Expressway: Long Island, alive in autumn

In the fall, a cascade of changes occurs that can draw our attention, and easily fascinate, if we'd only go out and take a look.

The most obvious is the change in the color of our broad-leafed trees. But, for me, there is so much more to see. Fall is also a season of migrations. In numbers great to solitary, our skies, forests and waters attract visitors from afar. Long Island is not the haven to wandering wildlife it once was, but genetically influenced behaviors persist, so they come. From a lengthy cast of characters, I mention three; each imparts its own sense of wonder and awe.

Down at Fox Point marsh, a Lattingtown wetland preserve that is a magnet for many of nature's creatures, a commotion of flurried feathers and raucous cries captured my attention. A group of blue jays was attempting to harass one of our migrating birds; since all appeared the same size, I found it difficult to discern the chased from the chasing. But not for long. The jays, as is their nature, had begun this harassment, but this time their choice was a bad one, and the tables were being turned. A dusky brown-backed (and therefore female) acrobat was leading the chase. She is a female Merlin, a midsized falcon with pointed wings, aggressive nature and incredible bursts of speed. Outnumbered, but not outmatched, she scattered the jays with a series of dives and rolls. In only minutes, she sat on a solitary perch, quiet and undisturbed. In the afternoon, her journey south continued.

At Bethpage State Park, where I work as a naturalist, another rare raptor passedthrough in this season of change. Instantly identified in so many ways, this is true royalty of the birds-of-prey, the fastest animal on Earth, the peregrine falcon.

Any sighting of the endangered peregrine is rare. Crow-sized, with heavy black stripes under the eyes to reduce glare, this slate-backed missile with distinctive oar-like beats of its wings is impossible to mistake.

While hunting birds such as ducks, peregrines will fall from great heights in the sky in a conically shaped, incredibly well- controlled attack called a stoop. At the point of attack, these falcons have been reliably measured at speeds exceeding 200 mph. There were no predatory aeronautical acrobatics to be seen this time, this bird was simply passing through. After leaving its perch in a tree, it flew straight across my field of view, and at a speed that only a peregrine would consider leisurely. Despite sharing the company of the falcon for only 15 minutes, a broad smile persisted on my face for the rest of the day.

The last of the three is perhaps the greatest. Lacking feathered muscle or predatory aggressiveness, it substitutes a multigenerational sense of purpose without equal. It is the monarch butterfly. Not the fastest, largest or most powerful of nature's creations, its migration is stunning in its length and difficulty. Its fluttering, seemingly aimless wing-beats never cease to fill me with appreciation. The individual butterfly that I watch will likely die in route to its Mexican destination, but on this monarch goes, propelled by a migrational drive that dwarfs its minuscule, cold-blooded flight muscles. A wonder of nature passing by.

Change is not always good, but it can be wonderful. Go out, watch and enjoy!

Reader Jim Jones lives in Bayville. He is the staff naturalist at Bethpage State Park and president of the board of directors of Volunteers for Wildlife.