One Thousand Birds!

Streak-headed Woodcreeper, Lepidocolaptes souleyetii

My number 1000 was a Spot-crowned Woodcreeper seen on a mountain trail above the Savegre Lodge in Costa Rica. It was one of those strenuous days when our guide, Olivier Esquivel, was pushing Mel and me past our comfort zones. I was lagging behind on the narrow trail, just putting one step in front of the next, trying to keep up. Ollie and Mel waited patiently for me to catch up whenever they spotted a new bird. Now I’m glad they did. On March 14, 2022 I saw the woodcreeper.

Red-legged Honeycreeper, Cyanerpes cyaneus

Unfortunately I did not get a picture of the now famous bird, but did get a reasonable shot of his cousin, the Streak-headed. These birds are active, medium-sized woodcreepers usually found in the highland forests. As the name suggests you’ll discover it creeping up the trunks, poking its curved bill into the epiphytes looking for insects. I remember having a hard time spotting it, but finally got a reasonable binocular view with an assist from the laser pointer.

At the time we did not know my milestone had been reached. I knew we were closing in on it, but the tabulating was left to supper time, back at the lodge where the breathing was easier and we had a chance to reminisce about our day. Raised drinks and a small celebration occurred before we planned for the next day’s birding. Dinner tomorrow would be on me, as a gesture of appreciation for the guidance of Ollie and the encouragement from Mel.

Mel and I, somewhere on the trail in Costa Rica.

Like many birders, I’m a little sheepish in admitting to the listing habit. Aren’t we suppose to revel in the mere observation of the avian world, noting bird behavior, mating and nesting habits, etc., while we explore their world in our backyard and abroad? But to my way of thinking record-keeping only enhances this pastime. Where did I first see that bird; how many birds have I seen in Florida this year; or what is my current yard or patch list? All of these are easily answered if you use eBird.

King Vulture, Sarcoramphus papa

The world has seen some serious bird listers. John James Audubon’s four volume set, The Birds of America could be considered his list of 435 species. Three birders mentioned elsewhere in this blog are Phoebe Snetsinger, Kenn Kaufman, and Noah Strycker. In her incredible lifetime Phoebe created a world list of 8398 birds, but died doing it. Ken made a record 671 sightings for a 1973 record in North America when he was still a teenager. More recently in 2015 Noah, a 28 year-old, established a one year world mark of 6042. Now that’s a big year!

Great Curassow, Crax rubra

eBird is a database of the world’s bird observations submitted by amateurs and scientists alike. It was launched in 2002 by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and the Audubon Society as a tool for tracking bird distribution and abundance. It accepts over 100 million bird sightings a year and makes all this data available to every user. You can easily determine what birds are being seen at virtually any location in the world on any given day, current or past. It is valuable for planning a birding trip or for chasing rarities. Your interface in the field is your smart phone. The program will even question you if you try to enter a bird not usually seen at your location. You can also add photos and birdsong recordings.

Yellow-headed Caracara, Milvago chimachima

Better yet, the tool is a permanent record of all your personal observations that can be sorted by location or date. We birders are a somewhat obsessive compulsive group and this software nicely satisfies that exact character trait. If you are a new eBird user you can add all you old sightings and bring your life list up to date. All of this is free; one of the best bargains you’ll find.

Orange-collared Manakin, Manacus aurantiacus

I was an early convert to eBird and added my hand written data going back to 1983. The first entry was an Osprey seen at an old farmhouse we rented for a couple years on the Chesapeake Bay. My 500th bird was a Bewick’s Wren we ran across high in the Chiricahua Mountains of Arizona on November 30, 2016.

Bewick’s Wren, Thryomanes bewickii

Now that the 1000 bird milestone has been reached and surpassed (the final count after Costa Rica is 1092), is 2000 in my sights? I don’t think so. Even though I’ve seen only ten percent of the world’s birds, adding to the list becomes harder and harder. To add more you must travel further from home and spend much more time and money. The legs and other body parts are no longer young. Oh, I’d like to take a trip to Patagonia; I’ve never laid eyes on a penguin. A trip to Alaska would be great, but I suspect New Guinea and Australia will be left for another life. For now I’m content to just return to my home patch and check up on the Cardinals and Jays. They’re pretty impressive themselves.

The Quetzal Quest

Costa Rican montane cloud forest

It was 1530 when Tecun Uman decided he and his Mayan people had had enough from the Spanish conqueror Pedro de Alvarado. He entered battle armed with just a bow and arrow and a beautiful green bird perched on his shoulder for good luck. He was fighting the armored conquistador mounted on horseback. It was unfair from the start and after a heroic fight Tecun was run through with a spear and killed. The quetzal, however, survived, landed on his vanquished master’s chest and bathed himself in the red blood. The previously all-green bird now donned the amazing resplendent colors we see today, but as a sign of grief it vowed to never sing again until the land was free.

Resplendent Quetzal, Pharomachrus mocinno (photo by Ryan Acandee, CC by Wikimedia Commons)

When a birder chooses to visit Costa Rica for the first time the Resplendent Quetzal is usually the number one target on the list. Olivier, our guide, and my birding companion Mel, designed the itinerary with a two-night stand at the beautiful Savegre Hotel and Spa with this in mind. It’s in the foothills of the Talamanca Mountains, several winding miles off the Pan-American Highway. The gravel road descended into a valley along the Savegre River to the lodge, still nestled 7000 feet above sea level.

The Quetzal inhabits the montane cloud forests of southern Mexico and Central America and is a cavity nester, often taking over and remodeling the vacant homes of woodpeckers. In fact, our guide and many of the hotel’s guests knew the location of an active nest just up the road. The cameras were loaded and with great anticipation that was our obvious first stop at the break of day.

Collared Trogon, Trogan collaris. (female, orange-bellied)

The Resplendent Quetzal is the largest bird in the Trogonidae family. All of the members are large and colorful, and so very different than any of our birds. They are generally sedentary and if you’re lucky you may spot one between the branches posed for a photograph. We were fortunate to see seven of the ten Costa Rican species on our recent trip.

Gartered Trogon, Trogon caligatus

The resplendent male is an amazing emerald green that seems to glow in the sunlight. The lower chest is red with the lower body and tail showing areas of contrasting white and black. The male sports long green plumes that trail behind in flight. When perched these feathers hang several feet below the bird. My first photos were zoomed too tightly before I realized the extent of the tail.

When we arrived at the hollow tree there was already a small crowd gathered staking it out. I noticed that among the obvious birders there were many brightly dressed tourists without binoculars and cameras other than their smart phones. This bird clearly draws fans from far and wide, even the non-birders. The watchers told us that in the very early dawn light the male emerged from the hole and flew off, and was replaced with the less resplendent female. We could barely detect her head in the dark hole, and after a short wait and several poor photographs we decided to resume the quest for the male elsewhere. Apparently their tag-team approach to nesting and incubation is characteristic of the species.

Quetzal hole with female barely visible

Less than a mile up the dirt road we found a parked tour bus and a much larger crowd. This time there was clearly more excitement in the air with scopes and cameras aimed out over the ravine toward a dense tree. Somehow someone had spotted the well camouflaged bird and cameras were clicking away. I had great difficulty seeing the bird but finally took a few shots through a small gap in the foliage, zoomed to the maximum. Suddenly the bird took off and flew right over the road and crowd, with feathers streaming behind. I wish you could have heard the squeals of delight from everyone. I was much too slow to get a flight shot, but he landed just a hundred yards down the road. I was swept in the stampede toward the new perch. This one was a bit better, but his back was still turned to the crowd. I never did get a photo showing that red breast.

The Quetzal Crowd

You have to wonder at the selective advantage of evolving such bright colors and long gaudy feathers. They must make take-offs and landings difficult. I’m told that the iridescent green feathers resemble wet leaves and helps the bird hide in the forest from his main predators, the hawks, eagles, and owls. I’m sure the female quetzal must have played a critical role in this evolution, likely demanding the resplendent display when choosing a mate.

My photo of the Resplendent Quetzal

Unfortunately the population of the Resplendent Quetzal is decreasing, but not yet severely depressed. It’s estimated that up to fifty thousand birds remain. Their primary threat is from deforestation and loss of habitat. The conquistadors have long since moved on, Costa Rica is free, and once again the wicka-wicka call is heard as this spectacular bird flies by.

A Costa Rican Birding Adventure

Scarlet Macaw, Ara macao

How can this small tropical Central American country, the size of West Virginia, be home to so many birds? It claims 903 species, significantly more than all the mainland United States. In thirteen days of what this somewhat out-of-shape, 70 year-old birder would call hard core birding, we saw 381 different birds.

Pale-billed Woodpecker, Campephilus guatemalensis

I was fortunate to join my Florida birding companion, Mel, and be guided by Costa Rican Olivier Esquivel as we travelled and sampled most of the various habitats of this beautiful land. The narrow country is bordered on the east by the Caribbean Sea, and on the west by the Pacific Ocean. Shifting tectonic plates have raised towering volcanic mountain ranges aligned along the center of Costa Rica, exactly at right angles to the northeast hot and humid trade winds of the Caribbean.

Olivier, me, & Mel

My initial impression of the land was from the air as we landed at San Jose. Other than the coasts and Central Valley, this is sparsely populated and rugged terrain. As Olivier said, “if they ironed the country flat it would be the size of Texas”. As we careened around the hills and switchbacks, often on gravel roads, this became quite clear to Mel and me.

Turquoise-browed Motmot, Eumomota superciliosa

When the prevailing trade winds meet the the uplands they unload their moisture on the Caribbean slope. This creates the specific wet habitats both in the lowland jungles, and further up the cooler slopes. On the opposite Pacific side the uplands and coast are dry; all this explains the many varied habitats, home to differing and often unique bird species.

The view from Copal Lodge

We birded and sweated in the steaming lowlands and on the next day donned down vests, birding at 10,000 feet. The various habitats, along with the numerous migrants, make Costa Rica a bird-friendly locale and a paradise for birders.

Costa Rica with our birding sites highlighted

The country is a safe, stable democracy, being one of only a few sovereign nations without a standing army. Its economy was initially dependent upon agriculture, but more recently has become a Mecca for ecotourism. My visit was a second attempt, the first cancelled in 2021 due to the pandemic.

Crimson-collared Tanager, Ramphocelus sanguinolentus

Olivier and Mel designed an ambitious itinerary of dawn-to-dusk birding, with even an evening session for nightjars and owls. We sampled most of the habitats and rarely entered a restaurant, morning, noon, or night without binoculars or cameras; you never know when a new bird will show up. Our lodging was generally spartan. As Olivier said, why waste money on luxury when we will only be stopping for some sleep. If I go again I might upgrade the accommodations somewhat.

Magnificent Frigatebird, Fregata magnificent, on the Tarcoles River

One’s first exposure to the stunning colors of the tropical birds is unforgettable. The Toucans, Parrots, Hummingbirds, Tanagers, and Trogons are spectacular and so different from our home species. You wonder why the bland Clay-colored Thrush is the national bird. As Olivier quipped, “that’s what you get when you let politicians pick the bird”.

Emerald Toucanet, Aulacorhynchus prasinus

Most of our lodges had surrounding gardens, short trails, and feeders that would have satisfied me with photographic opportunities for hours, but Olivier wanted us to also sample the shier species that lived more remotely. We might trek three or fours hours, up hills and deep into ravines in order to find a few more birds, but at the end of the day there was great satisfaction with these more rare sightings.

A roadside stop

I can give future travelers a couple hints. Bring rain gear as it can rain at anytime, especially in the eastern half of the country. Bring a flashlight for nighttime birding, but also for power failures at the lodge. Apply fly dope and sunscreen liberally; you’re only a few degrees from the equator. Watch out for poisonous vipers; they may be hanging from trees at perfect head height. And lastly, don’t stand on a highway of army ants as I did. They can spoil your whole trip.

Violet Sabrewing, Campylopterus hemileucurus

On the last day of our adventure, Mel and I, weary but happy, were looking forward to the flight home. But Olivier, ever the birder, was looking for a few more species to add to our trip list. While I was humming, “Do You Know the Way to San Jose” he was pointing out new birds, even in the Walmart parking lot right next to the airport. We could not have found a more energetic and knowledgeable guide.

Welcome and refreshing Coconut milk on the go

In future posts I hope to share more observations of Costa Rican birds and describe some of the specific sites we visited. Till then.

Sand Castles & Seagulls on Sanibel

Ring-billed Gull, Larus delawarensis

It’s said that the avian families of Larids, along with the Corvids, are the most intelligent of the birds. I have no reason to doubt this, especially after seeing the gull standing watch over the sand castle on the beach at Sanibel Island, Florida. I may not be able to convince you that the bird built the castle, but one cannot entirely rule that out. During the same birding excursion I saw this very same bird dropping shells from great heights onto hard surfaces, making use of Newtonian Laws to obtain its meal. They’re smarter than you think.

Boat-tailed Grackle, Quiscalus mexicanus

I tried to convince my birding companions into a Big Day birding in Southwest Florida, but the enthusiasm was muted, and instead we headed to Sanibel Island for a more sedate session. That’s not to say it was not enjoyable or productive. Sanibel, and its companion Captiva, are barrier islands off the west coast of Florida, formed 6,000 years ago by the currents of the Gulf of Mexico. The Calusa were the first human inhabitants, but the birds predated even them on this semi-tropical gem. A causeway was built from the mainland in 1963 and extensive human development followed. Luckily, for us and the birds, more than half of these islands are protected wildlife sanctuaries.

Yellow-crowned Night Heron, Nyctanassa violacea

The birding started while driving the long, elevated causeway. Brown Pelicans, Osprey, and gulls flew along a eye level tempting us with flight shots out of the moving car. Forget it; it never works. Our first stop was at the Sanibel Lighthouse and beach at the far southern tip of the island. During the spring migration of 2020 we witnessed an impressive fallout of warblers in the scrub brush surrounding the lighthouse. Apparently the north-bound migrants, exhausted from their long flight over the Gulf, replenish themselves at this welcome sojourn. It was quite a show then, but this January the scrubs were empty.

Sanibel Lighthouse, Sanibella illuminata

The beach however was crowded with both birds and people. The latter were busy fishing, searching for shells, sunbathing, or just strolling. We three birders, ladden with cameras and binoculars were in a definite minority. Gulls, including the Lesser Black-backed, were the most common birds seen. There was a resident Reddish Egret dancing in the surf, and a nesting Osprey as well. An informed birder clued us into a recent sighting of a Snowy Plover a half mile up the beach, but we never found it.

Lesser Black-backed Gull, Larus fuscus

The Reddish Egret deserves a special mention. Other egrets are quiet waders and patient fishers. The Reddish, however, dances and flails in the shallow water as if it is half starving. Its impatience reminds me of fishing with my grandson who is constantly moving the pole and line, checking the bait, and generally acting like a normal pre-adolescent. Some say the antics of the bird are meant to create shadows and confusion among the fish below. It must work. If you’re on the lookout for this bird, beware that “reddish” is the correct description. It is more a dirty pink / rust / purple mix, than genuine red, and has a rare all-white morph thrown in just to keep us birders on our toes.

Reddish Egret, Egretta rufescens

Then it was off to the famous Ding Darling NWR, the place where we finally found the elusive Mangrove Cuckoo last year. This is one of the places east of the Mississippi that all birders have heard of, and most have visited more than once. I place it on a short list, along with Magee Marsh in Ohio, and Cape May, New Jersey as our eastern birding Meccas. The refuge is on the inland side of the island with a long one-way road cutting through the mangroves with tidal pools on each side. Mel did the driving while Andy and I called out the stops at each wide vista. If we were doing a “big day” you could drive through without stopping and still tick off most of the birds, but we decided to take our time and enjoy the scenery, birds, and fellow birders, many of whom had birding stories to share.

Snowy Egret, Egretta thula

We did not see the Mangrove Cuckoo this year, but did get some good shots of the more common waders. There were also a few shorebirds sighted at some distance. A flock of Dowitchers flew in, and as is inevitable, a debate ensued whether they were the short or long-billed species. This can quickly take you into the birding weeds, except for Andy who hedged by declaring that there were some of each.

Brown Pelican, Pelecanus occidentalis

Ding Darling is also noted for its wintertime flocks of the American White Pelican. Apparently the birds breed inland throughout the continent but spend their winters along the coast. It is appreciably larger than its more common cousin, the Brown Pelican, and is among the heaviest of all the flying birds. Smartly, it has given up the dangerous diving antics of the Brown for a much less showy and risky bottoms-up feeding behavior, similar to the dabbling ducks.

American White Pelican, Pelecanus erythrorhynchos

I”m still pulling for a Big Day down here in Florida, trying to surpass our 80 species count of several years ago. But with gasoline prices rising, paling energy, and the fun of just birding slowly, it will understandably be a hard sell. The alternative is not bad.

Best Bird Photos of 2021

Roseate Spoonbill, Platalea ajaja

I’ve started, and then abandoned several blog postings in the last two months; life intervened. But now I find it’s time for the year-end summary of the year’s photos. I was going to write about seeing the amazing Tropical Kingbird near here in the Maryland wetlands, thousands of miles north of its usual haunt. Actually it was spotted from my backseat by the non-birder, Cora and photographed by her husband, Clyde, with his cell phone as I was showing off the scenery of the Blackwater NWR to these visitors from Arizona.

Brown Pelican, Pelecanus occidentalis
Carolina wren, Thryothorus ludovicianus
Tricolor Heron, Egretta tricolor
Red-bellied Woodpecker, Melanerpes carolinus

I meant to write about the recent excursion to the Dinner Ranch with Andy and Mel in remote southern Florida, far from the populated coast, and our sighting of 40+ species (depending on who’s counting) including those of the omni-present singing Meadowlarks.

Eastern Meadowlark, Sturnella magna
Sandhill Cranes, Grus canadensis
Common Gallinule, Gallinula chloropus

Or I could have written about my reluctant conversion to a mirrorless camera, leaving behind the heavier but reliable Canon DSLR. I’m increasingly using a Pansonic Lumix G9 camera which has a small 4/3’s sensor and an array of lighter lenses. The reduced weight will be welcome on the 13-day trip to Costa Rica we’re planning this spring.

Crested Caracara, Caracara cheriway
Great Egret, Ardea alba
Anhinga, Anhinga anhinga
Grooved-billed Ani, Crotophaga sulcirostris

I’ve been having this debate with myself; when does one have enough bird photos? How many shots of fishing Osprey, diving Pelicans, or singing Meadowlarks is enough? Maybe it’s time to bird without a camera, enjoying the view through the binoculars without worrying about the sun angle, camera settings, and obtaining the perfect shot. This debate will go on, and may never conclude, but in the meantime these are my favorite photos from 2021.

Red-shouldered Hawk, Buteo lineatus
Mottled Ducks, Anas fulvigula
Belted Kingfisher, Ceryle alcyon
Black-crowned Night Heron, Nycticorax nycticorax

One last triumph to end the year. Two nemesis birds, which did their best to evade me over the years, finally succumbed to my persistence, or more likely, just dumb luck. One was that Mangrove Cuckoo which we saw at Ding Darling on Sanibel Island, Florida, posing in plain sight and creating a traffic jam of grateful birders on the causeway.

Mangrove Cuckoo, Coccyzus minor
Great Blue Heron, Ardea herodias
American Kestrel, Falco sparverius
Eastern Phoebe, Sayornis phoebe

The other was the Snowy Owl spotted just this week on the dilapidated lighthouse in the Choptank River, off Cambridge, Maryland. My daughter sent me a stuffed Snowy Owl last Christmas, commiserating with my fruitless efforts to see this bird, but I can now return the gift to her. I almost gave up on seeing the bird that was reported on eBird along the Cambridge waterfront, when I noted a small white lump on the side of the lighthouse, about 3/4 mile offshore. A scope and heavily cropped picture below certifies the sighting to the left of the “danger” sign. The picture does not really qualify as great, or even good, but I include it to celebrate this great ending to another year.

Snowy Owl, Bubo scandiacus
Reddish Egrets, Egretta rufescens

I admit to some birding fatigue as the year winds down and as the new hobby of astrophotography takes root, but that Snowy Owl, the celebrating Reddish Egrets above, and the upcoming Christmas Bird Count have revived my enthusiasm once again. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all.

Mystery Birds on Nantucket

Brant Point

It’s just a bowl-shaped pile of sand left behind by the retreating glacier at the end of the last Ice Age. I visited the island off the coast of Massachusetts recently, and of course found it to be more than a geological afterthought. In fact, Nantucket, the prior home of whalers, has become a tourist destination for humans and a popular layover site for migrating birds. Some, birds and humans, have set up permanent housekeeping on the picturesque island, and I’m fortunate to know a couple of the human variety.

American Crows, Corvus brachyrhynchos

When we arrived the island was still abuzz about the recent sighting of a rarity; a Gray Heron and record new bird for the state. The first time this species was seen in North America was on the Pribilofs of Alaska in 2007, with later appearances in Newfoundland and the Caribbean. What makes the sighting even more unlikely was the astute birder; Skyler Kardell, an eighteen year-old working as a costal steward at the Tuckernuck Land Trust.

Sankaty Head Light

He could have easily dismissed the bird as just another of our common Great Blue Herons, since the Gray Heron is very similar. I know that I would have just ticked another GBH and moved on. But the young birder felt the bird was a little paler and the neck, bill, and legs slightly shorter than those of the Great Blue. Luckily he took pictures and presented them to the “Birding Gods” who concurred with his rare find.

Song Sparrow, Melospiza melodia

As you can imagine this led to a feeding frenzy of birders wishing to view the rarity and add it to their state or U.S. lists. Flight shots of the bird showed a missing flight feather. Some impressive observer recollected an earlier sighting of a similar bird last summer in Nova Scotia, missing that same feather. Subsequent views of the bird, presumably a vagrant from Europe, with the missing feather were recorded in Chincoteague, Virginia, likely during its migration to warmer climes. Mystery solved.

A Sconset cottage

My professional training was as a radiologist; an observer of fine details, small deformities and deviations from normal anatomy that may presage serious disease. I remember being chastised as a budding resident physician by a professor for jumping to conclusion before considering other less likely diagnoses. I’m still doing that as a birder, forty years later.

Herring Gull, Larus argentatus

Andy and I were birding near Madaket at the western end of Nantucket last week. It was a beautiful Indian summer day, which unfortunately also brought out the mosquitoes and probably some ticks as well. We were trudging across one of the island’s vast, undeveloped moors when I spotted a bird perched on a distant shrub. It was too big for another of the ubiquitous Song Sparrows that we were seeing.

Merlin, Falco columbarius

We crept closer, stopping to take shots every several strides, me with my 400mm and Andy with his cannon-like 800mm lens. I declared it to be an American Kestrel, but Andy was not so sure. He favored Merlin, pointing out some markings that I had dismissed. As you know these falcons are quite similar with a female Kestrel about the same size as a male Merlin. The bird spooked before we could get a good picture, and we debated the issue as we returned to the car. But just as we were pulling away the same bird flew by and perched on a roadside post close by.

Colleague with the 800mm

I fired away from the passenger-side window, while Andy quietly snuck out and got a much better view with the sun at his back, allowing a pleasing bokeh background. He flaunted the risk of Lyme Disease and Eastern Equine Encephalitis to get that perfect shot. The posing bird seemed unusually comfortable with us so close. I took fewer shots from the car, but enough to realize that once again I had spoken too soon; it was a Merlin.

Andy’s Merlin

The lesson is that first impressions and intuition are often wrong. But I’m in good company. We thought the Earth was flat for eons and up until 100 years ago we assumed that the Milky Way was the entirety of our universe. Both wrong, making my mistaken Kestrel pale in comparison.

Sanderlings, Calidris alba

I suspect our favorite place to bird on Nantucket is at Great Point, a long sandy spit projecting northward from the far eastern edge of the island and punctuated by an old abandoned lighthouse. Getting there is a bit of an adventure requiring a four-wheel drive, half deflated tires, and some perseverance to follow the rutted paths through the loose sand until finally reaching the hard packed beach. The best birding there is with frequent stops along the breaking surf, positioning the car to get shots out the window, while keeping a wary eye on the rising tide.

Lesser Black-backed Gull, Larus fuscus

There were no unusual birds sighted that day, but it’s always fun debating the leg color of the gulls; are they yellow or pink? Is that a Lesser Black-backed or Herring Gull. And the scampering Sanderlings are entertaining as they run from the waves like frolicking children. In the evening there is the enjoyable task of reviewing and sorting the hundreds of pictures to find the few “keepers”. On that day the scenery shots almost outnumbered the birds. And even better, the prospect of dinner with friends at one of Nantucket’s finest restaurants was a perfect punctuation of another good day. Life is sweet.

Great Point, Nantucket

In closing, let me pass on this personal note. I’ve started another blog, this one about my resurrected hobby of astronomy, now adding an astrophotography flavor. You can check out “Night Skies” at http://www.nightskies.blog and click on the word “blog” to see the first post, “A Shot in the Dark”. I’m not closing out this birding blog, but you might notice that the postings are a little less frequent. I’m just filling out the entire 24-hour rotation of the Earth; you cannot photograph birds at night or stars during daylight. But in other respects the two avocations are quite similar, both using optics to observe and record the fascinating and vast universe we inhabit.

Revenge of the Birds

Mute Swan, Cygnus olor

The swan and eagle are flying high in the night sky, near the zenith in the early evening darkness. Not the real birds; I’m referring to the constellations Cygnus the Swan and Aquila the Eagle, both located in the heart of the Milky Way. They are slowly setting earlier and earlier in the west, making way for the autumn stars and the fall equinox.

Bald Eagle, Haliaeetus leucocephalus

I’m renewing another hobby of childhood, that of astronomy, but now with the added twist and additional complication of astrophotography. In recent years the mounts that track the stars from the rotating earth and make long exposures possible, have become affordable. These rigs accept your already-owned camera and birding lenses; no telescope is necessary.

Constellation Cygnus, in Urania’s Mirror, c. 1825

But all this has put a crimp in my birding life, at least for now. Instead of early bird walks, I’m staying up late and observing Cygnus and Aquila and their associates. The real birds are not happy. A couple nights ago I meticulously set up the rig in the yard for twenty long exposures of the Andromeda Galaxy, M31. There is software available that stacks these multiple photos into one, bringing out the faint stars and nebulae. The camera’s exposures are all controlled by an intervalometer and the tracking is monitored by a laptop computer. This allows you to leave it all on autopilot and retreat inside to watch the latest TV series with the spouse.

Constellation Aquila, in Urania’s Mirror, c. 1825

An hour later I went out to check on it and low and behold, the computer, tripod, camera, and lens were all covered with fresh bird guano; a direct hit. I looked around for the culprit and only heard two Great Horned Owls calling to each other from the woods. I doubt it was them. The more likely villains were the resident mockingbirds or doves, seeking revenge for my recent neglect. I admit to being a little slack these days in cleaning their bath and setting out new bird seed.

Northern Mockingbird, Mimus polyglottos

But a little, actually quite a bit, of guano will not deter me. I also had a scare last night from another nocturnal creature. I wear a red headlamp while dithering with my star rig and looked up to see two red eyes staring back at me from about twenty-five feet. It let out a loud, guttural screech like I had never heard before. Not knowing what else to do, I screeched right back and slowly retreated toward safety. I’ve since learned that this was the sound of a White-tailed Deer acting a little territorial. At least it did not deposit scat on my equipment.

Mourning Dove, Zenaida macroura

The Andromeda Galaxy is one of the most distant objects visible with the naked eye. If you know where to look in the fall sky you’ll see it, perhaps only in your peripheral vision as a faint smudge. It’s still a sight to behold. The galaxy lies outside our own Milky Way galaxy and is 2.5 million light years away. That means the light that left it 2.5 million years ago, before Homo sapiens roamed the continents, just reached me last night. Who knows if the galaxy even exists today, or whose eyes it’s light might fall on millions of years from today?

Great Horned Owl, Bubo virginianus

Both the constellations, Cygnus and Aquila, have checkered stories in Greek mythology. Yes, these stars were in exactly the same configuration in ancient times when they inspired the Greek storytellers. Zeus figures in both cases as an unhinged God. He disguised himself as the swan to seduce Leda, the wife of the Spartan king, and used the eagle to carry the thunderbolts and kidnap the shepherd boy, Gaymede, for his personal pleasure. But forget this tabloid conspiracy theory; I’m content to just stick to the science of the stars.

Ruby-throated Hummingbird, Archilochus colubris

I’ve been working on these new photography skills by repeatedly shooting the Andromeda Galaxy. My best effort is below, and leaves much room for improvement. But if you look carefully you’ll see another fainter galaxy just above Andromeda. Astrophotography is in many ways similar to bird photography. With both there is a wealth of background knowledge to learn about your aerial targets. Each have specific techniques to perfect in order to obtain a pleasing picture. And then, both require post-processing time indoors to create the final product. The avian world has its seasons: migration, mating, nesting, molting, etc. The stars and constellations are also seasonal. Except for the circumpolar stars, the skies are continuously changing as the earth revolves around our star.

Andromeda Galaxy, M31

Then there’s the unexpected and exciting events for each avocation. For astronomers it’s the exploding supernova, or a newly discovered comet, or a sudden flash of a bright meteor as space debris enters our atmosphere and is vaporized. For birders it’s the appearance of a rarity, a new tick on a life list, or even a close flyover of an eagle or hawk. Both keep me coming back for more.

Northern Cardinal, Cardinalis cardinalis

So, I’m negotiating a truce with the birds, after all, I did recently free a cardinal and hummingbird that were trapped in the garage. No more bombing runs, and I promise, in return, to maintain at least some level of interest in your lives. I’ll check out the owls and nighthawks even as I focus on the stars. I’ll even set out some feed as the cold winter fast approaches. Just let me be.

Dog Days of Summer

We call this season the “dog days of summer”. Whoever coined that phrase must not have liked dogs. It’s been hot and humid for days. The grass has burned brown, except over the septic field, and just recently revived to a touch of green by the afternoon monsoons. When Captain John Smith first sailed into the Chesapeake Bay in 1608 he declared it “a country that may have the prerogative over the most pleasant places known…heaven and earth never agreed better to frame a place for man’s habitation”. He must not have arrived in August.

Herring Gull, Larus argentatus

Actually “dog days” is an astronomical reference to our Sun’s August location in the zodiac, projected within the constellation Canis Major, the Greater Dog. The constellation and its brightest star, Sirius, the Dog Star, won’t be visible in the night sky, however, until winter.

Orchard Oriole, Icterus galbula

The bird behavior is also noticeably changed around my home patch. Yesterday, in the late day heat, there was an eerie silence. Even the Mockingbird and Osprey were hushed by the heat. I’ve been trying to keep the baths free of algae, but recently gave up the fight. The rains are creating enough puddles to quench the birds’ thirst.

Northern Mockingbird, Mimus polyglottos

Birds, as you know, do not sweat–they have no sweat glands. They can’t control their body temperature by the evaporation of sweat, as we can. When you see them frolicking in the bath or puddle they are both cleaning their feathers and wetting themselves to promote evaporation. Evaporation is an endothermic event, extracting heat from the feathers.

Indigo Bunting, Passerine cyanea

Nesting must be nearing its seasonal completion here, and some early migrants have already left. I’m seeing fewer terns on the dock and the gulls, which have been absent all summer, are regrettably back, bringing their mess of mangled fish, crabs, and guano. I surmise that the gulls work of nesting is complete and they are flocking to my dock in anticipation of the fall migration. That can’t come soon enough for me. The Osprey still have another month here, before heading south.

Forster’s Tern, Sterna forsteri
The flocking Ring-billed Gulls, Larus delawarensis

This month, for me has been very slow on the birding front. Much of it has been done from the hammock, or through the windows of the air-conditioned office. It’s a good time to catch up on some reading and preparation for fall, which is a glorious season on the Chesapeake.

Red-tailed Hawk, Buteo jamaicensis

My reading list includes two new purchases; A Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leopold, and How to be an Urban Birder by David Lindo. The first was recommended by a birder friend and does look interesting. It’s a naturalist’s classic, written in 1949, but somehow missed by me all these years. The latter is also destined to become a classic, written primarily for the urban-trapped birder, but is also full of suggestions for us country folk who occasionally venture into the concrete jungles.

Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, Sphyrapicus varius

Leopold’s book is a collection of his essays and begins with this declaration; “there are some who can live without wild things, and some who cannot. These essays are the delights and dilemmas of one who cannot.” Lind, on the other hand, is a thoroughly modern, urbanized resident of downtown London, who despite that became an avid birder. His book is full of tips for urban birding, and sprinkled with wonderful photos documenting his success, even in that environment.

Green Heron, Butorides virescens

So, my routine in these waning days of summer will be to read these books in the hammock, between rain showers. I’ll have the binoculars ready, just in case, and occasionally turn on the Merlin APP on my cell phone to check on any strange birdsongs. Yesterday it identified the Chimney Swifts and a distant call of a Red-tailed Hawk. Life is sweet, even in the dog days.

Book Review: Master and Commander by Patrick O’Brian

Master and Commander by Patrick O’Brian, published by Norton, 1970.

I’m no different than you. My reading list includes books that share my interests, be it travel, politics, history, warfare, medicine, sailing, weather, or astronomy. The book doesn’t have to be entirely about these subjects but must at least touch on some of them as the plot unfolds. And, of course, if the book includes birds and birding, all the better. Author Patrick O’Brian has managed to include everyone of these topics in his saga of Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin, starting with the first volume, Master and Commander, and continuing for twenty more. I’ve read and savored them all, multiple times.

Black-footed Albatross, Phoebastria nigripes

As you know, once you become a birder you look for the feathered friends constantly, birding here, there, and everywhere. I’ve known some who identify birds by song during telecasts of golf tournaments. I’ve had many a meal disrupted by a bird flying by the dining room window. We birders don’t always make the best company at mealtime. I perked up when I first ran across Stephen Maturin who demonstrated these same bouts of birding distraction, even while shipwrecked or dodging icebergs in the South Atlantic or French cannonballs in the Bay of Biscay.

Peregrine Falcon, Falco peregrinus

The Master and Commander series is set during the Napoleonic Wars and the naval warfare of the tall sailing ships of the era. The plots take you to the seas around every continent, including Antarctica where the ship and sailors are practically encased in ice. These are not just about naval engagements, but include indepth descriptions of the ships of the period, celestial navigation, weather, geography and the politics of the cultures encountered.

Magellanic Penguins, Spheniscus magellenicus (photo by A. Sternick)

The protagonists are Jack Aubrey, a swashbuckling sailor who over the series rises from midshipman to captain, and eventually admiral, but not without countless scrapes with both the enemy and his commanders, a gambling habit, debt and debtor’s prison, and a fragile family life back on the home turf. His hero is of course, Lord Nelson whom he emulates in many ways.

Black-necked Stilt, Himantopus mexicanus

The other is his best friend and companion, the complex Stephen Maturin. He is the illegitimate offspring of an Irish officer and Catalan lady, talented physician and the ship’s surgeon, a naturalist and renown collector of specimens of both flora and fauna. His leading avocation, however is birding which he practices all around the globe. Stephen has also been recruited by British intelligence and his espionage adds to the complex story line.

Chimango Caracara Milvago chimango

Maturin’s medical exploits on board, especially after an bloody engagement are remarkable, and include a craniotomy to relieve a subdural hematoma as the aghast crew looked on. Large pox, from indiscretions while in port, and scurvy are the crew’s two most frequent maladies. His ship mates go out of their way to protect their beloved surgeon as he could barely swim, was clumsy, and frequently fell overboard. Stephen battled a long addiction to laudanum and infatuation with the beautiful Diana Villiers, Jack Aubrey’s cousin.

Double-crested Cormorant, Phalacrocorax auritus

The unlikely friends first met sitting next to each other at a chamber music performance of Locatelli’s C-major quartet in the Governor’s House at Port Mahon. Large and loud Aubrey, crammed into the formal wear of a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, unconsciously beat the time of the musicians, greatly annoying the civilian surgeon Maturin, who finally asked the officer if he must beat the rhythm, at least do it correctly. It almost led to blows, but instead it was just an inauspicious start to a deep friendship that lasted twenty volumes and throughout the entire Napoleonic Wars. Some say it is the greatest friendship in modern literature. Their classical duets, Jack on violin and Stephen on cello, were often heard from the captain’s cabin, at any time and in any ocean.

Western Gull, Larus occidentalis
Laysan Albatross, Phoebastria immutabilis

For the sailors and naval warfare aficionados in the crowd, O’Brian has at least one battle and an encounter with severe weather in every volume. The primary tactics of naval warfare then were to gain the windward side of your foe and then decide whether to bombard from a distance, or close, board, and fight hand-to-hand on the deck. Aubrey suffers many wounds over the years, and is always patched up by Maturin. The ships encounter typhoons, dead calm in the equatorial heat, and severe cold near the poles, all described in detail by O’Brian.

King Penguin, Aptenodytes patagonicus (photo by A. Sternick)

Stephen Maturin is a 19th century birder par excellence. He trained the crew to rouse him whenever another pelagic bird appeared and was especially enamored by the various species of Albatross. He spent a happy few months shipwrecked and marooned with Aubrey and crew on Desolation Island in the Indian Ocean, happily observing and collecting specimens while the rest planned their escape. His collections usually made it home to England; his intelligence commander was especially fond of beetles. On another voyage Stephen lived several months among the Boobies; his scientific paper describing these birds made him famous in ornithological circles. Once, in Boston, he was given beautiful large paintings of American birds by a then unknown Creole artist by the name of Audubon.

Blue-footed Booby, Sula nebouxii (photo by A. Sternick)

The volume I’m currently reading is The Fortune of War, number six in the series. Aubrey, Maturin, and a few surviving sailors have just been rescued after several days adrift in a lifeboat off the coast of South America. Their ship had just burned down to the waterline and sunk, taking with it all of Stephen’s latest specimens. The rescuing ship was the HMS Java, which soon encountered the USS Constitution, “Old Ironsides” and lost to that new American frigate in a frightful battle. Jack and Stephen were taken prisoner and shipped to Boston where further drama awaits.

Gentoo Penguin, Pygoscelis papua (photo by A. Sternick)

Patrick O’Brian (1914-2000) is now deceased and regrettably the adventures have ended. I have also read his incomplete twenty-first volume, left on the author’s writing desk when he died. One must ask, how can a person know so much about so many different topics, in such fine detail, and present them to the reader with such style? Just his descriptions of the ships’ rigging bogles the mind. It’s said he rarely sailed and I’m not sure if he even birded. His writing and research are incredible and highly recommended.

Pomarine Jaeger, Stercorarius pomarinus

In the next decade when I reread the series one last time I intend to keep a list, a Stephen Maturin life list of his birds described in these novels. My photos in this post, and those of my colleague Andy Sternick, are some of Maturin’s birds, but most I have yet to see. They are just more items on the list in my overflowing bucket.

Sounds of the Solstice

Red-winged Blackbird, Agelaius phoeniceus

Morning has broken like the first morning,

Blackbird has spoken like the first bird.

Praise for the singing, praise for the morning,

Praise for them springing fresh from the world.

Eleanor Farjeon (1931)

Too often we take sound and the sense of hearing for granted. This involves both our, and other creatures’ ability to make noise and also the parallel function of receiving it. With humans, at least, and in some other species as well, there is also the ability to react to and appreciate what we have heard.

Osprey, Pandion haliaetus

I have often marveled at the accomplished birders who have learned to bird-by-ear. These are the ones who have already identified the calls of a dozen birds in the parking lot while I’m still struggling with the binocular strap. But now, I can humbly say, that I have achieved some proficiency in this, and hope to learn even more. I’m sure you all know many more birdsongs than you even realize. Make a list of your repertoire and be surprised.

Black-crested Titmouse, Baeolophus atricristatus

Recent additions to my list include the Tufted Titmouse’s plaintive monotonic call, the simple two-noted song of the Great Crested Flycatcher, and the White-eyed Vireo’s much more elaborate solo. Some gifted birders can recognize the different percussion patterns of the woodpeckers. I’m not there yet.

Great-crested Flycatcher, Myiarchus crinitus

While sitting on the screen porch reading, one ear remains tuned to the yard noise. The Northern Mockingbird, Osprey, and Carolina Wren threaten to drown out the other, more subtle songs, and that mocker stills tries to fool me by mimicking the Blue Jay and Nuthatch, but I’ve finally wised up to this antic. The bird’s moniker is fitting–Mimus polyglottos.

Northern Mockingbird, Mimus polyglottos

Yesterday my reading was interrupted by a loud murder of Fish Crows and an unusual sudden silence of the songbirds. When the music stops, beware. Cease whatever you’re doing and investigate. I did just in time to see an Accipiter, probably a Cooper’s Hawk, gliding in low and heading for the hanging feeder. I think his sortie was unsuccessful and eventually the crows dispersed and the singing resumed. I wonder if the small birds appreciated the warning they got from the crows.

American Crow, Corvus brachyrhynchos

But there is still that nagging call you hear on the trail, over and over, and just can’t spot the unknown bird. Now there is a solution. Several years ago, over dinner with some tech savvy friends, they demonstrated the AP Shazam and its ability to detect a song in a noisy restaurant and identify the title and artist. We decided that a similar AP would be great for birding. I ran this concept by a engineer / business savvy member of the family who discouraged my further pursuit. Now, low and behold, Merlin has offered this very AP as part of their bird ID software and my chance for fame and riches has vanished.

Red-headed Woodpecker, Melanerpes erythrocephalus

Sound is nothing more than vibrations that pass through a medium, air or water, as waves. These are transmitted to a receiving device such as our ears. The pathway from our vibrating ear drum to the brain and our final preception of the sound is thankfully beyond the scope of this birding blog. Suffice it to say that the waves of sound have a variable amplitude or volume, and frequency or pitch. The sound can be a disorganized noise such as a clap of thunder or an idling engine, but can also be an elaborate and intricate pattern designed by a sender to express an emotion or idea.

Barred Owl, “Who cooks for you?” Strix varia

In the avian world this creative ability is not shared equitably. Passerines, or songbirds, are divided into two suborders, the Passeri and the Tyranni. The former has a much more elaborate syrinx, (the bird’s voice box), than the latter and can add to a growing repertoire of intricate songs as they age. The Tyranni are born with a set and simpler play list, but they are still better off than the raptors and waders who can barely utter a screech or grunt.

Great Blue Heron, Ardea herodias

For me the sounds of the solstice also includes music. Now I’m speaking of the human-composed variety. Chesapeake Music is a two-week gathering of some of the planet’s most accomplished chamber music artists who live among us for a brief visit in June every year and share their incredible talent. We in turn, share with them the delights of rural living on the Shore. Their usual lives are within the urban metropolises and famous concert halls.

Common Loon, Gavia immer

Sitting through a recent performance of the masterpiece, Brahms Piano Quintet in F Minor in the small and recently refurbished Ebenezer Theater in Easton, Maryland, brought home to me the importance of sound, both avian and human, in our lives. Brahms, somewhat like our Mockingbird, was both the composer of the intricate work, weaving harmonies in ever-changing volumes, tempos, and rhythms, as well as the performing artist. In his day there were few better pianists in Europe. The notes of his quintet, created in 1864, was brought to us again in 2021. Where would we be without such sounds?

Song Sparrow, Melospiza melodia

Unfortunately, as I rapidly approach my eighth decade, the ability to hear birds and Brahms is waning somewhat. They say the higher pitches go first–too many hours on the lawn mower. I’m not hearing the front doorbell or the Northern Parula and Chipping Sparrow like I used to. Cherish the sounds while you can. Beethoven eventually became deaf, but his genius allowed him to feel the sound as he continued to write masterpieces. I’m no Beethoven and probably am overdue for a hearing aid.