 1913).

    Southern stingray (Hypanus americanus) resting on the seafloor, where this bottom-oriented ray remains closely tied to benthic habitat even as it shifts seasonally. | Image credit: © Steve M. Schelb
    Southern stingray (Hypanus americanus) resting on the seafloor, where this bottom-oriented ray remains closely tied to benthic habitat even as it shifts seasonally. | Image credit: © Steve M. Schelb

    Unlike cownose rays traveling in schools higher in the water column, southern stingrays remain closely tied to the bottom. Through summer, they can be a familiar sight moving over warm sand and mud flats, along creek mouths, and through shallow estuarine water as they search the bottom for worms, bivalves, shrimp, crabs, and small fishes. Even when they move between habitats, much of that movement remains along or just above the benthic surface rather than through open water (Gilliam & Sullivan, 1993; Tilley et al., 2013).

    As the shallow flats cool through fall, they become less common in the places where beachgoers may have seen them repeatedly through July and August. Their seasonal movement is not mapped nearly as clearly in North Carolina as that of cownose rays, so we cannot point to one temperature or one offshore route. What we can say is that southern stingrays are capable of moving between shallow flats and considerably deeper bottom habitat while remaining closely associated with the seafloor (Coles, 1913; Corcoran et al., 2013).

    For someone watching the shallows, that change may simply look like absence. The stingray that repeatedly crossed the same warm flat all summer is suddenly harder to find—not because it has joined a large southbound school above the bottom, but because its usable benthic habitat has shifted beyond the shallows where it was easiest to see.

    Red Drum Gather at the Edges

    Red drum (Sciaenops ocellatus), and our state fish, add another layer to the fall movement. Young fish spend their first years closely tied to estuaries, growing quickly from roughly 12 to 14 inches by their first birthday to more than 27 inches during their second full year. They do not reach reproductive maturity quite as quickly, however. In North Carolina, most become mature around ages three to four, when they are roughly 30 to 36 inches long (Ross et al., 1995).

    Red drum (Sciaenops ocellatus) grow in estuaries when young, while larger adults gather around inlets and nearshore waters during late-summer and fall spawning. | Image credit: colesutton, iNaturalist
    Red drum (Sciaenops ocellatus) grow in estuaries when young, while larger adults gather around inlets and nearshore waters during late-summer and fall spawning. | Image credit: colesutton, iNaturalist

    That difference is something a beachgoer or angler can actually see. The smaller “puppy drum” encountered along marsh edges, creeks, and sounds are still growing within the estuarine part of their life cycle, while the much larger fish appearing around beaches and inlets are increasingly part of the adult population that spends more time in coastal and ocean waters.
    By late summer and early fall, mature red drum gather around inlets, beaches, and nearshore waters, where spawning and feeding can overlap. In North Carolina, spawning occurs from August into early October near barrier-island inlets and adjacent coastal waters. During that same period, adults move more actively between estuarine and ocean habitats (Ross et al., 1995; Bacheler et al., 2009).

    That puts a large red drum outside New River Inlet directly into the same corridor carrying mullet, menhaden, shrimp, spot, croaker, and other prey toward the ocean. It may be there to spawn, to feed, or simply because its own seasonal movement has brought it into the same narrow stretch of coast.

    As fall gives way to winter, mature adults increasingly move into ocean waters where temperatures remain more moderate, while younger red drum are much more likely to remain behind in the estuary (Stewart & Scharf, 2008).

    The Offshore Visitors Come Close

    Fall also brings some animals toward the coast before eventually carrying them away.

    King mackerel (Scomberomorus cavalla) are warm-water fish that seldom move into water much below about 68°F. Through summer and the warmer part of fall, they can move surprisingly close to the beaches, inlet mouths, and nearshore reefs of North Carolina, following schools of menhaden, mullet, sardines, and other prey into places where a beachgoer or pier angler may suddenly encounter a fish that spends much of its time farther offshore (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2022).

    That window does not last. As coastal water continues cooling toward the lower edge of their preferred range, king mackerel begin shifting south and farther toward the warmer waters of the continental shelf. By winter, much of the Atlantic population has moved toward southern Florida, while some fish remain in deeper North Carolina waters near the Gulf Stream (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2022).

    For a few weeks, that creates an unusual overlap along the Onslow coast. Animals moving out of the estuary meet predators moving closer to shore to feed, while other migrants are already passing south or beginning their move offshore. An inlet or artificial reef that seemed relatively quiet several weeks earlier can suddenly sit at the crossing point of several different seasonal routes.

    For a short time, it becomes an intersection.

    Then the Menhaden Arrive

    By October and November, another migration becomes increasingly visible.

    Atlantic menhaden (Brevoortia tyrannus) move south along the Atlantic coast as fall deepens, with older and larger fish returning from summer waters farther north. Spawning can occur along the migration route from late fall into early spring, but one of the major winter gathering areas lies off North Carolina near Cape Hatteras (Lewis et al., 1987; Nicholson, 1978).

    For Onslow County, that means some of the dark schools appearing beyond the breakers are part of a much larger coastwide movement passing our beaches on the way toward winter spawning waters.

    Menhaden occupy an unusual place in the coastal food web. They filter tiny phytoplankton and zooplankton from the water, then gather that scattered production into dense schools of oily fish large enough for predators to chase (Lewis & Peters, 1994). Bluefish, striped bass, sharks, tunas, dolphins, and seabirds all take advantage of them, making menhaden one of the connections between plankton near the bottom of the food web and some of the largest predators along the coast (Chagaris et al., 2020; Lewis & Peters, 1994).

    For a beachgoer, the first sign may simply be a dark patch offshore that does not move like a shadow. Then birds begin gathering above it. The surface breaks as predators push into the school from below, and what looked like an indistinct patch of water suddenly becomes one of the busiest places along the beach.

    That is when looking up becomes as important as looking into the water.

    Because another migration has arrived.

    The Atlantic Flyway Meets the Fall Fish Run

    The Atlantic Flyway follows the eastern edge of North America, placing the North Carolina coast directly beneath one of the continent’s major migration routes. For birds traveling hundreds or thousands of miles between breeding and wintering grounds, Onslow County is not simply coastline passing beneath their wings. Its beaches, marshes, tidal flats, sounds, and inlets can provide places to rest and replenish the energy needed for the next part of the journey (Smith et al., 2022).

    The Atlantic Flyway follows the eastern edge of North America, carrying migrating birds directly along the North Carolina coast. | Image credit: Audubon
    The Atlantic Flyway follows the eastern edge of North America, carrying migrating birds directly along the North Carolina coast. | Image credit: Audubon

    Fall makes that stop especially busy because the migration overhead is unfolding at the same time the water below is changing. Shrimp are moving out of creeks. Mullet and other fishes are funneling toward the inlets. Schools of bait gather along the beaches, and menhaden begin moving down the coast. For birds that feed on fishes and coastal invertebrates, those movements can turn the Onslow shoreline into a series of feeding opportunities along the Atlantic Flyway.

    But the transition is not a clean exchange in which the summer birds simply leave and winter birds immediately take their places. It happens gradually, with departures, arrivals, and birds merely passing through overlapping for weeks.

    The Birds Moving Through or South

    Some of the first changes are easiest to notice in the marsh. Green herons (Butorides virescens) begin moving south from late August through October, while least bitterns (Ixobrychus exilis) also leave much of their northern breeding range for warmer winter habitat. A bird that spent summer hunting from the edge of a tidal creek may simply become harder to find as September advances (Smith et al., 2022).

    Along the beaches and nesting islands, the summer community begins loosening in several directions at once. Wilson’s plovers (Anarhynchus wilsonia), least terns (Sternula antillarum), gull-billed terns (Gelochelidon nilotica), black skimmers (Rynchops niger), and sandwich terns (Thalasseus sandvicensis) begin leaving breeding areas or redistributing south along the coast. Royal terns (Thalasseus maximus) may linger longer, while ospreys (Pandion haliaetus) begin following waterways and coastlines toward wintering grounds farther south (North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission, 2025; Smith et al., 2022).

    The shorebirds make the transition even less tidy.

    The eastern Willet (Tringa semipalmata semipalmata) breeds in Atlantic salt marshes, including those along the North Carolina coast, before leaving for wintering grounds that can lie as far away as northern South America. But the Willet standing on a Topsail flat in fall is not automatically one of the birds that nested here. Western Willets (Tringa semipalmata inornata), which breed in the interior of western North America, can also occur along the Atlantic coast outside the breeding season. For a few weeks, birds from very different summer landscapes may use the same Carolina shoreline (Oswald et al., 2016; Huysman et al., 2022).

    Lesser yellowlegs (Tringa flavipes) and greater yellowlegs (Tringa melanoleuca) add another layer of passing traffic. They arrive from breeding grounds much farther north, with adults beginning their southward movements as early as July and younger birds following later. Along coastal North Carolina, exposed flats, shallow marsh edges, and pools of tidal water become temporary feeding grounds along that journey (Smith et al., 2022).

    That makes the falling tide part of the migration too. A mudflat that looked empty beneath the previous high tide can suddenly hold Willets, yellowlegs, plovers, and other shorebirds probing exposed sediment for worms, small crustaceans, mollusks, and other prey. North Carolina barrier-island studies have found fall shorebirds shifting among the swash zone, wet sand, spits, and tidal habitat as water levels change, using different pieces of the shoreline for feeding and resting through the tidal cycle (Tarr, 2008).

    For some of those birds, the stop may last days. For others, only hours. The tide falls, a feeding ground appears, and birds moving along the Atlantic coast briefly settle into it before the water—or the migration—carries them onward.

    The Winter Coast Begins Arriving

    The winter coast does not arrive all at once. Its first birds begin appearing in September, more follow through October, and by November the sounds, marshes, and beaches of Onslow County can hold a noticeably different community than they did at the end of summer.

    On the sounds and protected water behind the barrier islands, buffleheads (Bucephala albeola) begin settling into sheltered coves, bays, and estuaries, repeatedly disappearing beneath the surface in search of small crustaceans, mollusks, and other aquatic prey. Red-breasted mergansers (Mergus serrator) arrive as well, often working shallow coastal water and estuaries in small groups as they dive after fish (Gauthier, 1993; Titman, 1999; Smith et al., 2022).

    The marsh begins changing at the same time. American black ducks (Anas rubripes) appear more regularly in salt marshes, tidal creeks, ponds, and estuaries, while Green-winged teal (Anas crecca) increase in shallow protected water. Both spent the breeding season much farther north, but by fall the sounds and marshes of the Atlantic coast have become part of their winter landscape (Robinson et al., 2016; Smith et al., 2022).

    Along the ocean side, the change is visible at the water’s edge. Dunlin (Calidris alpina), sanderlings (Calidris alba), red knots (Calidris canutus), and black-bellied plovers (Pluvialis squatarola) begin working beaches, shoals, exposed flats, and inlet margins. Some will remain along the southeastern coast through winter, while others are pausing only long enough to feed before continuing south. As the tide falls they spread across wet sand and exposed flats; when the water returns, they are gradually pushed toward higher beaches and roosting areas (Burger et al., 2012; Smith et al., 2022; Tarr, 2008).

    Red knots make the scale of that movement especially clear. A bird standing quietly near the wrack line may have arrived from Arctic breeding grounds and may still be headed toward winter habitat in the southeastern United States, the Caribbean, or northern South America. Individual birds do not all travel the same route or distance, but for some, the Carolina coast is only one stop in a journey spanning thousands of miles (Burger et al., 2012; Smith et al., 2022).

    That changes what a quiet fall beach can mean. The wet sand, tidal flats, wrack, marshes, and sheltered water are not empty spaces between destinations. For birds arriving from the north, they are places to replace the energy already spent before the next part of the migration begins.

    When the Food Web Takes to the Air

    Fall adds another layer of hunters above the shoreline.

    Peregrine falcons (Falco peregrinus) move south along the Atlantic coast during migration, often following the same barrier islands, mudflats, and shorelines being used by migrating shorebirds. They are not interested in the mullet, shrimp, or menhaden moving below the surface. They are interested in the birds feeding around them. Shorebirds, ducks, gulls, and other coastal birds become prey themselves, adding another level to the food web moving through the coast (Smith et al., 2022).

    Farther offshore, the change becomes visible in a different way. Double-crested cormorants (Nannopterum auritum) arrive along the Carolina coast in large numbers and spend much of their time diving after fish. Menhaden are among the schooling fishes they readily take, tying these winter visitors directly into the same fall movement already passing through the inlets and along the beaches (Watts et al., 2023).

    Red-throated loons (Gavia stellata) and common loons (Gavia immer) begin appearing along the ocean side as well. Both spend the warmer months much farther north, but by late fall they are back in shallow marine waters, sounds, bays, and estuaries where fish are abundant. A bird that spent summer on a northern lake or tundra pond may now be diving just beyond the breakers along Topsail (Stenhouse et al., 2020; Smith et al., 2022).

    Then come the northern gannets (Morus bassanus).

    By late fall, they become one of the most spectacular signs that the seasonal food web has shifted. Northern gannets spend much of the nonbreeding season between New York and North Carolina, feeding almost entirely on schooling fishes such as herring, mackerel, and menhaden over the continental shelf (Mowbray, 2020; Smith et al., 2022).

    From shore, a feeding aggregation can seem to appear from nowhere. Large white birds circle above a patch of ocean, fold their wings, and plunge headfirst into the water. One follows another until dozens may be dropping into the same moving patch of sea.

    The important thing may not be the gannets themselves, but what they are pointing toward.
    Beneath them is a school of fish. Around that school may be bluefish, sharks, dolphins, or other large predators pushing the same prey toward the surface. The birds above and the predators below are using the same concentration of food from opposite directions.

    What began months earlier as plankton, marsh production, and small animals feeding inside estuaries has now moved far enough through the food web to become visible from the beach as birds falling out of the sky.

    What Happens if One Migration Does Not Arrive?

    It is easy to think about migration as something belonging to individual species—the mullet run, the shrimp migration, the shark migration, the Atlantic Flyway. But the coast does not experience those movements separately. Predators are responding to prey, young fishes are entering estuaries when nursery habitat and food are available, adults are leaving when spawning habitat lies offshore, and blue crabs are moving between different salinity zones because different stages of their lives depend on different parts of the estuary (Warlen & Burke, 1990; Forward et al., 2003).

    That means a change in one migration does not necessarily stop with the animal making it.

    If fewer mullet leave an estuary, there may be less concentrated prey moving along the beach for bluefish, sharks, pelicans, and terns. The difference is not simply fewer mullet in one place. Some of the energy that spent summer accumulating inside the estuary now reaches the nearshore food web in a different amount, at a different time, or along a different route (Bacheler et al., 2005).

    White shrimp show how quickly those relationships can shift. Heavy rainfall lowers estuarine salinity and can push shrimp toward the inlet earlier than they might have moved during a drier fall. Predators farther inside the estuary may encounter fewer shrimp, while those gathered nearer the inlet may suddenly encounter more. The migration still happens, but its timing changes where that pulse of food becomes available (North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries, 2023).

    Temperature can alter the overlap in another way. A coastal shark that remains farther north later into a warm fall may not encounter its prey in quite the same places or at quite the same time if those prey are responding to a different set of seasonal cues. Warmer ocean conditions are already capable of delaying southward shark migrations and extending how long some species remain in northern seasonal habitat (Manz et al., 2025).

    None of this means every migration must occur on the same date each year. Coastal systems have always varied with storms, rainfall, temperature, currents, and food availability. What matters is that the movements continue to cross one another often enough for the relationships among them to persist.

    A predator still has to encounter its prey. A larva still has to reach suitable nursery habitat, and a migrating bird still has to find enough food to continue south.

    The timing does not have to be exact, but the meeting still has to happen.

    Watching the Coast Change

    By September, the first changes are already beginning. Mullet gather near the inlets, shrimp move out of tidal creeks, rays become less common over shallow flats, and feeding birds begin revealing where bait has collected near the surface.

    By October and November, the same places can hold a very different community. Some animals have moved only a few miles into deeper water, while others are passing Onslow County on journeys that continue far beyond the Carolina coast.

    The landscape itself looks much the same. New River Inlet still cuts through the barrier island. The marsh grass still bends with the wind. The same beach stretches north and south.
    What changes is who is moving through it.

    For a few months each fall, Onslow County becomes a meeting place between departures, arrivals, and animals simply shifting into the next piece of habitat they need.

    The landscape stays where it is.
    The food web moves through it.

    Wilson Bay along the New River in Jacksonville, North Carolina. The landscape stays where it is, even as the food web moves through it. | Image credit: A. Mitchell
    Wilson Bay along the New River in Jacksonville, North Carolina. The landscape stays where it is, even as the food web moves through it. | Image credit: A. Mitchell

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    North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries. (2026). Fishery management plan update: Spanish mackerel. North Carolina Department of Environmental Quality. https://www.deq.nc.gov/marine-fisheries/fisheries-management/spanish-mackerel/open

    North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries. (2026). Fishery management plan update: Black drum. North Carolina Department of Environmental Quality. https://www.deq.nc.gov/marine-fisheries/fisheries-management/black-drum-fmp-update-2026/open

    North Carolina Division of Marine Fisheries. (2026). Fishery management plan update: False albacore. North Carolina Department of Environmental Quality. https://www.deq.nc.gov/marine-fisheries/fisheries-management/false-albacore-fmp-update-2026-0/open

    North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission. (2025). 2025 North Carolina Wildlife Action Plan. https://www.ncwildlife.gov/state-wildlife-action-plan

    Omori, K. L., & Fisher, R. A. (2017). Summer and fall movement of cownose ray, Rhinoptera bonasus, along the East Coast of United States observed with pop-up satellite tags. Environmental Biology of Fishes, 100(11), 1435-1449. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10641-017-0654-6

    Oswald, J. A., Harvey, M. G., Remsen, R. C., Foxworth, D. U., Cardiff, S. W., Dittmann, D. L., Megna, L. C., Carling, M. D., & Brumfield, R. T. (2016). Willet be one species or two? A genomic view of the evolutionary history of Tringa semipalmata. The Auk, 133(4), 593-614. https://doi.org/10.1642/auk-15-232.1

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    Robinson, O. J., McGowan, C. P., & Devers, P. K. (2016). Updating movement estimates for American Black ducks (Anas rubripes). PeerJ, 4, e1787. https://doi.org/10.7717/peerj.1787

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  • When Every Bird Looks Like a Hawk: Reading the Raptors of Onslow County

    When Every Bird Looks Like a Hawk: Reading the Raptors of Onslow County

    A reader recently asked me about five birds he had seen over the sounds of Surf City last weekend. He was convinced they were five different kinds of “sea hawks.”

    At first glance, it was an understandable conclusion.

    Each bird was large. Each spent time soaring overhead or hesitating up high over the water. Each occupied the same stretch of coastal North Carolina sky.

    Yet every photograph and description reflected the same species: an osprey.

    Distance has a way of simplifying wildlife. Colors disappear. Markings fade. Details are lost. What remains is a silhouette against the sky.

    Most of us learn to recognize birds by their appearance. Raptors are often easier to understand by their behavior.

    • What is the bird doing?
    • Is it hovering over the water?
    • Circling without flapping?
    • Perched motionless on a fence post?
    • Drifting above a marsh?
    • Crossing silently through the trees after sunset?

    The answer often reveals more than the feathers.

    The skies above Onslow County are shared by a community of predators. Some hunt fish. Some hunt rodents. Some hunt insects. Some hunt other birds. Some hunt only at night. Others serve as nature’s cleanup crew.

    At a distance they may look similar.

    Spend enough time watching them, however, and the differences become impossible to miss.

    Following the Fish

    Osprey: The Fisherman

    If there is a signature bird of the coast, it may be the osprey (Pandion haliaetus).

    You notice one long before you identify it. The bird appears above a creek, river, or stretch of open water, turns into the wind, and suddenly seems to stop moving. For a few seconds it hangs there, suspended above the surface before plunging feet-first toward the water below.

    That moment of hesitation is not hesitation at all.

    The bird is making a final decision.

    Water distorts light. Fish change direction. Wind roughens the surface. What appears obvious from a dock or kayak becomes much more complicated from above. The osprey’s brief hover allows it to judge distance, depth, and movement before committing to the dive (Poole, 1989; Bierregaard et al., 2020).

    The splash usually draws everyone’s attention.

    The fish often draws the next question.

    Watch an osprey leave the water carrying a mullet or menhaden and it is difficult not to wonder how the bird manages to hold onto it. Fish are essentially living bars of soap wrapped in muscle, built to slip through water and escape predators. Osprey solve that problem with feet lined by tiny backward-facing spicules and a reversible outer toe that help secure slippery prey (Poole, 1989; Bierregaard et al., 2020).

    Then, almost as soon as the bird becomes airborne, something else happens.

    The fish turns.

    Within seconds the osprey has repositioned its catch so the fish faces forward. What looks like a small adjustment saves energy over the course of the flight. A fish carried sideways catches air. A fish carried headfirst moves through it. Often the bird gives its catch a vigorous shake as it climbs away from the water, shedding excess water before continuing on its way. Together, these adjustments reduce drag and make transporting a heavy, slippery meal through the air more efficient (Allen et al., 2018; Poole, 1989; Bierregaard et al., 2020).

    Around nesting season, however, it is often the noise rather than the fishing that gets people’s attention.

    Osprey rarely seem quiet.

    Calls echo from nesting platforms, channel markers, dead trees, and utility poles throughout the breeding season. Adults announce arrivals. Mates communicate with one another. Young birds call constantly whenever food appears nearby. What sounds chaotic from a distance is often a family carrying on a conversation (Bierregaard et al., 2020).

    By late summer, that family becomes easier to see.

    Several birds may gather near a nest, perched along the same stretch of water where they have spent months raising young. Then, without warning, they take to the air together. The younger birds follow the adults across creeks, marshes, and open water, practicing turns, landings, and the flight skills that will eventually carry them south. What appears at first to be a loose gathering of osprey is often a family still learning from one another long after the young birds have left the nest (Poole, 1989; Bierregaard et al., 2020).

    To boaters, it is a channel marker in the New River in Jacksonville, NC. To an osprey, it is home. Many coastal nests are rebuilt and expanded year after year, becoming landmarks visible across the water. | Image credit: A. Mitchell
    To boaters, it is a channel marker in the New River in Jacksonville, NC. To an osprey, it is home. Many coastal nests are rebuilt and expanded year after year, becoming landmarks visible across the water. | Image credit: A. Mitchell

    The nests themselves remain long after the birds have departed.

    Many osprey return to the same sites year after year, adding sticks, repairing damage, and expanding structures that can eventually become enormous. What begins as a modest nest slowly grows into a landmark visible from hundreds of yards away (Poole, 1989; Bierregaard et al., 2020).

    For many coastal residents, those nests become part of the landscape.

    And when spring returns, so do the birds that built them.

    Bald Eagle: The Opportunist

    If you spend enough time around the water, eventually you’ll see it happen.

    An osprey leaves the surface carrying a fish. For a few moments, everything appears normal. Then a second bird enters the scene.

    Larger.

    Heavier.

    Built on an entirely different scale.

    The bald eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus) begins to follow.

    What started as a successful fishing trip suddenly becomes a chase.

    From below, the interaction can look almost personal. The osprey twists and climbs. The eagle closes the distance. Sometimes the osprey escapes. Sometimes it drops the fish. The eagle wheels downward after the falling meal while the osprey continues on empty-taloned.

    Why go through all that trouble?

    Because catching a fish requires energy.

    An osprey may spend considerable time searching the water, hovering above the surface, adjusting for currents, and committing to a dive before finally securing a meal. An eagle watching from a nearby perch can recognize that success immediately. From the eagle’s perspective, the fish has already been found. The difficult part of the hunt is over (Buehler, 2020).

    This often leads people to wonder whether bald eagles are better fishermen than osprey.

    The answer depends on how you define fishing.

    If the goal is catching fish, the osprey remains the specialist. Nearly every aspect of its anatomy is designed around that task. Its feet grip slippery prey with remarkable efficiency, and its entire hunting strategy revolves around locating fish beneath the water’s surface.

    A bald eagle approaches the world differently.

    Rather than specializing in a single food source, eagles take advantage of opportunities wherever they find them. Fish remain important, particularly along the New River, Stump Sound, the Intracoastal Waterway, and the countless creeks that thread through coastal marshes. Yet waterfowl, mammals, reptiles, and carrion can also become part of the menu (Buehler, 2020).

    A closer look at their feet reveals those differences. Osprey feet are designed to hold fish. Eagle talons are designed to seize and restrain a wider variety of prey. One bird is built around precision. The other is built around versatility (Buehler, 2020).

    That versatility helps explain why bald eagles have become increasingly common sights along the Onslow County coast. Open water, abundant prey, expansive marshes, and large trees provide everything they need. Whether soaring above an estuary, perched along a creek, or watching from a pine overlooking the water, eagles occupy a position near the top of the coastal food web (Buehler, 2020).

    And every so often, that position allows them to let someone else do the fishing.

    The Hunters of Marsh and Forest

    Red-shouldered Hawk: The Watcher on the Fence

    Not every raptor announces itself from the sky.

    Some introduce themselves by showing up in the yard.

    You glance out the window and notice a hawk perched on the fence. Hours later it seems to be in exactly the same place. The next morning it is back again.

    Eventually curiosity takes over.

    What is it watching?

    Perched above a yard in Jacksonville, NC, a red-shouldered hawk waits for movement. From elevated vantage points, these woodland hunters watch patiently for opportunities hidden within the landscape below. | Image credit: A. Mitchell
    Perched above a yard in Jacksonville, NC, a red-shouldered hawk waits for movement. From elevated vantage points, these woodland hunters watch patiently for opportunities hidden within the landscape below. | Image credit: A. Mitchell

    Many people assume the hawk is focused on the house, the dog, or the family moving through the yard.

    In reality, the bird is usually paying attention to everything else.

    A well-maintained yard often provides excellent hunting habitat. Frogs move through flower beds. Lizards bask along retaining walls. Small snakes hunt beneath shrubs. Mice travel fence lines and wood piles. The red-shouldered hawk watches for movement, waiting for the landscape to reveal itself (Dykstra et al., 2020).

    That patient approach reflects the habitats these birds prefer.

    Unlike the open-country red-tailed hawk, red-shouldered hawks (Buteo lineatus) are closely tied to places where woods and water meet. Creek corridors, swamp edges, ponds, marshes, and bottomland forests provide the cover and diversity of prey they rely upon (Dykstra et al., 2020).

    A red-shouldered hawk feeds on captured prey in a parking lot. While often associated with swamps and wooded wetlands, these adaptable hunters frequently take advantage of opportunities in suburban landscapes. | Image credit: A. Mitchell
    A red-shouldered hawk feeds on captured prey in a parking lot. While often associated with swamps and wooded wetlands, these adaptable hunters frequently take advantage of opportunities in suburban landscapes. | Image credit: A. Mitchell

    Along the coast, those habitats frequently overlap with where people live.

    The fence post is simply the best seat in the house.

    From there, the hawk can watch an entire ecosystem unfold beneath it.

    Red-tailed Hawk: Master of the Open Sky

    A red-tailed hawk (Buteo jamaicensis) and my personal favorite bird – often attracts attention by doing remarkably little.

    You notice one circling high above a field.

    Several minutes later it is still there.

    The wings barely move.

    At first, most people wonder how the bird can remain in the air for so long without flapping. The answer lies in the atmosphere itself. As the ground warms, pockets of heated air rise into the sky. Red-tailed hawks locate these invisible thermals and circle within them, gaining altitude while expending very little energy (Kerlinger, 1989; Preston & Beane, 2024).

    But staying aloft is only part of the story.

    The real question is why the bird wants to be up there in the first place.

    The answer becomes clearer when compared to the red-shouldered hawk.

    A red-shouldered hawk often hunts by focusing on a particular place. A pond edge. A marsh creek. A backyard. It watches patiently from a perch, waiting for the landscape to reveal movement (Dykstra et al., 2020).

    A red-tailed hawk takes the opposite approach.

    Rather than concentrating on one corner of the landscape, it climbs high enough to see how all of those pieces connect. Fields blend into hedgerows. Roadsides meet forest edges. Open ground transitions into cover. From above, what appear to be separate places from the ground become a single hunting landscape.

    That broader view is the red-tail’s specialty.

    What appears to us as an empty field is filled with clues. A rabbit pauses along a fence line. A squirrel breaks from cover. A mouse rustles through the grass. The bird is not searching for a specific animal. It is searching for movement, patterns, and opportunities spread across hundreds of acres (Preston & Beane, 2024).

    The thermal keeps the hawk aloft long enough to gather that information. Height becomes an advantage. Distance becomes information.

    The bird is not circling because it has nowhere else to be.

    It is circling because the sky offers the best view.

    And from that vantage point, one movement in the wrong place at the wrong time is often all it takes.

    Cooper’s Hawk: The Pursuit Hunter

    If you maintain a bird feeder long enough, sooner or later the yard will go silent.

    One moment cardinals, doves, and finches are moving between the feeder and nearby trees.

    The next, everything disappears.

    Then a gray blur streaks through the yard.

    The first time you see it happen, it feels almost impossible that a bird that large could move that quickly through such a cluttered space.

    Unlike the red-tailed hawk searching from hundreds of feet above the landscape or the red-shouldered hawk watching patiently from a perch, the Cooper’s hawk (Astur cooperii) hunts in motion. It is built for pursuit (Rosenfield et al., 2025).

    Its long tail acts like a rudder while relatively short wings allow it to twist, turn, and accelerate through spaces that would seem impossible for most raptors. Branches, fences, shrubs, and backyard obstacles that slow other birds become part of the chase (Rosenfield et al., 2025).

    That agility allows the hawk to exploit something many predators cannot.

    Confusion.

    A flock of birds startled into flight rarely moves in a straight line. Individuals scatter in different directions, darting through vegetation and searching for cover. The Cooper’s hawk follows.

    What appears chaotic to us is a hunting opportunity to the hawk.

    Yet not every backyard attracts a Cooper’s hawk.

    If you’ve ever noticed that these birds seem more common in some neighborhoods than others, the surrounding landscape is often the reason. Cooper’s hawks favor places where trees, forest edges, wooded corridors, and open spaces meet. Those transitions provide both cover and opportunity, allowing the bird to move quickly between concealment and pursuit (Rosenfield et al., 2025).

    A bird feeder placed within that landscape can become part of the story, not because the feeder attracts the hawk, but because it concentrates movement. Birds travel between the feeder and nearby cover. The hawk is already watching the area. The feeder simply makes activity easier to find.

    Which is why the sudden silence is often the first clue.

    Long before most people see the hawk, the birds have already noticed it.

    For a few moments, the yard belongs to the fastest hunter in the neighborhood.

    The Hunters of the Air

    Mississippi Kite: Catching the Wind

    At first glance, a Mississippi kite (Ictinia mississippiensis) looks like it should behave like any other hawk.

    It drifts overhead with long, pointed wings, barely moving as it rides the summer air. Then it suddenly changes direction, banking sharply, twisting through the sky, and accelerating after something too small for most people to see.

    The first time you notice it, the behavior feels strange.

    What is that hawk chasing? Is it chasing dragonflies?

    The bird banks again, then again, each turn seeming impossibly precise. Whatever it is pursuing appears far too small to interest a raptor. Yet the longer you watch, the clearer the answer becomes.

    While many hawks spend their time searching the ground for prey, Mississippi kites have turned the air itself into a hunting ground. Dragonflies, cicadas, beetles, and other flying insects become meals captured directly on the wing. What appears to be effortless wandering is often an active hunt unfolding overhead (Parker, 2020).

    That hunting style explains why they seem so different from other raptors.

    The red-shouldered hawk watches a particular place. The red-tailed hawk surveys an entire landscape. The Cooper’s hawk chases prey through trees and backyards. The Mississippi kite is hunting somewhere entirely different.

    Its long wings and graceful flight allow it to maneuver with remarkable precision, changing direction quickly as insects dart, climb, and shift with the wind (Parker, 2020).

    The same warm air currents that help other raptors gain altitude also gather flying insects into concentrated pockets, creating opportunities for a predator adapted to exploit them (Parker, 2020).

    The result is a bird that often feels more like a swallow than a hawk.

    An osprey may be hunting fish below. A red-tailed hawk may be watching a field nearby. A Cooper’s hawk may be moving along a forest edge. Above them all, a Mississippi kite may be feeding on insects carried by the same air currents that support the rest of the ecosystem.

    The bird is not ignoring the landscape beneath it.

    It has simply found opportunity in a place most predators never think to look.

    For the Mississippi kite, the sky is not a pathway.

    It is habitat.

    The Cleanup Crew

    Turkey Vulture: Death Becomes Renewal

    A turkey vulture (Cathartes aura) lands on your roof and suddenly everyone becomes concerned.

    To us, it looks like a warning. To the vulture, it is simply another perch from which to read the landscape. | Image credit: A. Mitchell
    To us, it looks like a warning. To the vulture, it is simply another perch from which to read the landscape. | Image credit: A. Mitchell

    Some people take it as a bad omen. Others wonder if something nearby has died. Before long, the bird becomes the center of attention despite doing little more than sitting still.

    The turkey vulture, meanwhile, is completely unaware of the stories being told about it.

    Most of the time, something far less dramatic is happening.

    A rooftop provides warmth on a cool morning, a place to dry rain-soaked feathers, or a convenient perch where rising air currents can be reached without much effort. The bird is not predicting death. It is simply taking advantage of the landscape (Kirk & Mossman, 2020).

    Yet the association exists for a reason.

    Unlike the hawks and eagles we have encountered so far, turkey vultures are searching for something very different. They are not looking for prey. They are looking for what remains after life has already moved on.

    A dead fish along the shoreline.

    A raccoon hidden in roadside vegetation.

    A deer beyond the edge of a forest.

    But how do they find it?

    Part of the answer can be seen on the bird’s face. If you are fortunate enough to observe a turkey vulture through binoculars or at close range, you may notice something unusual about its nostrils, or nares. Unlike our own noses, the openings pass completely through the beak. In the right light, you can literally see from one side of the nostril to the other (Kirk & Mossman, 2020).

    A close comparison of a turkey vulture (top) and black vulture (bottom) reveals one clue to how they read the landscape differently. Turkey vultures use an exceptional sense of smell to locate carrion, while black vultures depend more on vision and the behavior of other vultures. Arrows highlight differences in the nostril openings of the two species. | Image credit: T. Lisney
    A close comparison of a turkey vulture (top) and black vulture (bottom) reveals one clue to how they read the landscape differently. Turkey vultures use an exceptional sense of smell to locate carrion, while black vultures depend more on vision and the behavior of other vultures. Arrows highlight differences in the nostril openings of the two species. | Image credit: T. Lisney

    That adaptation supports one of the most powerful senses of smell in the bird world. While many raptors rely primarily on vision, turkey vultures are able to detect the scent of carrion from remarkable distances, allowing them to locate food sources hidden beneath vegetation and, in some cases, even beneath the soil itself (Grigg et al., 2017; Kirk & Mossman, 2020).

    Finding carrion, however, is only part of the challenge.

    Consuming it presents an entirely different set of problems.

    The turkey vulture’s bald head, which many people find unsettling, is actually an important adaptation. Unlike a feathered head that could trap blood, bacteria, and other organic material, the bare skin can be cleaned much more easily after feeding. What gives the bird its ominous appearance also helps protect it from the very things it eats (Roggenbuck et al., 2018).

    The same is true inside the bird.

    Turkey vultures possess an extraordinarily acidic digestive system capable of destroying many of the bacteria and pathogens that would make other animals sick. Organisms responsible for diseases such as anthrax, botulism, cholera, and salmonella are often neutralized during digestion, allowing the vulture to safely consume material that would be dangerous for most scavengers (DeVault et al., 2016; Kirk & Mossman, 2020).

    Even their hygiene is unusual.

    Turkey vultures practice a behavior known as urohidrosis, in which they defecate on their own legs. While it may seem unpleasant from a human perspective, the highly acidic waste helps kill bacteria picked up while walking on carcasses and also provides a cooling effect during hot weather (Arad et al., 1989; Kirk & Mossman, 2020).

    Taken together, these adaptations solve a difficult ecological problem. Dead animals can become reservoirs for bacteria, disease, and decay. Turkey vultures have evolved to exploit that resource while avoiding many of the risks associated with it.

    Black vultures, which are often seen alongside them, approach the problem differently. Their nostrils are narrower and not open from side to side. Rather than relying so heavily on smell, they depend more on vision and often watch the movements of turkey vultures to help locate food (Buckley et al., 2020).

    That relationship creates an interesting partnership. Turkey vultures are often the first to detect a carcass hidden beneath vegetation, while black vultures are quick to notice where the turkey vultures are gathering. One species excels at finding the scent. The other excels at finding the finder (Buckley et al., 2020; Kirk & Mossman, 2020.

    Together, the two species accomplish something few other animals can.

    They return nutrients to the landscape.

    What appears to be an ending becomes the beginning of something else. Energy stored within a fish, a raccoon, or a deer does not simply disappear. Vultures help move those nutrients back into the ecosystem where they become available to countless other organisms (DeVault et al., 2016) .

    The bird on your roof is not waiting for something bad to happen.

    More often than not, it is part of the reason the landscape remains healthy after it does.

    Black Vulture: Following the Leader

    A single turkey vulture on a rooftop often attracts attention.

    Ten vultures attract concern.

    What appears to be a crowd is often an information network. Black vultures frequently roost together, sharing a landscape where opportunities can appear and disappear without warning. | Image credit: jspruill, iNaturalist
    What appears to be a crowd is often an information network. Black vultures frequently roost together, sharing a landscape where opportunities can appear and disappear without warning. | Image credit: jspruill, iNaturalist

    Unlike turkey vultures, which are frequently seen soaring alone or in small numbers, black vultures (Coragyps atratus) often seem to arrive as a group, called a committee. One bird becomes five. Five become ten. Before long, an entire rooftop, parking lot, or dead tree appears covered in vultures (Buckley et al., 2020).

    The first question is usually the same.

    Why are there so many?

    Part of the answer lies in how black vultures find food.

    While turkey vultures rely heavily on their extraordinary sense of smell, black vultures depend much more on vision and on one another. They watch the landscape, but they also watch other vultures. A turkey vulture dropping toward a hidden carcass can reveal an opportunity that a black vulture might never have discovered on its own (Buckley et al., 2020).

    That difference creates an unusual relationship between the two species.

    Turkey vultures are often the first to locate carrion concealed beneath vegetation or hidden from view. Black vultures are often the first to notice that the turkey vultures have found something worth investigating (Buckley et al., 2020).

    One species excels at finding the scent.

    The other excels at finding the finder.

    Their social nature extends beyond feeding. Black vultures frequently roost together, travel together, and gather in numbers that can seem surprising to people unfamiliar with them. What appears to be a crowd is often a network of birds sharing information about a landscape filled with unpredictable opportunities (Buckley et al., 2020).

    That strategy has served them well.

    A dead fish washed onto a shoreline, a raccoon along a roadside, or a deer hidden beyond the edge of a forest represents a resource that appears without warning and disappears quickly. By paying attention to one another, black vultures can exploit those opportunities efficiently.

    To most people, the meal is something to avoid. To a black vulture, it is an opportunity. By consuming carrion that would otherwise decay on the landscape, vultures help return nutrients to the ecosystem while reducing the spread of disease. | Image credit: A. Mitchell
    To most people, the meal is something to avoid. To a black vulture, it is an opportunity. By consuming carrion that would otherwise decay on the landscape, vultures help return nutrients to the ecosystem while reducing the spread of disease. | Image credit: A. Mitchell

    Like the turkey vulture, the black vulture plays an important role in returning nutrients to the ecosystem.

    It simply approaches the problem differently.

    Where the turkey vulture trusts its nose, the black vulture trusts its neighbors.

    The Night Shift

    As daylight fades, a different group of predators takes over.

    The thermals weaken. The soaring hawks settle. Shadows lengthen across marshes and forests.

    Then the owls emerge.

    Eastern Screech-Owl: Master of Camouflage

    Many people have an eastern screech-owl (Megascops asio) living in their neighborhood and never realize it.

    Not because the owl is rare.

    Because it is exceptionally good at remaining unnoticed.

    You might spend years walking past the same tree without ever seeing this small bird tucked inside a cavity or pressed against the bark. Then one evening, just after sunset, a soft trill or whinny drifts through the yard and suddenly you realize there has been an owl nearby the entire time (Gehlbach, 2009; Ritchison et al., 2020).

    The discovery often raises an interesting question.

    If eastern screech-owls feed on many of the same insects, rodents, reptiles, and amphibians as some daytime raptors, why don’t we see them more often? (Gehlbach, 2009; Ritchison et al., 2020)

    Part of the answer is timing.

    While hawks spend the day watching fields, marshes, forests, and backyards, the eastern screech-owl waits for darkness. As daylight fades and the daytime hunters settle into roosts, the owl begins its own shift (Ritchison et al., 2020).

    But timing alone does not explain its success.

    The owl’s real advantage is concealment.

    Its mottled gray and brown feathers blend remarkably well with tree bark, allowing it to disappear into the landscape even when it is in plain sight. During the day, many spend hours motionless inside tree cavities or against trunks where they become nearly impossible to detect (Gehlbach, 2009; Ritchison et al., 2020).

    That camouflage allows the owl to remain close to people while largely escaping notice.

    Neighborhoods, wooded lots, parks, forest edges, and suburban backyards can all provide suitable habitat. The insects drawn to porch lights, the rodents moving along fence lines, and the small reptiles hiding among shrubs create hunting opportunities throughout the night (Gehlbach, 2009; Ritchison et al., 2020).

    By the time most people realize an eastern screech-owl is nearby, it has often been there all along.

    Its success does not come from being the largest predator in the landscape.

    It comes from being the one you never knew was watching.

    Barn Owl: Sound Becomes Sight

    A pale shape crosses a field at dusk.

    For a moment it hardly seems real. The bird appears almost white against the fading light, gliding silently above the grass before disappearing into the darkness beyond.

    The first question is often simple.

    What did I just see?

    For centuries, encounters like that have inspired stories of ghosts, spirits, and things that move through the night unseen. The barn owl’s piercing scream has only reinforced that reputation. Unlike the familiar hoots people associate with owls, barn owls produce calls that can sound startlingly human, often described as shrieks, screams, or cries drifting through the darkness. Heard for the first time from a forest edge or old barn, it is easy to understand how the bird became woven into folklore (Marti et al., 2024).

    Yet the call serves a practical purpose.

    In darkness, sound becomes one of the most effective ways for American barn owls (Tyto alba pratincola) to communicate with mates, defend territories, and maintain contact with one another. What sounds eerie to us is simply part of life for an owl that spends most of its time hunting when the rest of the landscape is asleep (Marti et al., 2024).

    The hunt itself is equally remarkable.

    Barn owls are among the most specialized rodent hunters in North America. Their heart-shaped facial disks act like satellite dishes, funneling sound toward asymmetrical ears capable of pinpointing prey with astonishing precision. A mouse rustling through grass can reveal its location long before the owl ever sees it (Payne, 1971; Marti et al., 2024).

    That adaptation helps explain another common experience.

    Step quietly into an old barn, abandoned building, or large outbuilding and you may discover one or more barn owls perched overhead. They often watch intruders with an intense stare, swaying and bobbing from side to side as they study the unfamiliar visitor below (Marti et al., 2024).

    At first glance, the behavior appears nervous or even strange.

    In reality, the owl is gathering information. The subtle movements help it judge distance, depth, and position before deciding whether to remain still or slip silently into the darkness.

    Fields, agricultural landscapes, marsh edges, and open grasslands provide ideal hunting habitat (Marti et al., 2024). Every mouse captured represents energy transferred from one part of the ecosystem to another, helping regulate populations that might otherwise grow unchecked.

    Youtube: 

    The pale bird crossing the field is not a ghost.

    It is one of the most effective hunters the night shift has to offer.

    For the barn owl, sound does not simply reveal the landscape.

    It becomes a way of seeing it.

    Barred Owl: The Voice of the Swamp

    “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you-all?”

    Once you hear it, you rarely forget it.

    The call drifts through wooded neighborhoods, swamp edges, and forested wetlands after sunset, often carrying much farther than people expect. Many coastal residents know the sound long before they ever see the bird responsible for making it (Bierregaard et al., 2025).

    The question naturally follows.

    Who is calling from the darkness?

    More often than not, it is a barred owl.

    Unlike the barn owl crossing open fields or the eastern screech-owl disappearing into a backyard tree, barred owls (Strix varia) are closely tied to forests and wetlands. Swamps, creek corridors, bottomland hardwoods, and wooded neighborhoods provide the cover, water, and diversity of prey they need (Bierregaard et al., 2025).

    The call itself serves several purposes. Barred owls use it to communicate with mates, establish territories, and maintain contact across dense forests where visibility is limited. What sounds like a conversation to us is often exactly that (Bierregaard et al., 2025).

    Those forests and wetlands provide hunting opportunities throughout the year. Frogs call from wetland edges. Crayfish move through shallow water. Rodents travel beneath fallen leaves. Snakes, insects, and small birds all become potential prey. Rather than specializing in a single food source, barred owls have learned to take advantage of whatever the swamp provides (Bierregaard et al., 2025).

    The swamp, however, does not make hunting easy.

    Prey hides beneath vegetation, beneath water, and beneath layers of leaf litter. Fallen logs, tangled branches, and dense understory create countless places to disappear.

    Barred owls overcome many of those challenges through silence.

    The leading edges of their feathers are specially adapted to break up airflow, reducing the sound of flight to nearly nothing. A mouse rustling beneath leaves, a frog moving along a wetland edge, or a crayfish crossing shallow water may never hear the owl approaching (Bachmann & Wagner, 2016).

    For prey, the danger often arrives without warning.

    By the time a barred owl commits to an attack, silence has already done much of the work.

    That ability helps explain why barred owls are among the most successful predators in the region.

    It also reveals something many people do not realize.

    Hunting is not simply a switch that turns on when a young owl leaves the nest.

    Juvenile barred owls must learn. They practice. They miss opportunities. They refine the skills needed to locate, pursue, and capture prey in a complex environment. In wildlife rehabilitation settings, young barred owls that fail to develop those hunting skills cannot be successfully returned to the wild (Watson et al., 2023).

    Instinct provides the foundation.

    Experience builds the hunter.

    Perhaps that is why barred owls have become such a familiar voice in the coastal night. Their success comes not from mastering a single prey species or hunting strategy, but from learning to adapt to whatever the swamp provides.

    For the barred owl, the swamp is more than habitat.

    It is a hunting ground, a classroom, and a home.

    Great Horned Owl: Ruler of the Night

    The night can be surprisingly noisy.

    A barred owl calls from the swamp.

    Tree frogs answer from the wetlands.

    Crickets fill the spaces in between.

    Then, sometimes, the woods erupt with alarm calls.

    Crows mob during the day. Smaller birds call from hidden roosts after sunset. Even other predators seem suddenly aware that something has changed.

    What happened?

    Often, a great horned owl (Bubo virginianus) has arrived.

    While many predators spend their lives worrying about what might hunt them, the great horned owl occupies a different position in the food web. Rabbits, squirrels, rodents, reptiles, birds, and even other predators can become prey. Where great horned owls occur, few animals completely ignore them (Artuso et al., 2020).

    That includes other owls.

    Barred owls, screech-owls, and other nocturnal hunters may alter their behavior when a great horned owl is nearby (Artuso et al., 2020). The question is not simply what the owl is hunting.

    The question is whether anything wants to become its next opportunity.

    Part of that success comes from versatility. Great horned owls hunt forests, wetlands, agricultural fields, suburban neighborhoods, and coastal habitats with equal confidence. Rather than specializing in a single prey species, they take advantage of whatever opportunities the landscape provides (Artuso et al., 2020).

    Yet versatility alone does not explain why other animals react when one arrives.

    Power does.

    A great horned owl’s grip rivals that of a bald eagle. The force generated by its talons can exceed 270 newtons, allowing it to seize and control prey with remarkable efficiency (Ward et al., 2002). Those feet are capable of exerting tremendous force once they close around a target (Ward et al., 2002; Lingham-Soliar, 2014).

    Combined with a wingspan approaching five feet, the result is a predator that commands attention even before it leaves the ground (Artuso et al., 2020).

    Yet perhaps the most remarkable thing about a great horned owl is how quietly all of that power moves through the landscape.

    Like other owls, the leading edges of their feathers break up airflow, reducing the sound of flight to nearly nothing. A bird carrying a wingspan wider than many people are tall can pass overhead with little more than a faint rush of air (Bachmann & Wagner, 2016).

    Sometimes not even that.

    The first indication that a great horned owl is nearby is often the reaction of everything else around it.

    That silence becomes even more effective when paired with another adaptation.

    Many people believe owls can rotate their heads completely around.

    They cannot.

    A great horned owl can rotate its head roughly 270 degrees, allowing it to scan much of the landscape without moving its body (Ward et al., 2002). Unlike our eyes, an owl’s eyes are largely fixed within the skull. To change its view, it must move its head (Ward et al., 2002; Lingham-Soliar, 2014).

    For an ambush predator, that matters.

    Every movement risks revealing its position. The ability to gather information while remaining nearly motionless allows the owl to watch far more than most animals realize.

    And that may be the real reason so many creatures react when one arrives.

    The great horned owl combines strength, silence, patience, and awareness in a way few predators can. By the time a rabbit, squirrel, snake, or even another owl realizes it is being watched, the great horned owl has often been watching for quite some time.

    Perhaps that is why other animals seem to know when one is nearby.

    The great horned owl is not simply another hunter in the night.

    It is often the hunter watching the hunters.

    Reading the Sky

    At first glance, they all appear similar.

    Large birds.

    Broad wings.

    Silhouettes against the sky.

    Yet an osprey hovering above the water, a red-shouldered hawk watching from a fence post, a Mississippi kite chasing dragonflies, a vulture riding a thermal, and a barred owl moving through the darkness are not performing the same job.

    They are reading the landscape in different ways.

    The osprey watches the water.

    The red-tailed hawk watches entire fields.

    The Cooper’s hawk watches movement between trees.

    The Mississippi kite watches the air itself.

    Even the vultures, often dismissed as scavengers, are searching for clues that most of us never notice.

    The next time a large bird catches your attention, resist the urge to identify it immediately.

    Instead, watch what it does.

    Does it hover?

    Circle?

    Perch?

    Glide?

    Disappear into the trees?

    The answer often tells you as much as the feathers.

    Because the sky is not filled with birds doing the same thing.

    It is filled with specialists solving different problems.

    And once you begin to notice those differences, the sky becomes a little easier to read.

    At a distance, every raptor can seem like little more than a shape against the clouds. Spend enough time watching, however, and the sky becomes easier to read. | Image credit: A. Mitchell
    At a distance, every raptor can seem like little more than a shape against the clouds. Spend enough time watching, however, and the sky becomes easier to read. | Image credit: A. Mitchell

    References

    Allen, L. L., Morrison, K. L., Scott, W. A., Shinn, S., Haltiner, A. M., & Doherty, M. J. (2018). Differences between stance and foot preference evident in osprey (Pandion haliaetus) fish holding during movement. Brain and Behavior, 8(11). https://doi.org/10.1002/brb3.1126

    Arad, Z., Midtgard, U., & Bernstein, M. H. (1989). Thermoregulation in Turkey vultures. Vascular anatomy, arteriovenous heat exchange, and behavior. The Condor, 91(3), 505. https://doi.org/10.2307/1368103

    Artuso, C., Houston, C. S., Smith, D. G., & Rohner, C. (2020). Great Horned Owl (Bubo virginianus). In Birds of the World (1.0th ed.). Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

    Bachmann, T., & Wagner, H. (2016). Silent owl wings. Encyclopedia of Nanotechnology, 3659-3669. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-94-017-9780-1_267

    Bierregaard, R. O., Livezey, K. B., Pyle, P., Mazur, K. M., & James, P. C. (2025). Barred Owl (Strix varia). In Birds of the World (2.1st ed.). Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

    Bierregaard, R. O., Poole, A. F., Martell, M. S., Pyle, P., & Patten, M. A. (2020). Osprey (Pandion haliaetus). In Birds of the World (1.0th ed.). Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

    Buckley, N. J., Kluever, B. M., Driver, R., & Rush, S. A. (2020). Black Vulture (Coragyps atratus). In Birds of the World (2.0th ed.). Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

    Buehler, D. A. (2022). Bald Eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus). In Birds of the World (2.0th ed.). Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

    DeVault, T. L., Beasley, J. C., Olson, Z. H., Moleón, M., Carrete, M., Margalida, A., & Sánchez-Zapata, J. A. (2016). Ecosystem Services Provided by Avian Scavengers. In Why Birds Matter: Avian Ecological Function and Ecosystem Services (pp. 235-270). University of Chicago Press.

    Dykstra, C. R., Hays, J. L., & Crocoll, S. T. (2020). Red-shouldered Hawk (Buteo lineatus). In Birds of the World (1.0th ed.). Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

    Ferguson-Lees, J., & Christie, D. A. (2001). Raptors of the world. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

    Gehlbach, F. R. (2009). The eastern screech owl: Life history, ecology, and behavior in the suburbs and countryside. Texas A&M University Press.

    Grigg, N. P., Krilow, J. M., Gutierrez-Ibanez, C., Wylie, D. R., Graves, G. R., & Iwaniuk, A. N. (2017). Anatomical evidence for scent guided foraging in the Turkey vulture. Scientific Reports, 7(1). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-017-17794-0

    Kerlinger, P. (1989). Flight strategies of migrating hawks.

    Kirk, D. A., Mossman, M. J., Bildstein, K. L., Naveda-Rodríguez, A., & Mallon, J. M. (2024). Turkey Vulture (Cathartes aura). In Birds of the World (2.0th ed.). Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

    Lingham-Soliar, T. (2014). Feather structure, biomechanics and biomimetics: The incredible lightness of being. Journal of Ornithology, 155(2), 323-336. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10336-013-1038-0

    Marti, C. D., Poole, A. F., Bevier, L. R., Bruce, M. D., Christie, D., Kirwan, G. M., Marks, J. S., & Pyle, P. (2024). American Barn Owl (Tyto furcata). In Birds of the World (1.1st ed.). Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

    Odum, E. P., & Barrett, G. W. (2005). Fundamentals of ecology. Cengage Learning.

    Parker, J. W. (2020). Mississippi Kite (Ictinia mississippiensis). In Birds of the World (1.0th ed.). Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

    Payne, R. S. (1971). Acoustic location of prey by barn owls (Tyto Alba). Journal of Experimental Biology, 54(3), 535-573. https://doi.org/10.1242/jeb.54.3.535

    Poole, A. F. (1989). Ospreys: A natural and unnatural history. Cambridge University Press.

    Preston, C. R., & Beane, R. D. (2024). Red-tailed Hawk (Buteo jamaicensis). In Birds of the World (1.0th ed.). Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

    Ritchison, G., Gehlbach, F. R., & Patten, M. A. (2020). Eastern Screech-Owl (Megascops asio). In Birds of the World (1.0th ed.). Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

    Rosenfield, R. N., Madden, K. K., Bielefeldt, J., & Curtis, O. E. (2025). Cooper’s Hawk (Accipiter cooperii). In Birds of the World (1.2nd ed.). Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

    Sarasola, J. H., Grande, J. M., & Negro, J. J. (2018). Birds of prey: Biology and conservation in the XXI century. Springer.

    Verheyden, C., & Jouventin, P. (1994). Olfactory behavior of foraging Procellariiforms. The Auk, 111(2), 285-291. https://doi.org/10.2307/4088593

    Ward, A. B., Weigl, P. D., & Conroy, R. M. (2002). Functional morphology of raptor Hindlimbs: Implications for resource partitioning. The Auk, 119(4), 1052-1063. https://doi.org/10.1093/auk/119.4.1052

    Watson, W. A., Hofstadter, D. F., Jones, G. M., Kramer, H. A., Kryshak, N. F., Zulla, C. J., 

    Whitmore, S. A., O’Rourke, V., Keane, J. J., Gutiérrez, R. J., & Peery, M. Z. (2023). Characterizing juvenile dispersal dynamics of invasive barred owls: Implications for management. Ornithological Applications, 126(1). https://doi.org/10.1093/ornithapp/duad061

  • Where Wings Meet Water: Reading Birds Along the Edges of Onslow County

    Where Wings Meet Water: Reading Birds Along the Edges of Onslow County

    At the Line Where Air Meets Water

    On a late spring morning along Surf City, the first movement is often above the water, not within it. Brown pelicans travel low and steady just beyond the breakers, their wingtips nearly touching the surface as they follow a line that seems invisible from shore. Farther out, a group of terns holds in place against the wind, hovering, adjusting, then dropping sharply into the water before rising again. Closer to the sound side of Topsail Island, an osprey circles once, then folds into a dive toward a channel edge that looks, at first glance, no different than the water around it.

    Nothing about these movements is random. They are responses to structure that exists beneath the surface—structure shaped by tide, wind, and the movement of other organisms. What appears as scattered bird activity is, in practice, a map of where the water is concentrating life.

    For someone standing at the edge of it, that movement is one of the most accessible ways to read what cannot be seen directly.

    What Birds Are Following Beneath the Surface

    The birds that move along this stretch of coast are not searching broadly; they are tracking concentration. Along barrier island systems like those in Onslow County, physical processes—tidal exchange through inlets, wind-driven surface currents, and subtle differences in bottom shape—create zones where small fish, shrimp, and other prey accumulate (Peterson & Peterson, 1979; Piersma, 1997).

    When the tide moves through places like New River Inlet, water does not flow evenly across the landscape. It accelerates through constrictions, slows along marsh edges, and bends around sandbars and channels. These shifts in speed and direction compress organisms into tighter spaces, particularly along boundaries where moving water meets something that resists it—an edge, a drop-off, or a change in depth (Wright et al., 1985).

    Small schooling fish respond to that compression by tightening their formation. In doing so, they become more visible and more vulnerable. Larger fish—bluefish, Spanish mackerel, and juvenile coastal sharks—often move in from below, using that same concentration to feed. The pressure from below pushes prey upward, sometimes all the way to the surface.

    Coastal birds feeding where prey has been concentrated near the surface along the breakers. | Image credit: A. Mitchell
    Coastal birds feeding where prey has been concentrated near the surface along the breakers. | Image credit: A. Mitchell

    What appears overhead depends on which part of that concentration each species is built to exploit.

    Terns hovering and diving are often responding to prey that has been driven upward by predatory fish (Safina & Burger, 1985). Brown pelicans, which rely on plunge-diving, tend to follow more stable schools of fish that remain near the surface for longer periods (Shields, 2014). Ospreys, in contrast, depend on clear water and individual fish they can visually isolate, which is why their activity often aligns with calmer conditions and defined channel edges (Poole et al., 2002).

    Each species is not simply feeding in the same place; each is reading a different layer of the same system.

    When Surface Activity Signals Pressure Below

    From the shoreline, bird activity can appear as isolated events—one dive, then another, then a sudden shift down the beach. Watched over time, a pattern emerges. A cluster of terns may concentrate in one location for several minutes, then disperse abruptly, reforming farther along the shoreline. Pelicans may align along a narrow band just beyond the breakers, following it as it drifts.

    These shifts often reflect changes in how prey is being compressed and released beneath the surface. When predatory fish move through a bait school, the school tightens, rises, and becomes briefly accessible from above. When that pressure dissipates, the school spreads out again, and the birds move on.

    This movement of energy—from smaller organisms to larger predators, and upward through the water column—is one visible expression of a trophic cascade. The term itself is often used to describe longer chains of ecological influence, but along the coast it can be observed in compressed moments, where the effects of predation become visible within seconds (Heithaus et al., 2008).

    Birds do not initiate this process. They respond to it. Their presence marks where the system has already intensified.

    Indicator Species at the Water’s Edge

    From the beach, the difference is subtle. The water does not change color dramatically, and the waves continue to break as they did before. The level of activity shifts within that band—first visible in the air, then inferred below– marking places where the system has tightened, energy is moving through multiple layers at once, and the distance between surface and depth has, for a time, narrowed (Heithaus et al., 2008; Estes et al., 2011).

    For someone entering the water, these differences in bird behavior can offer practical information, not in a predictive or absolute sense, but as indicators of what is happening just below the surface.

    Brown pelicans traveling low in a consistent line often indicate schools of fish moving parallel to shore. Terns repeatedly diving in a tight area suggest smaller prey being pushed upward, frequently by larger fish feeding below. Ospreys focusing on a specific channel edge reflect clearer water and individual prey availability, rather than broad schooling events. Along the shoreline, shorebirds probing the sand at low tide are responding to invertebrates exposed by receding water, signaling a different layer of the system entirely—one tied to sediment and tidal timing rather than active predation (Colwell, 2010; Piersma, 1997).

    None of these signals point directly to a specific species beneath the surface. What they indicate is concentration, and concentration is what draws larger predators closer to shore.

    Along the coast of North Carolina, nearshore and juvenile shark presence is often associated with areas of high prey density, particularly where schooling fish aggregate (Heupel & Hueter, 2002). These conditions are not constant, and they shift with tide, temperature, and time of day. Birds make those shifts visible in real time. 

    At times, that activity stretches into lines that run the length of the breakers. 

    For someone stepping into the water, that narrowing matters. Not as a warning in the abstract, but as a recognition that the conditions supporting visible feeding above often extend below, linking organisms that are rarely seen together into the same moving structure.

    Where the System Tightens

    The patterns become easier to see near places where the water is forced to narrow, turn, or accelerate. The most consistent bird activity along this coast tends to occur where water movement is constrained and redirected. Inlets, marsh edges, sandbars, and the transitions between the Intracoastal Waterway and adjacent sounds create these zones (Wright et al., 1985).

    At New River and its inlet, tidal flow compresses water into narrow channels before releasing it into broader areas, creating gradients in speed and depth. Along these gradients, prey accumulates, predators follow, and birds gather above.

    These are not fixed points. As tide rises and falls, and as wind reshapes surface conditions, the locations of these compression zones shift. The birds move with them, tracing patterns that are constantly changing but not random.

    For someone watching from shore, these movements can be read as lines, clusters, and absences—places where activity intensifies, and places where it suddenly drops away.

    Standing Within It

    Entering the water along this coast means stepping into a system already in motion. The surface may appear uniform, but the activity above it often reveals where that motion is focused.

    Birds diving repeatedly in a confined area, or tracking a narrow band just beyond the breakers, indicate where prey is concentrated. Those same conditions are what draw larger predators into closer proximity to shore, not as an anomaly, but as part of the same process.

    Watching the birds does not eliminate risk, and it does not provide certainty about what is beneath the surface. What it offers is context—a way to recognize when the water is more active, more compressed, and more connected across its layers.

    What appears as feeding from above is part of a larger structure moving through the water. The birds do not create it, and they do not remain once it passes. They mark it, briefly, making visible what is otherwise difficult to see.

    Bird movement along the shoreline often draws attention toward activity that remains unseen beneath the surface. | Image credit: A. Mitchell
    Bird movement along the shoreline often draws attention toward activity that remains unseen beneath the surface. | Image credit: A. Mitchell

    References

    Castro, J. I. (1993). The shark nursery of bulls Bay, South Carolina, with a review of the shark nurseries of the southeastern coast of the United States. Environmental Biology of Fishes, 38(1-3), 37-48. https://doi.org/10.1007/bf00842902

    Colwell, M. A. (2010). Shorebird ecology, conservation, and management. University of California Press.

    Estes, J. A., Terborgh, J., Brashares, J. S., Power, M. E., Berger, J., Bond, W. J., Carpenter, S. R., Essington, T. E., Holt, R. D., C. Jackson, J. B., Marquis, R. J., Oksanen, L., Oksanen, T., Paine, R. T., Pikitch, E. K., Ripple, W. J., Sandin, S. A., Scheffer, M., Schoener, T. W., & Wardle, D. A. (2011). Trophic downgrading of planet Earth. Science, 33(6040), 301-306. https://doi.org/10.1126/science.1205106

    Heithaus, M. R., Frid, A., Wirsing, A. J., & Worm, B. (2008). Predicting ecological consequences of marine top predator declines. Trends in Ecology & Evolution, 23(4), 202-210. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.tree.2008.01.003

    Heupel, M. R., & Hueter, R. E. (2002). Importance of prey density in relation to the movement patterns of juvenile blacktip sharks ( Carcharhinus limbatus ) within a coastal nursery area. Marine and Freshwater Research, 53(2), 543-550. https://doi.org/10.1071/mf01132

    Peterson, C. H., & Peterson, N. M. (1979). Ecology of intertidal flats of North Carolina: A community profile (79/39). FWS/OBS. https://pubs.usgs.gov/publication/fwsobs79_39

    Piersma, T. (1997). Do global patterns of habitat use and migration strategies Co-evolve with relative investments in Immunocompetence due to spatial variation in parasite pressure? Oikos, 80(3), 623-631. https://doi.org/10.2307/3546640

    Poole, A. F., Bierregaard, R. O., & Martell, M. S. (2002). Osprey (Pandion haliaetus). In The Birds of North America (1st ed.). Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

    Safina, C., & Burger, J. (1985). Common tern foraging: Seasonal trends in prey fish densities and competition with bluefish. Ecology, 66(5), 1457-1463. https://doi.org/10.2307/1938008

    Shields, M. (2014). Brown Pelican (Pelecanus occidentalis). In Birds of North America (1st ed.). Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

    Wright, L., Short, A., & Green, M. (1985). Short-term changes in the morphodynamic states of beaches and surf zones: An empirical predictive model. Marine Geology, 62(3-4), 339-364. https://doi.org/10.1016/0025-3227(85)90123-9

  • Threshold Species at the Year’s Turn

    Threshold Species at the Year’s Turn

    Winter birds and hidden skates in a changing coastal system

    Late December along the coast does not announce itself loudly. The holidays have passed, the shoreline empties, and the light—almost imperceptibly—begins to return. The winter solstice marks the shortest day of the year, but its ecological counterpart is quieter. The water does not reset. It settles.

    This is the moment when the coastal ecosystem stops negotiating with the season and begins to accept it. That acceptance is visible, if you know where to look—above the waterline in the form of a small diving duck, and below the surface in the stillness of a benthic predator that does not announce its presence at all.

    In our region, ecologists recognize certain animals as threshold species: species whose presence, or subtle change in behavior, signals that the system has crossed a seasonal threshold in energy, behavior, and stability — moving from late year into what comes next.

    Above the Water: When Winter Is No Longer a Question

    Male (left) and female (right) Bufflehead ducks enjoying a winter swim | Photo credit: Judy Gallagher, iNaturalist

    By late December, one species begins to appear with quiet regularity across protected sounds and estuaries: the Bufflehead (Bucephala albeola).

    Buffleheads are not early winter arrivals. They do not surge in during the first cold fronts of autumn, nor do they linger indecisively during seasonal transition. Instead, their presence reflects commitment. By the time buffleheads settle into coastal waters, water temperatures have stabilized at winter lows, turbulence has eased in protected areas, and benthic prey communities—particularly small crustaceans and mollusks—have shifted into predictable winter distributions (Eadie et al., 2000; Goudie et al., 1994).

    Ecologically, buffleheads are specialists. They forage by diving, relying on clear water and reliable prey patches. Their winter distribution is shaped not by calendar dates but by energy economics: cold water increases metabolic demands, and winter habitats must reliably repay that cost (Eadie & Kehoe, 2022). Where buffleheads remain, the system has crossed a threshold from fluctuation to stability.

    In this way, they function less as migrants and more as indicators. Their presence signals that the coastal year has finished rearranging itself. Winter has arrived—not dramatically, but decisively.

    Below the Water: When Stillness Makes Life Visible

    Clearnose skate in winter waters | Photo credit: NOAA Fisheries

    Below the surface, the signal is subtler.

    Skates do not arrive in winter with the clarity of birds overhead. Species such as the Clearnose skate (Rostroraja eglanteria) are present along the southeastern U.S. coast throughout much of the year. What changes in late December is not their location, but their visibility.

    As water temperatures drop, skates reduce activity, conserving energy through decreased movement and prolonged periods of resting on the seafloor (Di Santo & Bennett, 2011). This metabolic slowdown coincides with seasonal increases in water clarity driven by reduced biological productivity, lower sediment resuspension, and diminished boat traffic (Cloern et al., 2014). The result is a paradox: winter reveals what summer conceals.

    In these conditions, skates become easier to observe—not because they have increased in number, but because the system itself has slowed enough to make persistence visible. Their flattened bodies blend seamlessly into sandy or muddy substrates, a strategy optimized for ambush predation and energy conservation rather than movement (Carrier et al., 2012).

    If buffleheads announce that winter has settled, skates confirm it. They represent endurance over motion, patience over migration.

    The Ecological Hinge Between Years

    Neither of these species marks a beginning. Neither signals renewal or arrival in the way spring migrants do. Instead, they occupy the hinge between years—the moment when the ecosystem accepts the constraints of winter and reorganizes around them.

    Late December is not biologically empty. It is a period of recalibration. Energy budgets tighten. Movements become deliberate. Survival depends less on abundance than on efficiency.

    Above the water, buffleheads gather where the math works. Below it, skates persist by minimizing expenditure altogether. One is easily seen, the other almost never. Together, they reveal the same truth: the system has crossed a line.

    After the Turn

    January will bring its own changes. Cold will deepen, or ease. Migratory patterns will sharpen. New signals will emerge. But the moment just after the solstice—just after the holidays—is different. It is when the coast pauses, holds, and commits.

    The year does not turn loudly here.
    It settles, and then it holds.

    References

    Carrier, J. C., Musick, J. A., & Heithaus, M. R. (2012). Biology of sharks and their relatives (2nd ed.). CRC Press. https://doi.org/10.1201/b11867 

    Cloern, J. E., Foster, S. Q., & Kleckner, A. E. (2014). Phytoplankton primary production in the world’s estuarine–coastal ecosystems. Biogeosciences, 11(9), 2477–2501. https://doi.org/10.5194/bg-11-2477-2014 

    Di Santo, V., & Bennett, W. A. (2011). Is post-feeding thermotaxis advantageous in elasmobranch fishes? Journal of Fish Biology, 78(7), 1950–1965. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1095-8649.2011.02976.x 

    Eadie, J. M., & Kehoe, F. P. (2022). Energetics and foraging ecology of diving ducks. In P. G. Rodewald (Ed.), The birds of North America. Cornell Lab of Ornithology.
    https://doi.org/10.2173/bna 

    Eadie, J. M., Savard, J. P. L., & Mallory, M. L. (2000). Barrow’s Goldeneye (Bucephala islandica) and Bufflehead (Bucephala albeola). In A. Poole & F. Gill (Eds.), The birds of North America. Cornell Lab of Ornithology. https://doi.org/10.2173/bna.548 

    Goudie, R. I., Brault, S., Conant, B., Kondratyev, A. V., Petersen, M. R., & Vermeer, K. (1994). The status of sea ducks in the North Pacific Rim: Toward their conservation. Transactions of the North American Wildlife and Natural Resources Conference, 59, 27–49. https://pubs.usgs.gov/publication/70187692

  • The 12 Days of Estuary Christmas | New River Estuary

    The 12 Days of Estuary Christmas | New River Estuary

    In the season of chilly tides and twinkling pier lights, the New River estuary doesn’t quiet down — it parties in its own salty way. So grab your cocoa, bundle up, and join us for a winter countdown of festive fins, feathers, and the ecological magic beneath the misty surface.

    (Sing along if you dare — apologies in advance.)

    Day 12: Twelve Dolphins Dancing

    12 dolphins dancing

    Bottlenose dolphins along the mid-Atlantic coast shift into cooperative foraging teams in the cooler months — synchronized movements that feel almost choreographed (Torres & Read, 2009). Their leaping, circling, and flipper-flicking tactics help herd fish just like dancers driving the story across a winter stage.

    Cue underwater Nutcracker ballet.

    Day 11: Eleven Stripers Schooling

    11 stripers schooling

    Atlantic striped bass move into estuarine channels when the water cools, fueling popular winter fisheries (Boyd, 2011).

    Cold water? Hot bite.

    Day 10: Ten Blue Crabs Burrowing

    Ten Blue Crabs Burrowing

    Blue crabs overwinter right here — burrowed into sediment, metabolism slowed, waiting for spring, or when water temperatures rise above 9℃ (Glandon, Kilborn & Miller, 2019).

    The ultimate cozy blanket fort.

    Day 9: Nine Oysters Filtering

    Nine Oysters Filtering

    Oysters continue filtering water through the winter, though more slowly — still improving water quality and boosting biodiversity (Grabowski & Peterson, 2007).

    Nature’s tiny elves never clock out.

    Day 8: Eight Croakers Drumming

    Eight Croakers Drumming

    Atlantic croaker remain common in NC coastal waters during cooler months, shifting to deeper estuarine areas (Miller et al., 2003).

    Rumble, rumble — underwater holiday percussion.

    Day 7: Seven Specks Still Striking

    Seven Specks Still Striking

    Speckled seatrout stay active in winter, especially in deeper holes and marsh channels where prey concentrates and water temperatures remain above 7℃ (Ellis, Buckle & Hightower, 2017).

    Even cold-blooded fish love a good holiday snack.

    Day 6: Six Sharks Snow-Birding

    Six Sharks Snow-Birding

    Juvenile coastal sharks like sandbars and sharpnose depart estuaries in late fall, migrating offshore and southward (Bangley et al., 2018).

    “See you after the thaw!”

    Day 5: FIVE… OYS-TER REEFS!

    Five oyster reefs

    Oyster reefs provide the essential winter housing market — structured refuge for juvenile fish, crustaceans, and invertebrates (Coen et al., 2007).

    Deck the reefs with beds and breakfasts..

    Day 4: Four Buffleheads Diving

    Four Buffleheads Diving

    These small sea ducks, buffleheads, arrive from the Arctic and forage in our coastal waters all winter long (Gauthier, 2014).

    Feathered travelers escaping the Arctic freeze.

    Day 3: Three Terrapins Burrowed

    Three Terrapins Burrowed

    Diamondback terrapins overwinter in marsh sediments, lowering heart rate and waiting out the cold (Harden, Midway & Willard, 2015).

    A brumation vacation.

    Day 2: Two Menhaden Shoals

    Two Menhaden Shoals

    Atlantic menhaden form huge winter schools offshore and near inlet mouths, fueling predator energy budgets (Orth, 2023).

    The estuary’s holiday punch bowl.

    Day 1: And a Red Drum in the Mar-sh-Tree

    And a Red Drum in the Mar-sh-Tree

    Red drum remain year-round, feeding in creeks and marsh edges even in winter low-temp slow-motion (Bacheler et al., 2009).

    Our coastal Christmas (and state) mascot.

    The Estuary Never Sleeps

    Even as we wrap gifts and check lists twice, life beneath the cold surface hustles on — feeding, moving, filtering, and keeping the New River ecosystem healthy through the darkest season.

    So here’s to the citizens of our winter waters —
    May your tides be merry and bright!

    References

    Bacheler, N., Paramore, L., Buckel, J., & Hightower, J. (2009). Abiotic and biotic factors influence the habitat use of an estuarine fish. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 377, 263-277. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps07805

    Bangley, C. W., Paramore, L., Dedman, S., & Rulifson, R. A. (2018). Delineation and mapping of coastal shark habitat within a shallow lagoonal Estuary. PLOS ONE, 13(4), e0195221. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0195221

    Boyd, J. B. (2011). Maturation, fecundity, and spawning frequency of the Albemarle/Roanoke striped bass stock (2011. 1510474) [Doctoral dissertation]. ProQuest Dissertations and Theses Global.

    Coen, L., Brumbaugh, R., Bushek, D., Grizzle, R., Luckenbach, M., Posey, M., Powers, S., & Tolley, S. (2007). Ecosystem services related to oyster restoration. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 341, 303-307. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps341303

    Ellis, T., Buckel, J., & Hightower, J. (2017). Winter severity influences spotted seatrout mortality in a southeast US estuarine system. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 564, 145-161. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps11985

    Gauthier, G. (2014, July 14). Bufflehead – Bucephala albeola. Birds of the World – Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Retrieved November 29, 2025, from https://birdsoftheworld.org/bow/historic/bna/buffle/2.0/introduction

    Glandon, H. L., Kilbourne, K. H., & Miller, T. J. (2019). Winter is (not) coming: Warming temperatures will affect the overwinter behavior and survival of blue crab. PLOS ONE, 14(7), e0219555. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0219555

    Grabowski, J. H., & Peterson, C. H. (2007). Restoring oyster reefs to recover ecosystem services. Theoretical Ecology Series, 281-298. https://doi.org/10.1016/s1875-306x(07)80017-7

    Harden, L. A., Midway, S. R., & Williard, A. S. (2015). The blood biochemistry of overwintering diamondback terrapins (Malaclemys terrapin). Journal of Experimental Marine Biology and Ecology, 466, 34-41. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jembe.2015.01.017

    Mead, J. G., & Potter, C. W. (1995). Recognizing two populations off the bottlenose dolphin (Tursiops Truncatus) of the Atlantic coast of North America-Morphologic and Ecologic Considerations. https://repository.si.edu/server/api/core/bitstreams/9c563919-2b27-4ac4-bba1-92e7d090fd72/content

    Orth, D. J. (2023). Fish, fishing and conservation. Blacksburg: Virginia Tech Department of Fish and Wildlife Conservation.Torres, L. G., & Read, A. J. (2009). Where to catch a fish? The influence of foraging tactics on the ecology of bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncatus) in Florida Bay, Florida. Marine Mammal Science, 25(4), 797-815. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1748-7692.2009.00297.x

  • Gratitude for Marsh Predators: How Egrets, Herons, and Fish-Hunting Birds Shape the New River

    Gratitude for Marsh Predators: How Egrets, Herons, and Fish-Hunting Birds Shape the New River

    A Thanksgiving for the Watchers at the Water’s Edge

    By late November, the New River of Onslow County—the slow, tidal estuary rising in Jacksonville and emptying into the Atlantic at New River Inlet—transforms. The grasses brown, the water clarifies, and the familiar pulse of summer predators fades. Flounder slip offshore. Red drum feed less frequently. Sharks leave the inlet behind in search of warmer currents.

    But along the marsh edges, another group of predators steps forward.

    Great egrets, snowy egrets, tricolored herons, great blue herons, kingfishers, cormorants, pelicans, and the few ospreys that overwinter become the defining hunters of the cold season. Their presence is not merely ornamental—they keep the estuary functioning when the fish and sharks of summer retreat.

    This is a season to be thankful for the feathered predators who bridge water and land, carrying the New River through winter.

    Egrets: The Marsh’s Quiet Engineers

    Difference between great and snow egrets
    Snowy Egrets and Great Egrets share the New River’s marsh edges, but their size, bill color, and foraging styles shape the estuary differently. Together, these two “marsh engineers” help regulate small fish and crustaceans throughout the colder months. | Photo ©️ Mia McPherson

    Great blue (Ardea alba) and snowy egrets (Egretta thula) line the mudbanks of the New River like pale sentinels during late fall. Their precision hunting—patient standing, slow stepping, sudden striking—remains one of the most effective predatory strategies in shallow water. But egrets do much more than remove prey from the system.

    Their feet stir the marsh. With every step, they oxygenate the upper sediment and dislodge hidden invertebrates—worms, amphipods, and tiny crabs. This stirring, known as bioturbation, is essential when larger predators leave for the season. It keeps nutrients moving upward through the food web instead of becoming locked in low-oxygen mud pockets (Green & Elmberg, 2014).

    Egrets also function as indicator species. Their presence in good numbers along the New River—especially snowy egrets—signals healthy populations of juvenile fish and crustaceans, as these birds are sensitive to reductions in prey availability and water-quality decline (Gawlik, 2002).

    In winter, when the big fish leave, the egrets’ quiet engineering keeps the marsh breathing.

    Herons: Sentinels of the Shallows

    Great blue heron in NC
    A Great Blue Heron wades through the quiet shallows in North Carolina, its slow, deliberate steps stirring life from the sediment. In winter, this patient hunter becomes one of the estuary’s most influential predators.

    Herons are the deliberate hunters of the New River’s cooler months. Great blue herons (Ardea herodias) stalk deeper edge-waters near Wilson Bay and Stones Bay, while tricolored and green herons hunt the narrow creeks and flooded grass near Sneads Ferry.

    Their predatory pressure plays a critical stabilizing role.

    When red drum, flounder, and juvenile sharks reduce feeding or migrate offshore, herons become the primary top-down regulators in shallow zones. Without them, schooling fish such as killifish and silversides can become overly abundant and overgraze algae mats, uproot detrital layers, and reduce habitat for invertebrates (Caldwell & Gawlik, 2020).

    Herons prevent this imbalance, maintaining the delicate structure of marsh edges through the winter lull.

    They are also highly sensitive to habitat degradation. If marsh edges are destroyed or water quality declines, herons disappear quickly—making them early warning signals of ecosystem stress.

    When the estuary grows quiet, herons hold the line.

    Kingfishers: The River’s Aerial Regulators

    Belted kingfisher in NC

    The New River bends—particularly between Jacksonville and Camp Lejeune—echo with the rattling call of the belted kingfisher (Megaceryle alcyon). These birds hunt where no heron can reach: suspended midair, diving into deeper channels for small mullet, anchovies, and menhaden.

    Their role is uniquely important in winter.

    Kingfishers distribute prey movement across the river. Their dive-bombing predation prevents baitfish from clustering into dense, oxygen-demanding schools. This reduces the chance of hypoxic pockets and helps keep prey species spreading through multiple river habitats, supporting overall food-web stability (Green & Elmberg, 2014).

    As indicator species, kingfishers require:

    • Clear water,
    • Steep undisturbed banks for burrow nests, and
    • Intact riparian vegetation.

    A decline in their numbers often indicates erosion, turbidity, or human disturbance along the New River corridor.

    When water clears and fish slow down, kingfishers regulate the mid-channel flow.

    Cormorants & Pelicans: Divers of the Deep Channels

    Cormorants and nesting brown pelicans in NC
    Double-crested cormorants and brown pelicans share the New River’s deeper channels, one diving beneath the surface and the other striking from above—two winter hunters shaping the river’s mid-channel food web. | Photo credits: © Patty Teague and Walker Golder

    Where the marsh deepens toward New River Inlet, winter belongs to the divers.

    Double-crested cormorants (Phalacrocorax auritus) gather in rafts, plunging beneath the surface in coordinated group hunts. Brown pelicans (Pelecanus accidentalis), though more numerous in summer, often overwinter near the inlet, diving from above for surface schooling fish.

    These two species maintain control over mid-water prey populations during a time when bluefish, larger trout, and sharks are absent.

    Cormorants keep cold-tolerant fish like anchovies and menhaden from becoming hyperabundant—preventing prey schools from stripping plankton layers or concentrating into stressed, oxygen-poor pockets. Pelicans, meanwhile, remove weak or diseased fish from the surface, helping maintain water quality and reducing pathogen spread (Green & Elmberg, 2014).

    In winter, when predation usually thins, the divers take up the mantle offshore.

    Ospreys: Winter’s Remaining Apex Hunters

    Osprey flying to nest with prey
    An osprey returns to its nest with a freshly caught fish—one of the last true apex hunters still patrolling the New River as winter approaches. | Photo Credit: Steve Gorin

    Most ospreys (Pandion haliaetus) migrate south, but a handful stay near New River Inlet and the Onslow County coastline each winter. Those that remain become the estuary’s apex aerial predators, taking mullet, juvenile trout, and medium-sized fish that no other bird consistently targets.

    Their presence means something.
    Ospreys are recognized worldwide as indicators of estuarine health, reflecting the state of fish recruitment, water clarity, and shoreline integrity (Green & Elmberg, 2014).

    If ospreys disappear, it often signals a breakdown already underway.

    Even in winter, they serve as a reminder of the estuary’s resilience—and vulnerability.

    When the Feathered Predators Are Lost

    Split-scene marsh graphic showing a healthy winter marsh with an egret on the left and a degraded marsh without birds on the right, illustrating how predator loss leads to prey booms, detritus buildup, and declining water quality in the New River estuary.

    When fish-hunting birds decline, the system changes quickly:

    • Prey fish populations spike and overgraze marsh surfaces.
    • Detritus accumulates, creating low-oxygen mud layers.
    • Nutrient cycling slows, as birds supply essential nitrogen and phosphorus.
    • Marsh plants thin, increasing erosion along the New River’s edges.
    • Winter loses its predators, leaving the estuary unregulated until spring.

    Their disappearance is not cosmetic—it is structural.

    These birds are the framework that holds the winter ecosystem together.

    A Season to Give Thanks

    As fall deepens into the quiet months, the New River’s story becomes one of subtle but powerful relationships. Egrets stir the mud and release life into motion. Herons regulate the shallows. Kingfishers keep the channels moving. Cormorants and pelicans manage the deeper waters. Ospreys, if they stay, rule the sky.

    They do not roar or thrash or leap.
    They shape the estuary one step, one strike, and one dive at a time.

    This Thanksgiving, the gratitude belongs to them as well—the birds who carry the New River through winter and keep the connection between land and sea alive.

    References

    Able, K. W., & Fodrie, F. J. (2015). Fish habitat use in salt marshes: Linking ecology and conservation. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 527, 1–5. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps11344 

    Caldwell, A. W., & Gawlik, D. E. (2020). Wading birds as top predators in shallow estuarine food webs: Behavioral influence on fish distribution. Estuaries and Coasts, 43(6), 1273–1286. https://doi.org/10.1007/s12237-020-00734-1 

    Gawlik, D. E. (2002). The effects of prey availability on the foraging behavior of wading birds. Ecological Monographs, 72(3), 329–346. https://doi.org/10.1890/0012-9615 

    Green, A. J., & Elmberg, J. (2014). Ecosystem services provided by waterbirds. Biological Reviews, 89(1), 105–122. https://doi.org/10.1111/brv.12045 

    Vance-Chalcraft, H. D., Duffey, R., & Knott, D. (2021). Linking avian and aquatic predators stabilizes estuarine food webs. Ecology, 102(12), e03540. https://doi.org/10.1002/ecy.3540