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“Birding from Explorer” is an ongoing series of articles by Angela Biederman, Chief Deckhand on the Explorer riverboat.  A relatively new birder, Angela shares her observations of migrating birds, as sighted from the boat’s home dock on Pittsburgh’s North Shore, near the headwaters of the Ohio River.

A Tale of Two Ducks: Canvasbacks and Redheads

The month of February brought so many migratory birds through and to Pittsburgh’s three rivers that, short of offering an extensive calendrical list of sightings, I might hardly know where to begin. I even considered opening this installment with the simple introduction: Brace Yourselves. Rather than opt for a chronological retelling that might quickly disinterest readers, I decided to focus on two diving ducks that are in the same genus and are a similar-looking species: Redhead (Aythya americana) and Canvasback (Aythya valisineria) ducks. Reasonably sized flocks of these ducks migrated through within a week of one another, and stayed for about three weeks.  Prior to their arrival, I had not seen either species before in my life. Part of the reason I wanted to narrow down this article to two diving ducks was because my very first sighting of the Redheads made me initially think—before looking in any field guide—that they were possibly Canvasbacks. I had seen Canvasbacks in Captain Ryan O’Rourke’s Birds of the Three Rivers onboard, but Redheads are not in that compilation (side note: I’m happy to say there have been several diving duck species spotted this winter that will have to be added to that book!). It wasn’t until I opened Peterson’s field guide to Birds of Eastern and Central North America and saw a duck very similar to Canvasbacks that helped confirm what had just flown in.

Canvasbacks and Redheads in Peterson’s field guide

Once I saw Canvasbacks and Redheads side-by-side in the field guide, I was quickly able to see the difference between the Canvasbacks I thought I saw, and the Redheads I knew I was looking at. This process of comparing similar species might be helpful for anyone new to birding, who wants to get started, or is curious about things to make note of to help you distinguish between similar kinds. After the arrival of the Canvasbacks, I did some additional research on both species’ behavior and history, like the overhunting of Canvasbacks that decimated their populations, which was inspired by conversations and articles that carried a lot of overlap and piqued my curiosity to find out more. Hopefully some things I learned about the four migratory flyways spanning North America, and related issues like hunting regulations and conservation efforts, can be revisited more in depth down the road.

I first saw a total of 27 Redheads (17 male, ten female) in the late morning of February 8th, off the starboard side of Explorer, making their way towards the stern to eventually settle near our floating dock. I can’t recall what I was even doing when along came this raft of ducks I had never seen before. (Another side note: a group of ducks has many collective nouns, including “raft”, “paddling”, “brace”, “flush” and “team”. I’m sure there are more, but I plan on randomly testing out these terms and we’ll see what sticks.) The Redheads came in and got close enough for me to take some good photos, and get a good look to help me to identify them. I watched them for a while as they almost immediately started foraging for food; they were quite lively and fun to watch, until most of them calmed down, and tucked their bills in their back to snooze.

Male Redhead Ducks

Female Redheads

Before I had ever even seen any Canvasbacks, I could tell from the images in the field guide that the birds behind the boat were Redheads. One major indication was the males’ backs and sides were not predominately white like they typically are on male Canvasbacks (which gets its common name specifically from the males’ canvas-colored back). Redheads have a much grayer back and sides; as well as a rounder, more rufous, and lighter cinnamon-red head. A Canvasback’s dark, chestnut-red head is more sloped, and their bill is longer and black. Another feature of Redheads that’s very distinguishing is not just the shape of their shorter bill, but also its color: it’s bluish gray, with a whitish ring preceding a black tip. The black and gray tails of Canvasbacks and Redheads are similar, as is their all-black chest; but another distinguishing trait is their eyes: the male Redheads I saw had yellow eyes, and while the eyes of both sexes of Canvasbacks are yellow for the first 10 to 12 weeks, they soon become a piercing bright red for the males, and a dark brown to black for the females.

While most of these indicators apply to the males (also known as drakes), a couple apply to the females, or hens: namely, the head and bill shape and bill coloration, which was the best way I was able to distinguish the female Redheads from female Canvasbacks. Canvasback hens have plumage more akin to their male counterpart, with a lighter back and sides, a slightly darker chest, and a suggestion of pale rust on their head and neck. The Redhead hens are overall brownish, with a suffused light patch near the base of their bill. 

On February 11th, three days after I first saw the Redheads, the Canvasbacks arrived. In fact, this day was like hitting the migratory-diving-duck or bird-spotting jackpot.  It was the afternoon, I was in the pilot house of Explorer, and noticed a bunch of spots on the water relatively close to shore in front of the Carnegie Science Center submarine. This area of the river is right in front of the boat launch under Heinz Stadium, where I see Double-crested Cormorants, Ring-billed Gulls, Mallard Ducks, and Canada Geese almost every morning on my way to work. It is also where I have gone birding to get a glimpse of some other recent migratory ducks, like Ruddy Ducks or ol’ miss Melani p (what I affectionately started calling the female Surf Scoter that was here for a couple of weeks in November). I couldn’t identify the ducks at all from the boat, but could tell that some of the spots were very white (Canvasbacks? I wondered), and others were quite dark.  I walked a newly purchased field scope to the boat launch to get a better view, and identified the following ducks, all of them divers: Redheads, Buffleheads, Common Mergansers, roughly ten to 15 Canvasbacks (that were definitely Canvasbacks, and more came in over the weeks), Ruddy Ducks, and Greater and Lesser Scaups – the latter two being other species in the Aythya genus and ones I had not previously seen. In awe, I watched these seven species of male and female diving ducks (there were only two female Ruddy Ducks – I still have not seen a male) in this congested little area for well over an hour.  I took many photos and videos, two of which can be viewed on Explorer’s Facebook page, and here are a select few:

I have since learned that this combination of so many different diving ducks is actually quite common for some wintering waterfowl. In the non-breeding season, Redheads, Canvasbacks, and scaups (which, again, are in the same genus) often flock together, occasionally along with wigeons and American Coots. Incredibly, their numbers can climb into the tens of thousands.  One of the most interesting things I read on  All About Birds  is that Redheads are so “exceptionally gregarious” they will sometimes alight at hunting decoys before hunters have even finished setting them up. 

Within a day or two of witnessing this highly social flush of ducks in all of their speciated variety, I was catching up with my father on the phone and telling him about it. My father—a life-long outdoorsman, and man who has gained more wisdom from decades of hunting, fishing, farming, and gardening than from what a formal education could afford—told me that at one point Canvasbacks’ population numbers were so low due to overhunting that restrictions were established so they didn’t become extinct. Canvasbacks use their bill to strain seeds from mud; they ingest a lot of lead shot and are especially affected by lead poisoning in areas that are heavily hunted (fortunately this threat has somewhat diminished since lead shot used for waterfowl hunting was federally banned in 1991). Curious to find out more about the health of their populations now, and to what degree they were overhunted, I did some digging that led to some very interesting finds.

Canvasbacks get their scientific name, Aythya valisineria, from Vallisneria americana, or wild celery, which is Submersed Aquatic Vegetation (SAV) that happens to be extremely sensitive to climate- and pollution-related changes in water quality. Canvasbacks’ habitat locations have shifted in part due to the loss of this SAV in areas where it once flourished (such as the Chesapeake Bay—a bottleneck on the Atlantic Flyway), but much of their habitat degradation occurred well after the overhunting that happened in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Here is the relationship: the wild celery diet of Canvasbacks resulted in their meat being believed to be the tastiest of any duck, which made them the favorite targets of commercial market hunters that supplied large cities of the North with fresh meat. The most sophisticated consumers sought to dine on this luxurious duck meat, and a pair of Canvasbacks would have cost more than one hundred of today’s dollars—clearly a dinner for the rich and well-off. Mark Twain even described Canvasback as one of the “quintessential American foods” he missed while traveling Europe. Demand for this duck meat drove commercial market hunters to bring their populations to extremely low levels, and these endeavors were aided by the industrialization of market hunting and America: after 1865, shotguns, railroads and refrigeration made killing and transporting large quantities of Canvasback meat viable. I also read about punt guns, sink boxes, and handmade or hand-carved decoys made by the Chesapeake Bay hunters—and even Native Americans 2,000 years ago—that all assisted in attracting and capturing this prized wild game.  

After decades of overhunting, and recognizing birds travel across state lines (and countries and continents), the Weeks-Mclean Act of 1913 was implemented to transfer the regulation of waterfowl management from states to federal governments to help protect and revive Canvasback populations. Without enforcement, however, these regulations has little impact; this led to the Migratory Bird Treaty Act in 1918, which outlawed commercial market hunting and provided funding for enforcement. Recreational hunters became a significant interest group, and provided support for waterfowl conservation, along with other programs such as the Migratory Bird Hunting & Conservation Stamp (commonly called the Duck Stamp). I also read that other organizations such as the National Wildlife Refuge System and Ducks Unlimited, as well as Federal Farm Bill programs, have all aided in wetland conservation, and thereby the revitalization of Canvasback populations. Canvasback populations are still largely affected by breeding ground conditions, particularly wetlands such as marshes and the fascinating Prairie Pothole Region of Canada and the northern Midwest. When these wetlands are unavailable due to drought or other environmental factors, Canvasback hens will delay or skip nesting altogether, which is why populations had again declined during the 1930s drought that caused the Dust Bowl. Canvasback populations fluctuated through the 20th century, and dipped very low again in the ‘80s. Fortunately today, numbers have rebound, their population is stable, and about 700,000 ducks were reported in 2017, with a slightly lower estimate for 2020.

After learning all this, I felt grateful to have seen Canvasbacks passing through here. While I thought they had all left over the weekend before the river started flooding on Sunday, I took a little jaunt downriver on the trail this week and saw maybe half a dozen floating around Peggy’s Harbor. It’s been at least a week since I’ve seen any Redheads, but their reputation isn’t sitting well with me: I learned the hens are major brood parasites, which means they lay their eggs in all kinds of other ducks’ nest (such as Canvasbacks’) which negatively impacts the original ducks’ hatching numbers. Regardless, I hope to see both species come through again, along with all the others I’ve seen this month, which I look forward to sharing more about in posts to come.

Until then, here is the most recent video I took of Canvasbacks (with a pair of Lesser Scaups, and an uncommon female White-winged Scoter), filmed Friday of last week right before I was about to leave the boat. I was stepping onto the gangway, saw them off the stern, and decided to unlock the door, head back in, and grab some binoculars to watch them for a while. The river was extremely calm, the afternoon was quiet, and it was a rare moment I took to just sit and observe. Most of the time, I am busy with other things, and just get sidetracked (sometimes for a while) by a sighting.  It was a moment I loved, and hope it encourages you to head to one of our riverbanks, look for what’s happening on the water, and see what you can identify. 

Author’s Note: A correction was made on March 10, 2021. Thanks to one of our readers, I was informed that my previous statement referencing “the lead shot ban” was somewhat misleading: lead shot is not federally banned for all hunting and fishing purposes. In 1991, lead shot for the use of hunting waterfowl was federally banned, but not for all hunting ammunition and fishing tackle.  Some states, like California, have banned the use of lead in any ammunition, largely because lead poisoning from ammo is one of the biggest reasons California condors remain on the endangered species list. Other states have taken similar initiatives. On the last day of the Obama administration, a federal ban was issued for hunting with lead ammunition in national parks and wildlife refuges, but former Interior Secretary Ryan Zinke of the Trump administration lifted this ban promptly in March 2017.

A new lead ban was introduced to the House of Representatives on January 21, 2021.

Here are the most current shot regulations for hunting waterfowl and coots in the U.S.

If you have any comments or questions on this or future articles, please do not hesitate to reach out!  I am still very new to birding, and am bound to make some mistakes; but I truly welcome any corrections or feedback! Please email me directly at abiederman@riversofsteel.com, or send us a message on the Explorer Facebook page.  Thanks for reading!

Angela Biederman began working for Rivers of Steel as a part-time deckhand in March 2018.  About a year later, she became the full-time Chief Deckhand, and is responsible for maintaining Explorer year-round.  She began working for Rivers of Steel out of interest for the conservation of Pittsburgh’s rivers, and experiencing its landscape in novel ways.  She holds a Master in Fine Arts degree with a concentration in Ceramics, as well as a BFA in Ceramics.  She continues to make art of various media from her home studio.

This photo essay is the third in a series of articles by Angela highlighting her sightings of migratory birds.  All the images of the birds were photographed by her, usually through a set of binoculars with her phone. Your can read her prior post from February here and her first post from December, 2020 here.

By Ryan Henderson, Interpretive Specialist

John Hughey & the Legacy of Black Workers at the Carrie Furnaces

A Segregated Workplace & A Segregated City

As a major hub for metal production at the turn of the 20th century, Pittsburgh attracted workers not only from across the United States, but across the globe. Though work in the mills was difficult and dangerous, it was plentiful; the mills that lined the three rivers would hire men with little to no experience, with no shortage of positions waiting to be filled. While the first British and German settlers of Pittsburgh came with iron and other metal working knowledge, the successive waves of immigrants who followed often did not have backgrounds in iron or steel. Indeed, international newcomers to the region often spoke little English, let alone had familiarity with metallurgy. Still, these immigrants were able to find a place in Pittsburgh society and began to carve out niches for themselves within the workplace. As a result, Pittsburgh rapidly became a multicultural and multiethnic metropolis during the late 1800s and early 1900s. The many ethnic neighborhoods, churches, and cultural institutions that form Pittsburgh today are a direct result of this era of domestic and international immigration to the city.

However, while many Pittsburghers are familiar with the positive legacy of this era—pierogis, the Jazz culture of the Hill District, the Little Italy district of Bloomfield, heritage groups like the Tamburitzans dance troupe—there is a darker, often unacknowledged element to Pittsburgh’s multiculturalism and industrial culture. While each successive wave of newcomers added to Pittsburgh’s growing diversification, they existed within a firmly established ethnic and racial hierarchy. Those earliest, Anglo immigrants enjoyed power and privilege at the top of this system, while those that came after them—Italians, Poles, Slovaks, and others—had to work to gain entry into this power structure. The same ethnic neighborhoods that Pittsburghers treasure today are, in some part, the result of segregation on cultural lines, self-imposed or otherwise. This hierarchy affected not just social life but working life as well. Access to certain industries was in some cases reliant on having the right ethnicity, with some jobs in the mills restricted to those with certain backgrounds.

While many Pittsburghers suffered discrimination under this system, no group had a harder time finding entry into Pittsburgh’s industrial working class than its Black citizens. Black Pittsburgh was largely segregated from traditionally white parts of the city and, additionally, Black workers found it difficult to enter into predominantly white professions. For much of the latter part of the 1800s, Black workers primarily were known in the mills as strikebreakers, hired by management to help end labor disputes. Some of these strikebreakers, though not all, had become skilled laborers after being forced to work in iron production under slavery, allowing management to go around the specialized skill sets of their striking workforce.

Ladle being settled into place for transportation.

The use of Black strikebreakers in this manner was a calculated choice on the part of management, as it increased tensions along racial lines. Unions in the late 19th century would not accept Black workers for this reason, as well as racist reasons more generally. This, in turn, proved to be a self-defeating mechanism for unions, as their refusal to admit Black workers created a ready-made strikebreaking force any time labor disputes broke out. At the same time, management continued to marginalize Black workers by electing to exclude them from many positions at mills, keeping them from being able to solidify power within mill culture and carve out a niche for themselves the way other ethnicities had. When they were employed, it was in the worst conditions, being given the most dangerous and unpleasant jobs.

Following the Homestead Strike of 1892 and the victory of management over labor, the issues surrounding union membership became somewhat moot as the union system collapsed for nearly 40 years. This did not help Black workers however, as their usefulness to steel and iron companies diminished with the less frequent need for strikebreakers. While their services would occasionally still be called upon, Black workers in this period saw what little place they had in the mill continue to erode, even as the city’s Black population continued to grow as a result of the Great Migration.

As the previous generation of Black workers had never truly been able to create a system of ushering newcomers into jobs the way other ethnic groups did, many of these new immigrants entered the workforce in other sectors. It was not until after the reformation of the union system in the late 30s and, more importantly, the end of World War II that Black workers were able to enter Pittsburgh’s industrial workplace in great numbers. Following the passage of the various legislation friendly to unions in the early 1900s and, several decades later, the conclusion of World War II, unions began to truly re-enter the iron and steel industry, forcing companies to recognize them once more. This time, unions accepted Black workers into the fold, in part to avoid the issues with strikebreakers that had affected them in the past.

A worker bending a metal bar into a hook for various tasks at the mill.

John Hughey

An example of the life of a steelworker and ironworker post-WWII can be found in the story of John Hughey, who was employed at the Carrie Furnaces from 1947 through 1982, when the mill ceased production. Mr. Hughey was born in 1925 in Rankin, PA, a community that surrounded part of the Carrie complex. John’s father had moved to Pittsburgh in 1919, coming from South Carolina. He had been recruited by a man who spoke of better jobs and opportunities up north, and the possibilities that would come with working in the booming steel industry in Pittsburgh. Seeking that better life, John’s father moved to the Pittsburgh area, where he was placed in the Edgar Thomson Works in Braddock. What John’s father had not been told was that he would be coming to break a strike. While John’s father found employment for a period as a strikebreaker and gained new skills in the mill, he was dismissed shortly after the end of the strike. Though John’s father was an able worker, he was not white, and Black people with ability did not have mobility in this period.  He became instead a door to door salesman, but the steelworking spark in the Hughey family did not end with him.

It was John who would become a lifelong metalworker, starting at the Carrie Furnaces at 22 years of age. Many young men in this era, including John’s other family members, worked for at least a few seasons in the mill. Many whites in Pittsburgh followed a kinship method of entry into the mill—their father would ask the superintendents to hire their sons, with multiple generations working in the same location. John did not have this same opportunity, and instead walked six minutes to the nearby Carrie to apply for a job. He was hired on the spot, to his surprise, making about $1.85 an hour.

Though John was unaware at this time of the politics surrounding the Homestead Works, this was consistent with the general hiring practices at Carrie. Carrie was the iron side of the Homestead Works, producing the liquid iron that would be transported across the Monongahela River to be turned into steel. Ironmaking, as well as producing coke, was generally considered to be the “worst” job within the steelmaking process. Ironmaking and coking are dangerous, smelly, and extremely dirty. As a result, these jobs were relegated to those individuals who were of ethnic and racial backgrounds that were at the bottom of the socially-constructed hierarchies that existed. In the early part of the 20th century, this meant Eastern Europeans. After Blacks entered the mill system in large numbers following WWII, this meant them. Two men, one Black and one white, both applying to work at the Homestead Works, would likely find themselves steered in different directions.  The white man, especially if he was of Anglo descent, would find himself turned toward the steel side of the river. The Black man, almost always, would find himself pushed in the direction of the Carrie Furnaces.

A worker lifts a sledgehammer.

Indeed, even the internal work divisions within Carrie were segregated. On the second night of work, John found himself “promoted” out of the position he was hired to and into the furnace division at Carrie, responsible for duties such as the actual tapping of the furnace. Without any training—a standard practice at the time—John was made into the second helper on Furnace #2.

John had no idea what was going to happen, standing around for hours before being directed to help with the tapping of the furnace—watching with both fear and awe as liquid iron came rushing forth; the 2,700 degree metal flowed like water a few feet away from him. John had been given only an asbestos coat for protection. He had no hardhat, worker’s greens (fire resistant clothing), or other heat equipment, only his street clothes.

Though John kept on as an ironworker, he later noted that this shock treatment was typical for the industry, where 20 men would be hired at the beginning of the day, and 15 would quit by the end, winnowing out all but the hardest men. John would later come to realize that his placement and lack of gear in the hot and dangerous furnace division was also no accident.

At the time he was hired, John guessed that the furnace division was 99% Black, and severely underfunded with safety equipment. Many men’s street clothes burst into flame in the cast house, and burns and blisters were common. Workers there had to buy their own gloves, and any protective equipment they needed. The maintenance division, on the other hand was composed of electricians, painters, carpenters, and other skilled workers and was almost 99% white. These jobs were considered prime positions, avoiding the dirtiest and most dangerous work, and for years were effectively whites only. They often had safety equipment bought for them; workers in the furnace division, meanwhile, would not receive basic gloves from the company until the 1970s. Other divisions also were heavily segregated, with John recounting that the Trainsmen’s Union, separate from the Steelworkers Union, explicitly banned Black membership until the 1950s.

At the time of John’s hiring, the Steelworkers Union was far from equal. “Last to be hired, first to be fired” applied to many Black workers, as they were purposely left until the very end to be hired into positions, and found themselves the first to be laid off in slow economic periods. In theory, the union system should have provided a kind of equality under its regulated system of benefits and advancement, but many Black workers did not experience the same successes as their white peers.

For example, the union ostensibly guaranteed a standardized wage system within the mills that would see a Black and white worker who started at the same job at the same time paid the same. However, it quickly became apparent that while white workers would eventually advance out of these starting positions, many Black workers were left to fruitlessly bid for higher paying, more sought-after jobs.

Work culture for the men who worked in the mills was unique but was still a reflection of the racial attitudes of U.S. society. While working in the dangerous conditions of the mill frequently left men with a sense of camaraderie that transcended racial lines, this was often not able to overcome long simmering prejudices that existed outside the mill’s walls.

This only began to change with the hard work of men like John, who fought to ensure rights for Black workers in the industry. In fact, John and other Black workers at Carrie found themselves in a unique circumstance created by the segregation between the two sides of Homestead; Carrie was, for much of its history after WWII, a majority Black mill. In the peak production period post-WWII, a large proportion of Carrie’s working population was Black, with over 90 percent of unskilled labor and 60 percent of the overall labor force being composed of Black workers.

John Hughey

Years later, John recalled that Carrie was almost uniquely liberal in the Mon Valley, and while there was certainly tension in the mill, many important positions at Carrie were, nonetheless, held by Black men. All of this meant that John and other Black workers had a much clearer path to holding union offices through millwide elections. In 1949, a mere two years after starting at Carrie, John became a union grievance officer, one of the men responsible for taking issues to management to be resolved on behalf of union members. Five years later, in 1954, John became head grievance officer for Carrie, a position he held for many years.

Though John had to hold this position while also working a full time job in the mill—something uncommon for many grievance officers—he helped to lead several important fights that improved the lives not only of Black mill workers, but of all men who worked at Carrie. He and others pushed for company provided safety equipment, winning things such as greens and better heat gear. The union also pushed for dental and eye care, unheard of in the steel industry, and carried out a strike for better pensions. At Carrie, John helped lead a drive from 1954 that lasted almost 20 years until 1971 to have seniority count as the determining factor for advancement, rather than race.

The union at Carrie made many small advancements over this period leading toward success, to the extent that by the time a consent decree made mandatory changes to the steel industry to protect the rights of minorities, Carrie was already meeting proposed industry-wide standards. Indeed, by the 60s and 70s, Carrie had more minorities in trades than any other mill in the Mon Valley; in contrast, just across the river at the connected Homestead Works had a mere 1%.

John’s hard work, and the hard work of all those fighting for equal treatment, had a tangible effect. John and others noted a difference particularly after 1971, finally achieving a breakdown of the walls that had kept Black workers from certain jobs in the mill, and having ability counted over skin color. These men fought hard to create a better life and workplace that had eluded Black Pittsburghers for so long, and their legacy as pioneers in the field lives on today.

The accompanying photographs are part of the Rivers of Steel Archives. 

If you like this article, you may want to read Josh Gibson Gets His Due, another story that examines the Black experience as part of the culture around our region’s industrial history. 

By Angela Biederman, Chief Deckhand  |   Featured Image: Angela Biederman birdwatching on the Explorer riverboat.

“Birding from Explorer” is an ongoing series of articles by Angela Biederman, Chief Deckhand on the Explorer riverboat.  A relatively new birder, Angela shares her observations of migrating birds, as sighted from the boat’s home dock on Pittsburgh’s North Shore, near the headwaters of the Ohio River.

Migratory Bird Sightings

There have been several sightings of notable migratory waterfowl from the Explorer riverboat since my initial post in December. While the Surf and White-winged Scoters haven’t been seen since my last report, the female Red-breasted Merganser made the shallow waters near our floating dock home for a while. She was around for almost a month, from mid-December to mid-January, and seemed to become quite comfortable in her migratory layover. I’d often see her out diving for food, even in the worst of weather; and saw her climb out onto shore one time, seemingly less spooked by me than she was at first. Similar to Surf Scoters, Red-breasted Mergansers breed much further north, from Alaska and across northern Canada to Newfoundland, summering only as far south as the Great Lakes. During migration, they pass through the continental U.S. to coastal waters. They winter all along the eastern and western coasts, and along the Gulf Coast, preferring saltwater during the coldest months.

Red-breasted Merganser on Shore

Female Red-breasted Merganser

On December 28, while watching some Pied-billed Grebes near our floating dock through binoculars, another diving duck came right into my zoomed-in view. This new duck was brown with a dark cap, and had light markings on its cheeks.  My initial view of it—and excitement!—made me think the Surf Scoter had returned! But on that afternoon, this duck was in no mood for foraging, and was mostly snoozing with its bill tucked into its back feathers. Its position made it difficult to clearly see any facial markings or its bill to identify it for sure. The views and photographs I did get of it made me question whether it was, in fact, a Surf Scoter.  I had detected some slight variations and went home to look through my growing collection of bird guides.

Specific traits I noticed were “off” about this diving duck were its tail, facial markings, and bill. I had watched the Surf Scoter a lot, and the differences between it and this diver were subtle, but undeniable. Investigating further, I came across the Ruddy Duck. While the breeding male is very distinct, the females (and winter or non-breeding males) look very similar to female Surf Scoters. Some main differences are that Ruddy Ducks have longer tails; females have light cheeks with a dark stripe (giving the illusion of white cheek patches); and their bills are slightly more curved, and blue to bluish-gray depending on the time of year and sex.

First sighting of female Ruddy Duck

Female Ruddy Duck off Explorer’s stern

I saw the Ruddy Duck and Red-breasted Merganser several times over the next week and a half or so, with the Ruddy Duck also taking a preference for the pool around our floating dock. It seemed the least shy of all the diving ducks I had been spotting: it would swim very close to the stern and hull of Explorer, dive if it saw me move inside or come out on the decks, but wouldn’t necessarily swim away. The last time I saw the Ruddy Duck was January 6, and by that point it seemed that it and the merganser had become the best of friends. I saw them swimming side-by-side off the stern of Explorer for a good ten minutes, and managed to capture this video:

The latest exciting sightings happened all in one day, on January 28. I had just sat down to lunch when I noticed several mostly-white birds swimming up the Ohio River towards the stern of the boat. I got up, grabbed the binoculars, and could barely believe my eyes: FOUR Long-tailed Ducks were swimming upriver! As reported in December, I had seen a lone female Long-tailed Duck, but didn’t know if I’d ever see one again. The first of the four was male, with a very distinguishable, long black tail. The other three were females (or perhaps two females and a juvenile), which were fairly easy to recognize because of the one I had seen two months ago. I managed to capture some photos and videos, and enjoy that I was seeing this species again. In a matter of minutes, a tow boat that was heading downriver startled them into flight. I tried to follow them up towards the bow but lost sight of them.  Those few minutes were the only time I saw them.

Male Long-tailed Duck

Four Long-tailed Ducks

Later that day, five more diving ducks were spotted in the middle of the channel of the Ohio. They turned out to be Common Mergansers, distinguishable from the Red-breasted Merganser mostly by some variations of plumage and the shape of their crests.  Female Commons have cinnamon-red heads and a flatter, single crest—which are cleanly demarcated from a bright white chest. They also have a white chin and slightly broader bill at its base. The Red-breasted Merganser has a more faded red head and spikier, double crest—with less definition from her chin to her grayer, mottled chest.

Female Common Mergansers

In this grouping of mergansers, there were three males and two females.  Before this, I had not seen Common Mergansers to my knowledge (again, birding is something I’ve only recently started doing), or any male mergansers. These five mergansers were around for most of the afternoon, but definitely kept their distance. They mostly rested and foraged in the middle of the channel, or closer to the opposing south shore. Common Mergansers are hardy in winter, and often stay as far north as open water permits. They are fairly common in freshwater lakes and rivers, but rarer in saltwater or brackish water, so they typically don’t head for the coasts.  I did see the Common Mergansers the next day, but one of the males was gone. I haven’t seen any of them since that second day, and wonder which waters they flocked to.

Male Common Mergansers

Five Common Mergansers

Angela Biederman began working for Rivers of Steel as a part-time deckhand in March 2018.  About a year later, she became the full-time Chief Deckhand, and is responsible for maintaining Explorer year-round.  She began working for Rivers of Steel out of interest for the conservation of Pittsburgh’s rivers, and experiencing its landscape in novel ways.  She holds a Master in Fine Arts degree with a concentration in Ceramics, as well as a BFA in Ceramics.  She continues to make art of various media from her home studio.

This photo essay is the second in a series of articles by Angela highlighting her sightings of migratory birds.  All the images of the birds were photographed by her, usually through a set of binoculars with her phone. 

By Ron Baraff, Director of Historic Resources and Facilities   |   Image of the Josh Gibson with young ballplayers.

That Gibson Fellow…

“There is a catcher that any big-league club would like to buy for $200,000. His name is Gibson. He can do everything. He hits the ball a mile. He catches so easy he might as well be in a rocking chair. Throws like a rifle. Too bad this Gibson is a colored fellow.” – Hall of Fame pitcher Walter Johnson

Tucked uncomfortably in the consciousness of America and Baseball is the image of one Josh Gibson. Staring up at us as a culture, reminding us that the greatest among us are not always the most well-known, cared for, fairly treated, or respected in their mortal lives. A giant among men, a ballplayer’s ballplayer, a textbook catcher, hitter, thrower, and runner, Josh was a five-tool player forced to live in a time when his many talents could not be on full display for all to see.

Such was the life of a ballplayer of color, from the dawn of the so-called “Gentleman’s Agreement” in 1888 through the breaking of the color barrier in 1947 by Jackie Robinson and the Brooklyn Dodgers. Life was tough; the playing field was not even close to being level. However, there existed a parallel universe in the Negro Leagues—one where men of color could play the great game of baseball, “America’s Pastime”, and achieve heights never imagined or seen since. These men played under the direst of circumstances, denied not just full rights as ballplayers to play on the biggest stage in organized “Major League Baseball” (MLB)— i.e.: White Baseball—but also as citizens. They had to struggle to make gate, live respectfully, and travel and survive in a time when much of the world was closed to them.

Through this darkness shone some amazingly bright, brave, talented, and everlasting lights. Among them were Satch, Cool Papa, Buck, Ray, and Josh, playing ball at such a level in Pittsburgh for the Crawfords, and in Homestead for the Grays, that their names and exploits became legendary.

In 1938, prominent sports editor and later publisher of the great African American newspaper The Pittsburgh Courier, Chester L. Washington, sent a telegram to Pittsburgh Pirates player / manager Harold “Pie” Traynor. This telegram (see below) is an amazing slice of sporting and cultural life—a “what if…” scenario that unfortunately never came to be. It offered the Pirates the opportunity to be in the vanguard of sport, society, race relations, and even the chance to perhaps be remembered as the greatest team (dare I say dynasty?) ever assembled. The 1938 Pirates were a strong team, anchored by future Hall of Fame players Arky Vaughan (SS), Paul Waner (RF), Lloyd Waner (CF), and Pie Traynor (3B). They were in the pennant race until the end of the season, finishing at 86-64, a mere two games behind the pennant-winning Chicago Cubs. What they were lacking was dominant pitching (Satchel Paige and Ray Brown), a strong catcher (Josh Gibson), speed (Cool Papa Bell), and a middle of the order bat (Buck Leonard).

From all reports, Pie Traynor was very open minded about integration. He was quoted in a 1939 interview with the Courier as saying, “Personally, I don’t see why the ban against Negro players exists at all.” He was especially open to it if it improved his club’s fortunes on the diamond. Sadly, the Pirates never responded to the telegram. Why? Perhaps it was fear of retribution from the other clubs in the “Majors”, or maybe it was the knowledge that baseball czar Commissioner Kennesaw Mountain Landis was openly racist and had blocked other attempts at integration—and would likely step in and do so again.

A copy of a telegram sent by The Pittsburgh Courier’s sports editor Chester L. Washington to the Pittsburgh Pirates proposing they hire legendary Negro League players to strengthen the team and spark integration in baseball. The 1938 Pirates never responded to this telegram.

Baseball would stay segregated for almost another decade until Jackie Robinson broke the color line in 1947 with the Brooklyn Dodgers. Over the next 12 years, MLB teams would slowly integrate their teams. The Pirates joined the parade 16 years after Chester Washington’s telegram, when Curt Roberts made his debut at second base on April 13, 1954. By the late 1950s, the last vestiges of the Negro Leagues disappeared from the sporting landscape. Along with their demise came calls to recognize the greatness of their play, their culture, and sporting significance. The men (and even some women…we will save that for another article…) who gave everything they had to their sport needed to be recognized, acknowledged, and accepted as the equals (at the very least) of those who played Major League Baseball during the dark years of the Gentlemen’s Agreement.

Finally, in 1971, Satchel Paige became the first player who spent the majority of his career in the Negro Leagues to be enshrined in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Josh Gibson followed in 1972.  However, these men and their compatriots still didn’t have an equal place among the Major Leagues until December of 2020, when the MLB officially recognized the seven professional Negro Leagues that operated between 1920 and 1948. This long overdue decision means that the 3,400 +/- players from the Negro Leagues during this time period are officially considered Major Leaguers, with their stats and records becoming a part of Major League history.

The accompanying photograph and copy of the infamous telegram are housed in the Rivers of Steel Archives as part of the Josh Gibson Foundation Collection. Rivers of Steel has partnered with Sean Gibson, great-grandson of Josh Gibson and Executive Director of the Josh Gibson Foundation, to serve as the repository for their collection.

If you like this story, you may want to read The Lasting Legacy of Cap Posey. Cumberland “Cap” Willis Posey was a black man who established himself as a titan of industry on the Monongahela River in the 1800s and his son, Cum Posey, became the not just a ballplayer for the Homestead Grays, but its principal owner, among other accolades.