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Snowy Owl Adventure Part 2: No Gull, No Worries!

2012-01-27T14:28:00.000-05:00

Our birding gang at the concrete bridge in Ashtabula.

After a pit stop at Dunkin' Donuts to take on/drain off various liquids, we headed east along Lake Erie, all the way to Ashtabula (which, by the way is pronounced Ash-tah-BYEW-lah, not Ash-TAB-you-lah). Our target bird was the black-tailed gull, a vagrant from Asia that had been hanging out around the town's harbor since November. Scores of birders from all over have been there to see it. I'm not really a chaser, but the allure of a truly rare vagrant just an hour away from a virtually guaranteed snowy owl was too much to resist.

The industrial harbor/train yard at Ashtabula, OH where the black-tailed gull has been seen.

We followed the excellent directions on Jen Brumfield's website to the various Ashtabula haunts of the black-tailed gull and we found gulls—about 50,000 of them! At the Lakeshore Park overlook we encountered three fellow birders also seeking the black-tailed gull. No one had seen it yet on this sunny, cold, calm Sunday afternoon, but we had high hopes. We spent the next few hours scanning the gull flocks, hoping to see a single bird with the key combination of field marks that would make it the black-tailed gull. It was exactly like searching for a needle in a haystack of needles.

Jen's recommendation was to bop from spot to spot hoping to see the gull. So we drove back and forth, spending time at the overlook and the cement bridge. Multiple times we'd see a gull with a black terminal tail band, or one with a seemingly dark back. No dice on the ice. We never did see it.

So we did what any relatively normal (and not completely obsessed) bird watchers would do, we went looking for more snowy owls. Two of the guys at the overlook had spotted one from the concrete bridge, sitting on a giant coal pile, earlier in the day. We headed back that way. While Daniel and I braved the increasingly breezy afternoon chill, the gals sat in the comfort of the Zickmobile, heater on. We looked for the gull in the marina, facing away from the lake, while the gals gazed lazily out toward the coal and rock piles and the lake beyond. I thought they were probably napping.

I was wrong.

"We need the scope over here, guys! NOW! Hurry! And you're going to want to see this!" they exclaimed, as they climbed out of the toasty car and pulled their Elmer Fudd hats on.

"What do you have?" I asked.
"Come see for yourself!" they blurted.

This was when they started dancing what could only be described as a jig that was equal parts joyous and taunting.

They had found our second snowy owl of the day. On top of one of the hundred-foot-tall piles of gravel. Plain as day.

I was happy to see the owl and dutifully put the spotting scope on it. But I felt a bit silly that I hadn't seen it when I got out of the car. Oh well.
Here is the distant look we got through the scope. The owl was probably about 1/3 of a mile away. And here's a cropped view, below.

A zoomed up view of snowy owl #2.

We high-fived each other to celebrate our Two Snowy Owl Day. And I made a pitch that we go back to the overlook to scan for the gull some more. We did, though by this time we were all getting tired, eye-weary, and the cold was starting to invade our bones. As the sun dropped lower and the light turned lemon, then peachy, I spotted a distant snowy owl on another gravel pile. This one looked whiter and cleaner than the one we'd seen 20 minutes before from the bridge. But was it just a trick of the light? Was this the same owl from the bridge, just a different view?

#3!

I took some documentary photos and we decided to compare these with the view of the second owl over by the bridge. So back we went. We found the two Maryland birders there, confirmed that none of us had seen the gull, and told them about the other snowy owl. They immediately got excited and went to see it—stoked at having their OWN two-snowy-owl day (which was old news to us veterans at this point). I asked them to call me when they found it, and showed them my photo of where it was. Twenty minutes later they called to confirm that their owl (owl #3) was sitting on top of the gravel pile where we'd left it. Owl #2 was on the ground about 300 yards in front of us at this point, so we KNEW these were two different birds, and we had also just confirmed our first-ever THREE-SNOWY-OWL day!

Snowy owl #3 at Lakeshore Park overlook in Ashtabula, OH.

Now that's an awesome day of birding! Gull schmull! I got to see my spark bird, one of the least-encountered owl species in North America, right in my home state, not once, not twice, but THREE times in a single day!

Happy owl watchers at the end of an epic day.

Snowy Owling Adventure

2012-01-24T15:50:00.002-05:00

My most recent snowy owl was in the Jurong Bird Park in Singapore in September 2010. Yes, it was inside a zoo in Asia! Not really thrilling to see—actually kind of depressing. And even though our winter this year in Ohio has been fairly mild (recent days excepted), it was actually getting kind of depressing, too.

Sunday, January 22 promised to offer a break in the harsh, icy winter weather we'd been enjoying in Ohio, so I decided to mount an expedition northward looking for special birds. This has become an annual ritual—as if giving myself over to the colder, more wintry northern latitudes could help break the spell of my winter lassitude. Last year it was Bohemian waxwings, recently named my Bird of the Year in a vote that made the recent political primaries look like nap time in Romper Room.

Before the warmer air mass moved in and melted all the ice, things were mighty cold and drab around the farm.

This year I would try to find the great white invader of the North: the snowy owl. I have a special connection to this species. The snowy owl was my spark bird way back in November of 1968, when one flew into our front yard in Pella, Iowa. That's the first bird I remember seeing and identifying myself. It sparked my interest in birds and bird watching and I've watched birds ever since.

Flashing back to the now... The winter of 2011-2012 has been a well-documented invasion year for snowy owls. And there is some debate about what causes this phenomenon. Is it a super abundance of food (lemmings, primarily) last summer that resulted in lots more baby snowies surviving to fledging? Is it a crash in the lemming population that forces starving snowies of all ages south in search of sustenance? Or does it just happen randomly every other decade or so? According to the experts, we don't really know.

My last Ohio snowy owl was in November 2001.

No matter the reason for the invasion, I was determined to try to see at least one snowy owl this winter. I missed the big influx of great gray owls a few years ago, which was a bummer. Wanting very much to ensure success, I called a hotshot birder in northern Ohio, Jen Brumfield. As I suspected, Jen had the hook-up. We made plans and I began spreading the word that I was heading north.

Funny thing about big birding excursions... they sound a lot more appealing when you first hear about them than they actually are when it's time to get your rump in gear and go. I asked 14 of my fellow birders—some of whom are actual relatives of mine—and all of whom had expressed enthusiasm for this mission—to come along. I envisioned a giant caravan of cars, all packed sensibly with bird watchers who were giddy at the prospects of the day. In the end only two friends joined us (three if you count Julie, who really had no choice). And these two friends, Kelly and Daniel, are brand new bird watchers. I complimented them on their courage. It would, after all, be at least eight hours in the car, with low temperatures—probably as cold as the dangly parts of a brass monkey, and we might completely strike out! They were undaunted.

We left home at 7:30, met our pals at 8, gassed up, and hit the road headed north. Our destination was to be a field near an airport in Cleveland. Kelly and Daniel asked questions and shared observations about owls and other birds as we drove. About an hour from our destination my cell phone rang and it was son Liam, part of the slugabed stay-at-homers in our family. He had a message to relay: "Jen called and she's at the spot looking at the snowy owl right now!"

I stomped on the accelerator.

We got there in record time, found Jen, and then cast our eyes upon the owl, about 200 yards distant. Oh glory be! Such a beauty! She turned, gazing one way then another.

We picked out details: she had tiny dark ear tufts, something we'd never noticed on other snowy owls. The back of her head showed markings that looked vaguely like a raptor face. Her eyes shone bright yellow in the late morning sun. Wow!

Jen told us the interesting story of how it had been found and what its habits seemed to be. Soon the owl floated to another spot, this one more out of our easy line of sight. So we talked of other birds. I was particularly interested in trying to see the vagrant black-tailed gull near Ashtabula, as long as we were this far north. Jen again had the latest intel, so, after watching our snowy owl for an additional 20 minutes, we headed for hot coffee, warm bathrooms, some food, and thence to the far northeast corner of Ohio.

to be continued.....

From left: Kelly, Jen, Julie, Daniel, happy snowy owl watchers.

Caption Contest #20 Winner!

2012-01-16T13:15:00.000-05:00

The body was dumped in an area which was guaranteed to get no foot traffic. At press time, police have yet to locate the left arm.

Wow! Jason over at OpposableChums really hit a homer with his caption. Or as perennial caption maven Erik Bruder put it: "OC brough a cannon to a pillow fight!"

Jason is the proud winner of a set of birding bumper stickers from the BWD Nature Shop.

Other entries that got numerous votes from our panel of judges (though we always like ALL of the entries):

Harley Winfrey said...
Sure he's a birding celebrity, but when you meet BT3 in person, he's just so down to earth.

Julie Zickefoose said...
Thousands attended Bill's book signing. Thousands of chiggers.

steve moore said...
Bill learns that when stretching the elastic Bino Harness to maximum length...you should never just let go.

Peggy said...
Virgin planker gets it all wrong!

John Workman said...
Noted Author and Authority on Birding Demonstrates "The Thompson Method" for Attracting Turkey Vultures.

Thanks to everyone who played. We'll post another caption contest as soon as we find the next truly goofy photo.

Caption Contest #20

2012-01-09T16:56:00.004-05:00

My dear BOTB readers: It is time for the first Caption Contest of 2012. Please send in your clevermost caption for the image above. Use the Comments interface below to craft and deliver your bon mot.

Deadline is Friday morning, January 13, 2012 at 10:14 am. I (and my panel of very nearly ethical judges) will select a winner on that day. The winning entry gets a set of birding bumper stickers and a NEW CAR* to put them on!

Good luck and may the farce be with you.

*by "new car" we mean a Matchbox car stolen from my son Liam's overflowing toy chest in the basement. I promise to choose one that still has all four wheels fully functioning.

My Bird of the Year, Part 2

2012-01-03T10:53:00.006-05:00

Picking up where I left off in my last post (from just before Christmas!) I've been scrolling through the images I downloaded onto my computer during 2011, trying to select my bird of the year. It's tough because all of the birds I'm choosing as finalists are ones that were particularly memorable for one reason or another. Like the male ruddy duck (above) that put on a show of extreme courtship, doing the bubble dance/display on a North Dakota slough last June. But for whom was he performing? There were no other ducks on that small patch of water. Yet he kept at it and I shot his picture over and over. Perhaps he was posing.

This adult male ruby-throated hummingbird let me get very close to him as he rested on a plant hanger in our garden. It was my best hummingbird photo of the year, taken on a fine July morning in southeastern Ohio.

On a pre-dawn birding outing at St. Marks NWR in the Florida panhandle in September I had to stop to snap this photo with my point-and-shoot Canon G12. The heron's silhouette on the dawn-brushed, still water was vastly more stunning than the camera's sensor and lens could capture. It was one of my more peaceful moments in the field in 2011, despite the mosquitoes and no-see-ums.
Back to North Dakota for an outing during the Potholes and Prairie Birding Festival on which we found a Sprague's pipit—a lifer for everyone in my group. Sadly there were no photos of the pipit, which was sky-dancing 300 feet above us.

And back to Oklahoma for another life bird for yours truly, a male black-capped vireo in the Wichita Mountains NWR. My friend Eric Beck knew just where to go to find vireo territories—a long hike up a canyon. And although we were on the early side of their spring return date, we did manage to find three different singing males. This was my best digiscoped shot of a male black-capped vireo—not great but a great adventure and memory!

In November I was on a birding tour in Israel and while there I got to enjoy hundreds of bird species that I've rarely, if ever, seen. I could make an entire BOTY list just from birds on that fantastic trip. But in the interest of staying focused, I'm going to narrow it down to just a few highlight birds, one of which is the male Palestine sunbird (above) which came to drink nectar on a flowering shrub just outside my hotel room in the Hula Valley. This is as close to a hummingbird as it gets in the Middle East. Lovely, active little birds.

The most stunning avian attraction of the Hula Valley where I spent most of my time in Israel was the giant flocks of common cranes that migrate through Israel in winter and spring. Some stay in the Hula for the winter and the local farmers and communities, along with local preserve/refuge managers are devising ways to keep the cranes from damaging crops while letting them spend the winter foraging and roosting. It's an ingenious concept—humans and birds coexisting symbiotically. On two separate mornings and several evenings we witnessed between 15,000 and 20,000 common cranes in giant, noisy, swirling flocks.

Here's a photograph of a tiny bird I found in the Agamon Valley in Israel. Believe it or not this is a warbler known as a chiffchaff. It's named for its onomatopoeic call chiff-chaff. This little guy (or gal) was foraging in some low weeds outside a viewing blind at the Hula-Agamon Park. After watching large mega-birds like cranes and eagles all day, it was a nice change to spend some time with a small songbird.

My closest-ever look at a merlin occurred in the Negev Desert near a birding hotspot that's basically a power highline cutting through agricultural fields. A small copse of pines were the only cover for miles around and our guide, Israeli birder Jonathan Meyrav had just said "This can be a good place for merlins" when we spotted this beauty in a tree.

As I flipped through the Middle East bird field guide on the flight over to Israel, this bird (above) was tops on my list of most wanted: the cream-coloured courser. We found a flock in the Negev Desert, just as a huge approaching storm made the afternoon seem like dusk. These coursers were digiscoped at a great distance, but were a thrilling sighting nonetheless.

Here we are at the end of a year of wonderful birds. These are only MY very subjective highlights and, as I said in the beginning of this post, it's really hard to choose just one to be my Bird of the Year. But I think I have one. It's the Bohemian waxwing, above. This was a life bird for me—one that had eluded me for many years. Bohenian waxwings are birds of the far North. However, the winter of 2010-11 was something of an invasion year for BOWAs and I did not want to miss out on my chance. So my friend Geoff Heeter (a native Michigander) and I made a road trip north, nearly to the Upper Peninsula, seeking a flock of these wandering fruiteaters. Every lead we chased came up empty, until a kind birder on the Mich-Birds listserv sent me a direct message with a hot tip for a place in Traverse City, where she'd seen Bohemians the day before. We got there, found a flock of seven, and I had my lifer (and so did Geoff).

This quest took on added significance because it came shortly after the rather sudden death of my dad, William H. Thompson, Jr. Shortly after Dad's memorial service, Geoff and I left Marietta, Ohio, headed north, and even if we hadn't seen a single Bohemian waxwing, the healing power of birding helped me to overcome my grief.

It's funny. Bird watching means different things to each of us. In 2011, as exciting as my birding experiences were, the one bird that sticks out is a life bird that helped me escape the agonizing pain caused by a death. Without birds, I'm not sure where I'd be right now. I'm so thankful for the wonder of birds, and for the joy that comes from watching them with my friends and family.

I'm looking forward the the birds of 2012!

Thinking About My Bird of the Year 2011

2011-12-23T13:40:00.004-05:00

It's been an incredible year of bird watching. As I think back on some of the sweet birds I've seen—some of them lifers, some just old favorites—I find it nearly impossible to pick just one as my BOY—my Bird of the Year. Here are some of the nominees: Above is the lesser prairie chicken I got to see, with dozens of his fellow lekkers, outside of Woodward, Oklahoma, during the Lesser Prairie Chicken Festival. What a soul-stirring morning spent in a small blind, waiting for enough of the dawn to coalesce so I could see these incredible birds perform their ancient courtship ritual.

An even rarer life bird came to me (really I went questing after it) in central Texas in late June. The male golden-cheeked warbler that I found at Friedrich Wilderness Park north of San Antonio was my next-to-last U.S.-breeding warbler species (only the hard-to-see Colima warbler remains unchecked on my life list).

Actually the first golden-cheeked individual I saw was a begging fledgling, which looked a whole lot like an adult bird only rattier and fluffier of plumage. When the adult male came in, followed by the adult female, and the three of them dropped down to drink and bathe in a small pool 20 feet away, my identification was confirmed. And I began to suppress a scream of joy. It was a extra poignant to see a fledgling of this federally endangered species—and to think of how few fledgling golden-cheeked warblers there were in the world at that moment.

I'm often asked, as most birders are, to share which species is my favorite bird. Since my pre-teen years, my answer has been red-headed woodpecker. I'm not sure why, but this bird just gets me fired up. Perhaps because this is a bird of contradictions. They are increasingly rare here in southeastern Ohio, but they were common in the southeastern Iowa of my childhood. They are ID-able from a great distance in flight flashing the semaphore of white and black wings, yet they often go unnoticed as they perch quietly. Some red-headeds migrate, others don't. Where they are common they are reliable to see, but they can also show up just about anywhere, especially in fall migration. They are often confused with the much more common red-bellied woodpecker and species that has, at best, a red Mohawk stripe of red. And the red on the red-headed's head (say THAT 10 times fast)—well it's perhaps the most compelling red on any bird. Yep, it's my fave. This year we heard about a nesting colony of RHWOs about an hour away from home in West Virginia, so we took several trips there to commune with them.

While traversing the New River Gorge Bridge on the catwalk below the road surface, I got to enjoy my closest-ever look at an adult peregrine falcon. The above photo was taken with my Canon G12 point-and-shoot camera. This bird was CLOSE! The bird of prey highlight of the year for me.

The local birding grapevine whispered in my ear about a possible sandhill crane in our county. I was initially doubtful because we have an exploding population of great blue herons in the region. Sure enough, at dusk the same day I first heard about the crane, we found it. Foraging in a field of newly sprouted sweet corn. It stayed around long enough for me to get several birding friends out to see it. My first-ever Ohio sandhill crane and, if I kept a Washington County, Ohio bird list this would be a nice addition to it!

These are just four of the nominees for my BOY. I'll do my best to share the rest during the holidays, before the list stats anew at 12:01 am on 1/1/12.

Return to Hog Island!

2011-12-13T14:24:00.005-05:00

The famous Hog Island Audubon Camp in Maine is back in full swing this summer with a tasty menu of sessions for nature enthusiasts of all ages and interests. Julie Zickefoose and I will be instructors during the "Joy of Birding" week June 24 to 29. You can find out some details here.

If you look at an atlas of the state of Maine, you'll note that there are numerous islands named Hog. One can only presume that these islands were so-named because that's where early residents of Maine kept their swine—presumably safe from predators and, being on an island, naturally prevented from roaming. But there's only one Hog Island with an impressive history of nature study and education—that's the one in Muscongus Bay, Maine—and that's the one we're heading back to in June. Roger Tory Peterson and Allan D. Cruickshank are among the island's legendary instructors, dating back to the camp's founding in 1936.

Among this coming season's well-known instructors are Scott Weidensaul, Sara Morris, Pete Dunne, Lang Elliott, Donald Kroodsma, Sue Schubel, and Steve Kress who is the camp's director and is best known for Project Puffin, which helped to restore breeding populations of the Atlantic puffin (and other endangered seabird species) to islands off the New England coast.

I've written about Hog Island numerous times here at Bill of the Birds, including this post about visiting nearby Harbor Island, and this one about the last time we were instructors there.

The Hog Island experience is a unique one. The island is magically beautiful and just large enough that you can take a long hike around its perimeter and feel you are leaving the modern world behind. The sessions are informative and fun and the birding is really great, especially if you don't often get to see species that are common to the northern woods or to the northeastern Atlantic coast.

Every day is a new adventure. The food is great. The accommodations are rustic but comfy. And the air is clean and cool. We love going to Hog Island even more because our kids, Phoebe and Liam, get to come along. They play all day along the rocky shores and in the dark, mystical woods surrounding the camp, building cairns and imagining there are woodland sprites playing tricks there and pirates coming ashore to bury their loot. Like I said, Hog Island is magic.

Write it down, friends: Joy of Birding, June 24 to 29, 2012! Hope to see you there!

Kingdom of Kingfishers!

2011-12-02T16:34:00.000-05:00

Smyrna kingfisher in the pre-dawn fog at Hula-Agamon Park.

I was in Israel on a birding tour over the Thanksgiving holiday this year, attending the Hula Valley Bird Festival. The trip was amazing and amazingly birdy almost everywhere we went. For this post I'm going to highlight the incredible density of kingfishers we encountered.

But first some background!

I'd been to Israel once before, in the late 1980s. I'd be shocked if any readers of this blog recall my article about that trip, written for Bird Watcher's Digest and published in the September/October 1985 issue of BWD. That was my first-ever BWD article written about my first-ever official overseas birding trip! Both times I had to do some careful thinking and planning both because Israel is a long way away and because it's in a part of the world that's often in the news, usually due to political unrest between neighbors. Fortunately on both trips, each lasting more than a week, any concerns I had were unwarranted—the people were friendly, the neighbors were neighborly, the weather was wonderful, the landscape was beautiful and the birds were beyond expectation.

Consider yourself warned that I'm working on another Israel article, along with a podcast, and a gallery of images for the not-so-distant future for BWD. Now back to the kingfishers.

Located as it is in the middle of the arid, mostly desert Middle East, Israel would be no more bird-rich than its neighbors except for one major factor: water. Water flows through this country from north to south and it is channeled and used in a variety of ways, especially for agriculture. Wherever this water occurs, so do birds, especially water-loving birds like the kingfishers. We encountered three kingfisher species during our time in the Hula Valley in northern Israel and on short trips out from the valley in all directions: the common kingfisher, the pied kingfisher, and the white-throated or Smyrna kingfisher.

Pied kingfishers at a fish farm.

Israel has a lot of fish farms. These fish farms have a lot of fish, which means they also have a lot of fish-eating birds. Nearly every day during our birding trip we stopped at some set of man-made ponds, reservoirs, fish farms, or water-treatment facility. We'd scan the water and shoreline for birds, often looking past the number of kingfishers present. In the image above, there are eight pied kingfishers on a single perch. We sometimes would see twice that many or more perched on sticks and posts along one side of a pond. It was nuts! Only a few individuals were so intent on fishing that they allowed close approach. This is likely a result of the bird-scaring efforts that the fish farmers have to do in order to control the loss of their "crop" to the crops of birds.

The small common kingfisher, which is widespread in Europe, seemed to be the most shy. We'd normally catch brief glimpses of one as it zipped low over the water from one hidden perch to another. Or we'd spy their glimmering iridescent plumage at a distance as we were scanning with our optics.

White-throated kingfisher, aka Smyrna kingfisher, aka white-breasted kingfisher.

The largest of the three kingfisher species we encountered is the white-throated kingfisher, also often referred to as the Smyrna kingfisher. These stunning and bold birds were noisy enough to make their presence known even when they were out of our direct sight.

The pied kingfisher is a study in blacks and whites as its name implies. Slightly smaller than the white-throated kingfisher, the pied was our most frequently seen kingfisher species. Both of the larger kingfishers could regularly be seen away from water, hunting lizards and geckos from a watching perch.

Water brings life to the desert and attracts living things from all directions. It is the kingdom of kings and the kingdom of kingfishers, too!

Here are a few of my better kingfisher images from last week's trip. Enjoy!

A pied kingfisher launching from a perch over water in the Hula Reserve Park.

Hovering pied kingfisher at Ma'agan Michael along the Mediterranean.

No one knows why this species is named white-throated kingfisher.

Common kingfisher held by a staff member at the Hula-Agamon ringing (banding) station.

Pied kingfisher at Ma'agan Michael.

Hula Haiku

2011-11-30T12:52:00.001-05:00

Water source of life
brings us together looking
sky peppered with birds

Walking the Catwalk!

2011-11-23T06:05:00.001-05:00

Among the tiny handful of birding events that I do every year is The New River Birding & Nature Festival in Fayette County, West Virginia. There are plenty-plenty reasons why I love this annual spring birding bacchanalia: it's run by good buddies of mine, the birding is truly incredible, Swainson's and cerulean warblers, the landscape is breathtaking, it's a small and intimate gathering of the tribe, they let me play music, there are hottubs in the cabins, and it's only a three-hour drive from the Bill of the Birds man cave. Now, there's another reason. The catwalk!

In the photo above you see a view of The New River Gorge Bridge which carries WV Route 19 across the vast, rocky, gaping maw of the New River Gorge. Do you see the horizontal line of brown steel girders running below the roadway? That's where the bridge's catwalk is located. Come along little kitty-cats and take a stroll with me. If you are acrophobic, you might want to stop reading now. I suggest you google the phrase "Rick-rolling" as an alternative way to soothe yourself.

Here is the understructure of the gorge bridge, stretching off into infinity, toward the south and the Fayetteville end of the bridge. We're climbing out onto the catwalk on the north end.

The company that owns the rights to take people on the catwalk (they market it as "BridgeWalk") has figured things out quite nicely. You are fit with a rather all-encompassing harness—the same kind that mountain climbers or bridge maintenance workers use. You are instructed to bring only items that can be lashed onto your body (see my binocs in the photo above). If you drop your precious iPhone over the edge, it's gone, dude.

The harnesses are attached to a lead which is latched via caribiner to a turnbuckle device that rolls along the safety cable. But that cable is attached to the bridge structure in about 50 places along its length. This is where the ingenious turnbuckle comes in: it ratchets through the attachment brackets, like a mini paddlewheel, while keeping you safely attached at all times. A few gentle tugs gets your line and harness past each attachment point. It's a very clever solution and much safer and more convenient than having to unhook and re-hook each bridge-walker's harness.

We walked the catwalk with six other people, plus a guide. Geoff Heeter, one of the New River Birding & Nature Festival founders and the fellow who invited me on this little adventure, wisely suggested we bring up the rear of the group. This was a very good call as we were able, after the first few sections, to lag behind a bit to take photos and do a bit of birding.

Here's our group, lined up for a photo, taken by our BridgeWalk guide Jim Smith.

And here's Geoff all harnessed up and grooving on the view. And speaking of the view: it is spectacular. I've been to the New River many times in the past 20 years, but being out over the gorge like this was a new and thrilling experience.

As you move out over the gorge, there is only the metal grate of the catwalk below your feet and two steel bands plus a top rail guarding you on the the sides. I'm not afraid of heights, but my knees did wobble a bit for the first 10 minutes or so. Once you get used to it, the thrill takes over for the chill and the experience becomes utterly enjoyable.

That's the New River way down yonder! But there are other fabbo things to see, too!

We saw at least four peregrine falcons on the bridge. These birds are from a population that was hacked on a local cliff face as part of a reintroduction program. We noted bands on the legs of two of them. And the birds seemed utterly unimpressed with the humans clanging along the catwalk—probably because there is a constant roar of traffic on the bridge just feet above, and because there is a steady stream of bridge maintenance workers, and now bridge tourists, coming along the catwalk each day.
The structure of the bridge has numerous holes, ledges, and perches perfect for peregrines. They have nested on the bridge for the past couple of years. Perhaps the birds we were seeing were adults with this year's young?

The BridgeWalk experience is going to be offered at the 10th annual New River Birding & Nature Festival next April 30 through May 5. The festival fills up really fast, so if you've been thinking about attending, don't wait! This final photo shows how close we got on our BridgeWalk to one of the peregrines—my closest look ever at a perched p-bird!

Hope to see you next spring in West Virginia, on the catwalk or elsewhere!

Episode #34 of This Birding Life

2011-11-21T06:01:00.001-05:00

Greetings bird people! Episode #34 of my podcast "This Birding Life" is now available (free!) for your listening pleasure over at Podcast Central and in the Podcasts section of the iTunes Store (where it's also free). This episode is an audio recording of Greg Miller's heart-warming presentation at the 2011 Midwest Birding Symposium held last September at Lakeside, Ohio.

In case you don't know who Greg is, he was one of three birders who did a North American big year in 1998 who were featured in Mark Obmascik's best-selling book, The Big Year. The book was the inspiration for the movie "The Big Year" made by director David Frankel and featuring an all-star cast including Jack Black, Owen Wilson, and Steve Martin. Programming note: Episode #33 of "This Birding Life" featured an interview with Director David Frankel.

Greg is one of the nicest, most genuine people I've ever met. In his own words, he's "Mr. Un-Hollywood." In his presentation at the MBS he talked about growing up with a bird-watching father, and the highlights and lowlights of his life leading up to his decision to make 1998 his own big year.

I hope you enjoy this new episode of "This Birding Life." Please feel free to share your comments about it here on Bill of the Birds.
Until next time, I'm wishing you clear skies and ossum birding! I'll see you out there with the birds!

Waiting for This Sign of Spring

2011-11-17T19:41:00.003-05:00

OK the bleariness of the Ohio winter has settled in upon us and signs of spring, well, there are none! Sigh.

There's one specific sign that I look for each spring—one that lets me know that the ambient daytime temperatures are warm enough for there to be airborne insects. The air above our southeastern Ohio woods is peppered with gnats...

It's the return of the blue-gray gnatcatchers! They return in spring sometime in early April, usually around the 5th. Once they're back, they are with us until early October, giving away their presence with their high-pitched wheezing calls.

What's facing us now here in Ohio is about six months of gray skies and icky weather. Funny that a bird as gray as our winter skies can be such a harbinger of the joys and colors and music of spring.

I. Can't. Wait!

Happy Birthday to Liam!

2011-11-08T13:03:00.000-05:00

My best pal in the whole wide world is William Henry Thompson IV and today he turns 12. I've known him his whole life, and he's known me, his dad, his whole life. We even formed a two-guy club called The Hotdog Brothers.

We do manly things like cook over campfires, and play pool, and throw the football, and spit, and pee outside. We are The Hotdog Brothers, YES WE ARE!

Nobody can do goofier or funnier things than Liam—like making cow's udders on your shadow on a winter's afternoon.

Liam, as he's known to most, has lots of other names, too: Popo, Shoomie, Brostie, Jonesie Boy, Stupendous Man, and many others. He is an artist and has an artist's heart and sensitivity.

Liam's best friend in the world is his big sister Phoebe. He's never know a world without Phoebe, which is lucky for him.He really adores Phoebe, and she him. She's taught him about the world, helped him with his homework, encouraged him to do new things, and even defended him at times from being picked on.

In return, Liam makes Phoebe laugh—a lot! Sometimes he acts like Uncle Feely, which can be annoying. But Phoebe puts up with it because she knows Liam loves her, and she can use this to get him to do things for her.

Any camera lying around in our house eventually gets filled with monkey-cam photos like this.

Liam is also an animal lover. Chet Baker, Boston Terrier, is like the brother that Liam never had. They play like siblings, with Chet play growling and Liam squealing out giggles of pure joy at the things Baker does.
Liam is the main fan in our house of our pair of Chinese dwarf hamsters. They like to sleep in Liam's hand while he reads or watches TV.

Liam cuts his own swath through the world of fashion and style. And because he's so sweet, he gets away with ensembles that a lesser being might not. For example: giant foam finger, fedora, camo shorts, green Crocks with white socks. Perfectly Liam!

Chicks dig Liam—especially older chicks, like Phoebe's high school friends, who loved having Liam along as part of Phoebe's 15th birthday last summer.

Even though he sometimes trudges to the school bus, Liam likes school. And school likes him, too.

For Halloween this year, Liam and Phoebe were pumpkinheaded monsters. Their costumes were amazing. It was Liam's concept made into real costumes by his mom, Julie.

There was quite a haul of candy. Above, Liam and his cousins Gus and Jake do a bit of candy trading after trick-or-treating.

Ahhh Liam! That's my boy! He's a dreamer, yes, but I'm so proud to be his daddy. And I'm so thankful that my own dad, William H. Thompson Jr, got to know my son, his namesake.

Happy birthday, sweet boy! I hope you someday get to feel how wonderful it is to have a child and to celebrate their birthday in a special way. Every year with you, Liam, is sweeter than the last.

Roadside Attractions

2011-11-03T22:16:00.004-04:00

In January 2010 I took daughter Phoebe to Florida for The Space Coast Birding & Wildlife Festival. We did a number of speaking gigs at the festival and at local schools. It was really cool to see Phoebe interacting with kids her age from the Florida schools, showing them, without a doubt, that birding is not just for nerds.

It was a highlight of my years as a Dad to be able to show Phoebe her life alligator, armadillo, manatee, bobcat, and a score of birds, including the endangered Florida scrub-jay. But there was one Florida lifer that eluded us: the giant roadside attraction.

On Sunday, when the festival was over, we headed for the Orlando airport by a roundabout way. A giant alligator at a roadside attraction provided a perfect memento for Phoebe. We stopped, she got out, and we took a few photos with this big-as-a-tractor-trailer gator.

I love this image because it shows my little girl, who is no longer a little girl, in full "hurry up and take the photo, Daddy!" posture. What a gator! What a trip! And what a girl! We really need to do another daddy-daughter trip before fledges into the wide world on her own two wings.

The 2011 Big Sit Part IV: A Broken Record

2011-10-31T16:11:00.001-04:00

Here's the final chapter in the 2011 Big Sit report from the Indigo Hill Birding Tower, home of The Whipple Bird Club. As the day wore on toward afternoon, the bird activity really tailed off, as you might expect. Our list was at 66 at 11:00 am. By 11:30 am we'd added a distant osprey (67) and northern harrier (68).

Just before noon I saw a bird flying to the northeast of the tower. It was a mid-sized bird, with an undulating flight pattern—definitely a woodpecker. Then it dipped sideways in flight and I caught a flash of large white wing patches! YES! A red-headed woodpecker! My favorite bird species of all and it moved our Big Sit list into a tie with our all time record. And it was not yet noon!

At 12:05 pm a red-breasted nuthatch called from the pines along the meadow. Jim and Julie heard it and Julie called it in—red-breasted nuthatches must be lonely little souls since they always respond to imitations of their calls. That was species number 70! A NEW BIG SIT RECORD for our circle!

There was copious jocularity and riotous rejoicing!

Then came hours of no new birds—plenty of neat birds to see, but no new species for the list. These were the wasp-swarming hours I mentioned in my previous post. Most sitters left the tower to eat, rest, rest stop, refit, leave, or go bugging in the meadow.

Binocs up! Few birds escaped our watchful eyes as we scanned the sky from the Indigo Hill Birding Tower.

By 3:30 pm our eyes were starting to blur and the beer in the cooler was starting to sing its siren song. Just when we though we were stuck with a tie, I hear the familiar rattle of a wren from the brambly wildflower meadow to the east of the house. I heard it several more times—enough to recognize it as a house wren. Julie and Shila went out from the house to ground-truth it and caught glimpses of the bird and heard snatches of its rattle. That was yet another new record: 71 species, breaking the old record of 70 which had stood for, ummm, about 3.5 hours!

Sometime between 4:00 and 5:00 pm I spotted our final bird species of the 2011 Big Sit. A lone rock pigeon flew past the north side of the tower, headed east. Not a very glam bird for a new Indigo Hill Big Sit record of 72 species, but a record-setting bird nonetheless! As if all of nature was smiling on us, the sun broke through the clouds and gave us a nice sunset for our group picture taking.

We chatted about the day's birds, as we always do near the end of The Big Sit: favorite bird of the day, lucky "gets", hard-to-believe "misses." Some of the species I dream about adding to our Big Sit and farm lists at a future Big Sit: anhinga, sandhill crane, snow goose, and others.

Anhinga is a dream bird for the Big Sit list, but probably not likely.

Palm warbler was a big miss from the 2011 Big Sit list.

As we wound down, the jokes began to flow. A few birds still visited the feeders and the eastern phoebe that had been around all day was sitting on the telephone wire, tail flicking back and forth.
Our local phoebe put on a good show in the late afternoon.

The final gang at the 2011 Big Sit—those who stayed until the bitter end, from left to right: Jason, Julie, Chet Baker, Jim, BOTB, Evan, Steve, Shila, Wendy, Nina, Daniel, and Kelly. Photo by Phoebe Thompson.

The rising moon made a light squiggle in the night sky behind our plastic great horned owl decoy.

The final PlantCam shot from the 2011 Big Sit.

About 7:30 pm the wind picked up again, making hearing difficult. It was almost completely dark so we began to tear down. The last trip down from the tower, I grabbed the PlantCam and turned it off. The final photo had been taken at 7:52 pm.

It had been a great—a record-setting—day! I love The Big Sit.

The 2011 Big Sit, Part III

2011-10-24T16:01:00.002-04:00

Moon at midnight of the 2011 Big Sit.

We left our story last week with me racing (carefully) through the foggy and winding country roads from the high school homecoming dance back home to the farm and the Indigo Hill Birding Tower for the midnight start of The Big Sit!

Well, we made it with 10 minutes to spare. Just as I was about to scramble up to the tower, I spied the homecoming princess heading to the master bathroom for a shower. Knowing this would mean 40 minutes of showering and 50 minutes of the roar of the water heater trying to keep up, I begged like the desperate birder-parent I was for a delay in the hygiene-based activity so that the night would remain quiet enough for me to hear passing migrant birds overhead.

The princess in her regal ballgown and one of her loyal footmen.

This was met with the soul-withering, resistance-is-futile, how-dare-you-even-THINK-that I'm-not-showering-now-you-complete-loser-stare from my adorable and indulgent 15-year-old daughter. I tucked my tail between my legs and climbed into the tower, dented not daunted.

In addition to the roar of the water heater rising skyward on the south side of the tower, there was the surprisingly loud burble from the bird spa on the north side, and coming from all directions was an impressive wall of insect sounds. Hearing the soft seet of a Savannah sparrow overhead was going to be impossible.

Midnight. The hour of enchantment. When everything in the coming day seems possible—even probable! The 2011 Big Sit was ON! My first sound was a nearby ATV. Then some dogs. Then a mufflerless truck. Then coyotes. Plus the shower-bird spa-cricket noise. Then some distant shouting followed by the boom of a large-caliber gun. Then lowing cows. Then coyotes.

This went on for nearly 20 minutes before I heard my first bird: a black-crowned night-heron (actually at least three of them) flying in the darkness overhead, occasionally uttering their tell-tale quock!

Whoa! That's a species we've only had one other time on our farm and it was on a Big Sit about a decade earlier. I remember it clearly—a line of migrants flying slowly southward against the western sunset. A very auspicious start to the 2011 Big Sit!

I smiled as I snapped on my headlamp to tick the night-heron off on the official checklist. Then I pulled out my phone to post the Big Sit's first sighting to Facebook and Twitter. I got immediate reactions from all over the world! Neat! Even though I was alone up in the tower, and would be until just before dawn, I had a digital posse of bird watching pals along with me, connected by satellite-tossed data.

Shortly after 1 am the wind picked up suddenly out of the southeast. Weird! Without being able to hear at all now, and with the night being so dark, there would be no new birds added to the list. I headed back downstairs to catch a few winks.

I was back in the tower at 3:45 and the wind was gone. Almost immediately I began adding birds as flyovers uttering call notes. Many of them I could not identify, but those that I could (indigo bunting, Savannah sparrow, Tennessee warbler, Swainson's thrush, gray-cheeked thrush) I added to the list. The owls started up, too. A great horned owl hooted from the northeast for the next two hours. And two eastern screech-owls whinnied from the meadow's edge.

Julie and Jim (right) joined me in the tower before dawn.

About an hour before dawn, Big Sit stalwart and Mr. Ohio Birding Jim McCormac showed up to join me in the tower. Jim is fun to bird with and always adds a number of species to the list. Sadly most of these are insects and plants which don't actually count on the Big Sit list, but I smile and act like I'm checking them off on the list, which seems to make Jim happy.

Seriously, though, Jim's strong birding ears nailed us veery, black-throated green warbler, chestnut-sided warbler, and chipping sparrow. As dawn hinted at its imminent arrival, the resident birds began stirring: northern cardinal, song sparrow, eastern towhee, mourning dove, Carolina chickadee.

Actual sunrise on Big Sit day.

By the time the sun was up, we were pushing 30 species and already draining a second pot of coffee. It was time for more visiting sitters to arrive. Julie (a resident sitter) came up from the main house and threw her birding powers into the mix. Soon Jason arrived, followed by Nina, and Jen, and Bob and Mimi, and then the day became a blur of birds and shouts, and quick hugs hello, and more coffee.

Early sitters in the birding tower, from left: Jen, Jason, Steve, Evan, Julie, Jim, Nina.

On any given Big Sit (always the second Sunday in October) we're struggling to delay the end of the summer seasons, to find the last migrant songbirds—hoping for a late wave of warblers similar to those we enjoyed just a few weeks earlier. We're also tugging the season in the other direction, hoping for the later migrants and winter visitors to arrive on time or even early, birds like dark-eyed junco, swamp sparrow, Lincoln's sparrow, northern harrier, pine siskin. We got some of these species this year, but missed some, too.

Some birds seem to know you are looking for them and they hide out on Big Sit day. This year it was the juncos and Lincoln's sparrows that gaslighted us. I saw them the day before and the day after. But not on the day of the Big Sit.

View from the tower looking ENE.

By mid-morning we had a list full of birds (62 species at 9:45 am) and a tower full of bird watchers. And a driveway full of cars. It was pretty clear that it was shaping up to be a good day–perhaps even record-setting, if our luck held out. I reminded my fellow veteran sitters that we'd been here before (literally and figuratively). Many times in the past we'd race out to an amazing start for the sit, holding a list of 60 species by 11 am, only to spend the next nine hours adding a paltry few to the list.

The Big Sit is not a competitive event at all. We compete against ourselves and against all the totals seen our previous Big Sits in this spot. There is a prize for The Big Sit, however: The Golden Bird. The Golden Bird prize is awarded each year based on a random drawing of one species from among all of the bird species seen during the Big Sit by North American Big Sit circles. Then all the teams that saw that species are put into a hat and one team's name is drawn at random. That team wins The Golden Bird prize: $500 from Swarovski Optik to put toward a local conservation cause of the team's choosing. Swarovski has generously sponsored The Golden Bird prize for many years, and we Big Sitters really appreciate their support!

The sky made a frowny face.

At 10:30 am a frowning face appeared in the northeastern sky, made from cloud bits and jet contrails. I chose not to take this as an omen.

Monkey-cam shot of the Big Sitters just before the wasps became active.

As the day warmed up, the tower's other residents became menacingly active: wasps! Dozens of wasps of two species swarmed about us, never stinging, just making everyone feel on edge. Within 30 minutes I was alone in the tower, wondering about the effectiveness of my deodorant, but hoping it was the wasps that drove people away.

While I maintained the Big Sit vigil, Jim organized an insect walk around the farm. He knows more about insects and their sounds than most people know about themselves, so he drew quite a crowd of bug-seekers.

Bugging out in the meadow.

I watched them sidle out the middle meadow path and tried not to let the swirling cloud of wasps drive me nuts. The plastic owl we'd mounting on a pole above the tower (in hopes of attracting a stooping attack from a passing merlin) was also being plagued by the wasps, though it seemed less perturbed than I was.

Waspy the owl.

The afternoon doldrums descended upon the Indigo Hill Birding Tower. I lay down on the tower floor and scanned the sky for high-flying raptors. Chimney swifts, turkey vultures, and monarch butterflies were all that passed overhead.

The awesome loneliness of command.

We had eight more hours of sitting. The count was 66. The all-time record Big Sit total for this site was 69. Three more birds did not seem like too much to hope for....

to be continued.....

The 2011 Big Sit, Part II: Schlepping and Prepping

2011-10-20T09:37:00.000-04:00

Fog hugs the New River Gorge Bridge.

Saturday, October 8 dawned cool and clear in southern West Virginia where I was scheduled to lead a bird walk for the Fall Birding Weekend hosted by the fledgling New River Birding and Nature Center at its new property in Wolf Creek Park near Fayetteville, WV. Normally on the Saturday before The Big Sit I'm running around like a headless chicken trying to get ready for my favorite event of the birding year. But I'd made a commitment to this new fall event run by my good pals Geoff, Dave, Bill, and Rachel.

I got up, scarfed down some brekky and headed south across the fog-enveloped New River Gorge Bridge toward the meeting place for the bird walk.

Birding the boardwalk at Wolf Creek Park, future home of the New River Birding & Nature Center.

The birding was stupendous at the park! We barely made it 100 feet along the boardwalk before the sheer volume of bird activity forced us to stop and scan with our binocs. Kinglets, vireos, warbler, chickadees, titmice, nuthatches, sparrows, and woodpeckers zipped and flitted in the trees and shrubs along the edge of the woods bordering a creek dammed by beavers, creating a wonderful meeting of wetland and woodland. We noted a variety of species moving on this gorgeous fall day, in particular white-breasted nuthatches, blue jays, robins, American crows, and yellow-bellied sapsuckers.

As the day warmed up with the rising sun we began seeing more and more raptors, including several sharp-shinned hawks, a cluster of five (!) Cooper's hawks, resident red-shouldered hawks, and a couple of very late broad-winged hawks. A peregrine falcon shot past overhead—probably one of the pair that nested on the New River Bridge this summer.

By the time the bird walk ended at mid-day we had more than 60 species. If you enjoy fall birding in an exquisitely beautiful mountain setting, consider coming to the 2012 Fall Birding Weekend along the New River in Fayetteville, WV. It's limited to just 12 people and the focus is on identification and enjoyment of fall migrant birds—especially warblers and raptors. To get on the info list for next year, send an e-mail to goshawk AT birding-wv.com.

After a filling and tasty lunch at The Vandalian in Fayetteville, our group split up for an afternoon off. I said my goodbyes and headed back north to Ohio to prep for The Big Sit. But that was still many miles, hours, and interim tasks in my future...

The following day the Fall Birding Weekend gang went to Hanging Rock Tower for some hawk watching, lead by Bill Hilton, Jr. I was sorry to miss this trip and doubly so when I head that they had more than 50 raptors of seven species, including merlin. We're hoping that next year the Big Sit and the Fall Birding Weekend will not conflict.

And speaking of the Big Sit...I'd done a bunch of prep work prior to leaving for WV. Hauling things to the tower: chairs, coats, hats gloves, towels, optics, clipboard, food, beverage cooler, another beverage cooler, iPod, junk food, heating pad, coffee maker, field guides, cameras, headlamps, plastic owl decoy, more junk food, and Tums.

I was ready. But I had just one more task to complete. I had to pick up a princess from a ball.

Phoebe all ready for the homecoming dance.

Saturday night was Phoebe's homecoming dance and, since Julie covered the drop-off, I was assigned the pick-up duty. The dance ended at 11 pm. The school is a 45-minute drive from home. The Big Sit starts at midnight.

It was going to be close....the full moon was already rising as we raced home on the snaky-curvy country roads, Phoebe chattering excitedly about the dance to her always-proud papa...

... to be continued .....

The Indigo Hill Big Sit 2011 Slide Show

2011-10-11T16:32:00.006-04:00

Our friends at Wingscapes have been touting their PlantCam as a neat way to take timelapse photographs of plants or anything else. I decided to set my PlantCam to take a photo every 10 minutes during the 2011 Big Sit. And this slideshow is the result. Pretty neat if you ask me!

More on the Big Sit in the coming days.

Sit Down and Be Counted!

2011-10-08T16:15:00.003-04:00

Starting tonight at midnight I'll be engaging in the sanity-challenging annual ritual of The Big Sit. If you don't know what the Big Sit is, click on the link in the previous sentence. Or search my blog for the posts from prior years. Of use the Google. It's fun, mostly.

I'd take the time to explain about the Big Sit, but I've got to race home to meet the semi-trailer that's hauling a load of junk food to my farm. Yes, for the Big Sit! We'll have enough Snickers and Cheetos on hand to give all of southeastern Ohio an upset stomach. But that's how we roll.

The Whipple Bird Club will be in the hizzle for the Sit, as usual. And when the last bird has been seen and the sun is dropping low in the West, we might just crack open a few bottles of something special in celebration of another great day of birding.

It's not too late to make your own Big Sit circle. It's free, low-key, non-competitive, and, lest we forget—FUN! Just go here and do your worst!

Why I'm Not an Ornithologist

2011-10-06T14:22:00.004-04:00

People who know I am into birds, but who aren't themselves sometimes ask me "Are you an orthinologist?" Sometimes they get it right and say "ornithologist." That's the right pronunciation, but the word—in either form—does not apply to me. In order to be an ornithologist in the true definition of the word, one has to study ornithology. I tried this in college at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio. I was there in the early 1980s and, as an avid bird watcher, it seemed completely logical that I would take Ornithology. I applied to take the course as a sophomore and had to get special permission, since it was a course intended for upperclassmen.

Doc O was the ornithology professor at Miami back then. He let me in his class because I said I knew my birds. What I should have said was "I know (and vastly prefer) my birds in the wild, on the wing, flying free." I was good enough in the field that he even let me co-lead some of the class field trips with the class' teaching assistant.

But in the lab, I was lost. I could no more calculate the wing load of a vulture than I could eat what a vulture eats. This should have been fair warning to me. A hint that maybe I wasn't cut out to get a PhD in ornithology.

However I was undaunted. I still thought that in order to be a successful birder, I should apply myself in the ornithological classroom despite the fact that it was as baffling as Keynesian economics to my brain. I was wrestling my grade just north of a B-minus (straight A's in the field quizzes, straight C's in the lab work) when I met my ornithological Waterloo.

There was a field quiz at Hueston Woods State Park. I was leading half of the class. It was a cold but birdy winter morning. We saw a bufflehead. It was listed on the master test list as a hooded merganser. Thinking I was being helpful, I pointed this out. This was not cool.

Due to my inability to excel in the lab, I ended up with a C in ornithology. And here's the report card to prove it. My lowest grade in four years of college. Sweet!

Now you might think that this scarred me for life. That I ran home to my dorm room and burned all my copies of The Wilson Bulletin and The Auk. Quite the contrary. I recycled them.

Seriously, though, I hold ornithologists in the highest possible esteem. Without them and all of the discoveries and knowledge they've shared we'd still be birding in the Dark Ages. No field guides. No grip on bird population trends and endangered species. No conservation plans. No lumps and splits! It's impossible to think of a world without these scientists of birds.

I am happy to my soul that there are ornithologists treading this mortal coil, dedicating their lives and careers to the pursuit—in lab and field—of a greater understanding of birdlife. I respect people who hold vast amounts of bird science in their heads. But I don't wish to be one of them.

The most important thing I learned in Ornithology class? That I'm just a bird watcher. It fits me better. I get to edit my nice little bird magazine. I get to write books and blogs and stuff like that. I get to lead bird walks for people, which I really enjoy doing. And I never have to calculate the wing loading of a turkey vulture. I just get to enjoy watching them fly. Outside, in the field, where I belong.

My name is Bill and I'm a bird watcher.

New Episode of "This Birding Life!"

2011-10-05T16:24:00.008-04:00

Director David Frankel on the set of "The Big Year" with Steve Martin (left) and Jack Black. ©Murray Close.

Episode 33 of my podcast This Birding Life is now live over at Podcast Central and in the iTunes Store Podcasts category. This episode is an interview with David Frankel, director of the movie "The Big Year." David also directed the hit movies "Marley & Me" and "The Devil Wears Prada."

In the interview we chat about the making of the movie, the central theme of the movie and the book upon which it is based (Mark Obmascik's classic book The Big Year), the movie's all-star cast (Steve Martin, Owen Wilson, Jack Black, et al), and how birding and birders are portrayed in the film.

You can't swing a catbird by the tail these days without hitting some sort of reference to this movie on birding and movie blogs, Twitter, Facebook, and even the movie's promotional trailer, which is being run during NFL football games! I'm hoping this will be a really great boost for our favorite hobby, but I have to admit that I'm really curious about how Hollywood's latest portrayal of avid birders will be received by the world at large.

The three lead actors in "The Big Year" are, from left: Owen Wilson, Steve Martin, and Jack Black. Photo © Murray Close.

Give the podcast a listen and let me know what you think. Thanks for lending me your eyes and ears.

Angry Birds

2011-09-30T12:45:00.000-04:00

The new Nature's Classroom facility at St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge.

I was down in the Florida panhandle a while ago, helping to open a wonderful new building at St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge called "Nature's Classroom." This facility will serve as a resource for area residents, teachers, students, birders, photographers, and nature enthusiasts, giving them a place to meet, learn, explore, and a base from which to enjoy St. Marks NWR.

Some of the team responsible for the new Nature's Classroom building at the ribbon-cutting.

While there I gave three talks and lead a couple of bird walks, one of which was on the Plum Orchard Trail behind Nature's Classroom. We had 30 or so folks along, including some keen young bird watchers, and the birding was fairly good, considering it was a hot, muggy afternoon. We had lots of red-eyed vireos, eastern kingbirds, a green heron, immature white ibis, little blue heron, tricolored heron, pine warbler, four woodpecker species, and a noisy flock of brown-headed nuthatches. But the most interesting sighting happened right at the end of the walk on the sandy pool of water behind Nature's Classroom.

As we returned on the loop trail, one of our group spotted two shorebirds out on the pool. We initially thought they were spotted sandpipers because there were lots of spotties around and because they were teetering their tails the way that spotted sandpiper often do. But as they came out of the vegetation and walked closer it was clear that they were the larger solitary sandpiper. And they were really behaving weirdly: running around excitedly, bobbing almost constantly, looking into the grass.

Solitary sandpipers doing their best Angry Birds impression.

That was when the object of their attention slithered into view: a banded water snake came gliding toward the birds. The birds seemed to be conflicted about this: should they run or should they fight? As soon as the snake would head away from them, the solitaries would chase it. If the snake came toward them, they scampered away. Certainly the snake was too large for them to kill and eat, and I'm not sure that the snake could have subdued the sandpipers, so they were left to perform pantomime parries and thrusts with no actual attacks.

The whole scene lasted just a few minutes, but it was interesting to watch. I guessed that these birds might have been youngsters migrating south with the fall, and this might have been their first snake encounter.

Solitaries and the water snake.

This was my first trip to St. Marks—one of our oldest national wildlife refuges. What a fantastic place it is! I'm certain I'll be back again for another visit.

Birds & People at MBS 2011

2011-09-28T13:14:00.001-04:00

I want to share some images with you from the 2011 Midwest Birding Symposium held September 15 to 18 at Lakeside, Ohio. If you were there, you know we had a really great time. If you weren't there, I hope these images will give you some idea of what the MBS is all about. I'll be posting about the MBS a few times in the coming weeks, but for this initial post, let's just take a gander at some of the birds and people. The image above is a male American redstart. The symposium was held at the peak of fall warbler migration along the Lake Erie shore.

Hoover Auditorium was filled with MBS attendees for both morning and evening keynote presentations by folks like Al Batt, Bridget Stutchbury, Peter Dunne, Julie Zickefoose, Kenn and Kim Kaufman, and Greg Miller (one of the three real characters from the book The Big Year). During the MBS, Hoover Auditorium was sponsored by SWAROVSKI OPTIK.

These are our friends Hugo, Irene, and Rafael from the Guatemala-based tour company Operador Latino. They were displaying their tours and materials in a booth in the Birder's Marketplace in South Auditorium. We had more than 60 vendors this year!

Avid Ohio birder/naturalist Sandy Brown keeps her birdmobile loaded with all the gear she needs to enjoy the natural world. Her license plate says it all.

Out at the six MBS designated birding sites, we had volunteer guides stationed, ready to take people out for some bird watching. All guides sported the official MBS guides' trucker hat: black with the MBS Caspian tern stitched on the front panel.

Over at Magee Marsh, many MBS attendees enjoyed looking at the trumpeter swan families. These birds are part of a reintroduction program that is aimed at restoring a viable population of these elegant birds to Ohio.

In South Auditorium on Saturday afternoon lots of bird book authors lined up to sign copies of their books. Shown here from right to left are: Mark Garland, Marie Read, Julie Zickefoose, Connie Toops, and Jeff Gordon.

Another fall migrant, a magnolia warbler. This beauty was photographed at Meadowbrook Marsh and official MBS birding site on the Marblehead Peninsula.

Bird sound expert and Zen master Michael O'Brien lead a walk to the Lakeside pier to listen for the sounds of migrant birds overhead. This was a nice add-on to his MBS talk "Things That Go Seet in the Night."

Super volunteers Marc Nolls and Mike and Karen Edgington helped to organize and run the MBS bird checklist as well as the conservation raffle. Thanks to their efforts, the generosity of our sponsors and donors, and the avid participation of our attendees, the 2011 MBS conservation raffle raised more than $11,000 for bird conservation causes. The Ohio Ornithological Society agreed to match up to $10,000, so our MBS conservation fund total was $21,000! I'm extremely proud of this.

Among the incredibly hard-working MBS staff were, from left to right: volunteer Sheryl Young, Jim Cirigliano, managing editor of Bird Watcher's Digest, and Ann Kerenyi, BWD controller and goddess of ossumness in charge of details for the MBS.

Guides from MBS sponsor Field Guides Birding Tours lead groups of MBS attendees at Magee Marsh. A total of 137 bird species were seen during the 2011 MBS, including a fly-by red-necked phalarope spotted by Cameron Cox at the Leica Lake Watch on the Lakeside pavilion.

My gratitude to the following photographers who took the images above during the 2011 MBS: Ernie Cornelius, Ann Oliver, Liz McQuaid, Sherrie Duris, Micki Hendrick, and Sandy Brown.

St. Marks Morning

2011-09-25T07:17:00.003-04:00

It's been a wild few weeks here at Bill of the Birds international corporate headquarters. Apologies for the mostly unavoidable dead air here on the blog. So, as an attempt at making this up to my patient readers, here's a much-needed Moment of Bliss for you and me.

The image above was taken yesterday morning along the road to the St. Marks lighthouse. The air was cool and humid, with that whiff of brackish marsh. Birds dotted the sky as though the heavens spilled its pepper mill and I took a moment to feel my feet on the ground, to fill my lungs with sweet morning air, to count the glory rays striking skyward from the rising sun. It was so peaceful. Life at that moment, well, it was very good.

Then my camera battery ran out.

More soon.

Vireotown

2011-09-08T19:25:00.000-04:00

Red-eyed vireo

We have three species of vireos that nest on our farm here in southeastern Ohio: red-eyed, white-eyed, and yellow-throated. There are three others that we see each spring and fall, just passin' through: blue-headed (formerly solitary and I can't seem to remember to use the "new" name), warbling, and Philadelphia. If we really stretched our birding fantasy list to the extreme I suppose we could one day see a Bell's vireo here at Indigo Hill, but if we do, that sighting will get its very own blog post.

White-eyed vireo

All summer long we hear the red-eyeds singing almost constantly. Yellow-throateds seem to be more selective singers, but when they do sing, they do it a lot. Their hoarse-sounding question-and-answer song seems to come mostly from our oak woods.

White-eyeds sing a ton during courtship, then not at all during nesting it seems. I wonder if the tree-top-loving red-eyeds and yellow-throateds sing more regularly (or the white-eyeds less) due to their relative exposure to predators. A red-eyed vireo singing in the top of a tulip poplar is very hard to find. A white-eyed may be skulking in the shadows, but it's usually at eye level or below in a patch of brushy habitat. Does this make them more susceptible to predators?

Yellow-throated vireo

Now that fall migration has started, these vireos can still be heard singing, though with nowhere near the intensity of the earlier seasons. The other notable behavior of fall migration is the aggressiveness of the red-eyed vireos. They zip and swoop from tree to tree, often chasing other birds. I imagine these other birds thinking "What the heck? Leave me alone!" I'm sure this behavior has something to do with the fluctuation in hormone levels brought on by the end of the breeding season and the onset of fall migration.

The red-eyeds remind me of teenage boys who, when they find themselves just standing around doing, nothing get the sudden urge to punch a nearby shoulder. This punch often elicits another, and so on.

Our vireos' aggressiveness sometimes pays nice dividends, like this morning when a pair of (probably young) red-eyeds chased two warblers out of deep cover in our sycamore tree: one was an adult male black-throated blue (my favorite North American warbler) and the other was a yellow-throated warbler—both firsts for this fall.

Philadelphia vireo

Later in September we start sorting through the vireos more carefully, looking for a Philadelphia vireo. We see far more of them in fall than in spring migration. It's one of the many treats of autumn that makes the leaving of summer just a little easier to take here in Vireotown.

Things I'm Looking Forward To

2011-08-30T06:31:00.001-04:00

The Den of Blogniquity at MBS
This fall's Midwest Birding Symposium has given me tons of reasons to be excited, but one of them is our line-up of official bloggers. These men and women have already been writing about the MBS prior to the event, but during the weekend they will spend part of their time in the Den of Blogniquity. What is the Den of Blogniquity, well, it's like a giant comfy bloggers' cave with all the comforts of home, including WiFi and a large projection screen streaming all the updates from our band of bloggers and other MBS attendees. This is going to be pretty cool!

Oh, and you can join the bloggers inside the Den of Blogniquity, or you can stand outside the large windows of Wesley Lodge (location of the DOB) and watch them through the safety glass—like some rare species at the zoo.

West Virginia Fall Birding Weekend
My pals who run the New River Birding Festival have put together a fall birding event that's smaller and more personalized than their May gathering (which is an annual favorite of mine). I'm one of the leaders for this weekend, which is limited to 12 people. West Virginia is always beautiful, but we'll spend much of our time searching for migrant raptors in the sky and looking for migrant warblers in the fall foliage. Details are here. Nothing but fun.

The Big Sit!
Late on the night of Saturday, October 8, I'll be racing back north from the New River to my farm in southeastern Ohio for our annual Big Sit on Sunday, October 9! The Big Sit has been called many things, including "the world's most sedentary birding event", and "a tailgate party for bird watchers." A big mess of our birding pals (and even some folks who don't know it yet that they are birders) will come by the farm and join us in the Indigo Hill birding tower for The Big Sit. Basically we stay in the tower for as much of 24 hours as we can stand and have fun watching birds—trying to rack up a big list. Many comestibles are consumed and there is much jocularity in the crisp autumn air.

You can have your own Big Sit. Here's a link for the inside dope on The Big Sit! (which is a registered trademark of the New Haven Bird Club, in case you were wondering).

The NEW Young Birder's Guide to Birds of North America
My next book, due out early next spring (late March/early April), is actually an expanded version of a previous book. The Young Birder's Guide to Birds of North America has 100+ western bird species incorporated into the 200+ species that the original Young Birder's Guide to Birds of Eastern North America had. The result is a book that (I hope) will turn young people on to the beauty, joy, and utter ossumness of birds. This is the book I wish I'd had when I started watching birds in Iowa in the late 1960s, but I'm as thrilled as can be that it's here now and that I get to share my love of birds with others in this way.

It's going to be 320 pages of fun and it will cost just $15.95. Now, you can order it from Amazon.com et al and save a few bucks maybe. OR you can pre-order it from us at Bird Watcher's Digest and I can add a personalized autograph for the young birder in your life. To pre-order, call us at 800-879-2473 and ask for Susie.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

I could keep going on and on about other things I'm revved up for, but I'd better stop now. I just saw a migrant warbler shoot by the door here at my home office, reminding me that it's time to get outside for some bird watching.

Vinyl Siding for Prairie Chickens

2011-08-29T06:51:00.000-04:00

Did the title of this post make you wonder for a moment? I hope so. Sounds pretty weird, doesn't it? But it's true. Let me explain.

Out on the wide-open expanses of the Oklahoma prairie (and in a few nearby states) the lesser prairie chicken is holding onto its existence, barely. But the species' population is a fraction of what it once was. Prairie chickens were once so abundant that they fed pioneer families for entire seasons. Market hunters shot them until the hunters' arms were too sore to shoot anymore. And over the last two centuries, the species has decline significantly from hunting pressure, but more recently as a result of habitat loss and habitat alteration.

Native short-grass prairie is the specific habitat that the lesser prairie chicken prefers. Plow it up for wheat or soybeans or any other crop and the chickens have to go elsewhere. When trees naturally seed and grow up tall enough to cast a shadow, the chickens, feeling the trees might be ideal for a perching or hiding predator, go elsewhere. Plop down an oil derrick or a line of wind turbines—same result: move along LPCs.

All of these factors have contributed to the decline of this very special prairie species. But lurking just above ground level was another culprit in the lesser prairie chicken's decimation: barbed wire. Researchers in the field had discovered what farm hands and ranchers had known for a long time: prairie chickens often fly just above ground level, and because they often fly in to lekking grounds well before daylight, this flying style made them especially prone to colliding with barbed wire fence. The fence is essentially invisible in low light: rusty wire against sere-brown grass.

That's where the vinyl siding comes in. Field researchers looking for a way to reduce fence-chicken collisions landed on a seemingly ingenious solution. Small, three-to-four-inch sections of vinyl siding, with its interlocking channels, snapped perfectly into place on strands of barbed wire. The white hunks of hard vinyl fluttered slightly in the prairie wind, but held fast to the wire. Unlike pieces of white flagging, the vinyl siding lasted through the intense hot and cold and high winds of the Oklahoma seasons. Best, though, they made the wire fence strands visible to flying lesser prairie chickens, even in low light conditions.

My reason for being in Oklahoma was to deliver a keynote talk to the Lesser Prairie Chicken Festival in Woodward, Oklahoma. This festival offers the expected field trips to temporary viewing blinds set up adjacent to known display leks so attendees can see the chickens in action. Since the LPC was a life bird for me, I was excited to make the trip to Woodward. But the festival also offers something that I found to be even more meaningful—a chance to do something to actually help the lesser prairie chicken: by placing strips of vinyl siding on barbed wire fences in habitat adjacent to known lesser prairie chicken habitat.

One of the prairie chicken experts I got to meet in Oklahoma was Dr. Dwayne Elmore (above). He knew the location of most of the active LPC leks in the area.

We met a guy from the Oklahoma Department of Natural Resources who selected a section of fence for us to mark. He demonstrated how to mark the fence for the chickens, pointed to several large burlap sacks of cut-up vinyl siding, then pointed to a long stretch of as yet unmarked barbed-wire (locals call it "bobwire") fence.

We set to work.
The idea was to stagger the siding pieces every two feet or so on the top two strands of wire. This seems to be the most effective use of this collision deterrent, since it's right at the height at which LPCs do much of their flying at dawn and dusk.

Here's a piece of vinyl siding snapped into place. The channels in the siding are just the right size to snap down over a strand of wire, between the barbs/bobs.

As you can see, the white siding pieces present a visual image that's easy to notice.

After the fence was marked and we ran out of siding pieces, we felt a real sense of accomplishment. Here's hoping the fence-marking program results in greatly lower mortality from fence strikes, which could in turn mean more chickens dancing on the prairie.

I've got at least a couple more posts in mind about this wonderful part of the world and the great birds and people there. I'll try to get back for a BOTB visit to the big wide open of Oklahoma sometime soon.

New Podcast Episode!

2011-08-26T13:48:00.007-04:00

Hey kids! Episode 32 of my podcast, "This Birding Life" is now available for your listening/viewing pleasure over at Podcast Central and in the iTunes store's podcast section (search under Hobbies). This episode is called "Trekking for the Philippine Eagle" and it's an account of an adventure I had while in The Philippines back in March of 2009.

Here's a photo by famous bird photographer David Tipling of the same Philippines eagle you'll hear about in the podcast. And the image below is another one of Dave's. It's a shot of me crossing one of the last rivers on our way back down the mountain on the day after our eagle trek.

I hope you enjoy this new episode. According to our website statistics, our podcast episodes are downloaded many thousands of times each month, so it seems that "This Birding Life" has an audience. If that audience includes you, let us know what you think. Please feel free to add some comments about TBL to this post.

Until next time, I'll see you out there with the birds!
—BOTB

Reflection Time

2011-08-19T16:04:00.002-04:00

We've had a nice stretch of beautiful sunsets recently. The good ones call us out onto the back deck, which faces west, to ogle and sigh. The truly wonderful sunsets send us sprinting up the tower stairs two-at-a-time, wanting not to miss a single second of color as the sun's fading light plays across the clouds.

While up in the tower for a tower-worthy sunset a short time ago, we found a new way to enjoy the spectacle. The top rails on our tower are made of cedar and the years of weathering have made them cup slightly. This cupped shape retains water (and further ages the wood, peels off the paint, etc).

Phoebe noticed that the water that pools on the rails catches the sky color quite nicely, and she called it to our attention. So we spent a happy hour trying to capture this interesting reflection with our cameras. Here are the results:

It used to drive me nuts to see that water pooled on the rails. In fact there's a squeegee stowed in the tower cabinet to push the water off. Now I find the reflections to be a perfect excuse not to do this small maintenance chore.

I guess what I'm taking away from this reflection time is that the only thing that beats a good sunset is....more sunset!

Times of the Signs

2011-08-17T18:26:00.004-04:00

I encountered this sign outside a fire station in a small Caribbean country. Talk about a buzzkill. Most everyone I know would be in violation of this dress code. However, now that I think of it, most birders would be completely in compliance, which is troubling.

Listening to the Predawn Morse Code

2011-08-10T06:15:00.000-04:00

Red-eyed vireo.

The leaves may still be green, and the insects in full voice. The bluebirds are still feeding nestlings, the meadow is still dotted with blooming wildflowers, and the kids have yet to head back to school, but the seasons are changing.

I was up very early this morning—before light—and when I stepped outside, the still morning darkness was broken ever so slightly by the Morse code of migrant birds overhead, whispering their contact calls to their fellow travelers.

Nashville warbler.

I'm sure there were thrushes, and some sparrows, perhaps a vireo or two. And I'm positive I heard a warbler. I wish I knew these small, little-heard vocalizations better.

Dawn arrived yet none of the passerines dropped into our trees. So the mystery lingers. But tomorrow is another day with another dawn. And I plan to be up and out and listening expectantly in the darkness.

Caption Contest #19 Winner!

2011-08-09T20:06:00.003-04:00

"Birding the Grassland" is brought to you in part by Sure deodorant and antiperspirant - wetness protection for men and women. When you are celebrating that life bird, never let the other birders see you sweat.

Our winner is Robert over at Birding is Fun! Congrats Robert!

It was really hard for our judges to pick just one winner. So we went with the one that gave us the biggest initial laugh.

Other strong entries:

Kate said...Oh Baird's Sparrow Gods, we beseech you. May you provide us with many close looks and breeding displays!

Kelly Hendrix said...Bill and friends trying to lure in a rare bird by doing a fancy mating display to the song "YMCA".

Erik (perennial contender) said...The "airing of the pits" made the next 7 hours in the van more bearable.

CrystalsCozyKitchen said...How the bird got the gun to hold up the birdwatchers, we may never know.

Thanks to all who played! Robert, you can pick up your winner's loot at The Midwest Birding Symposium in one month!

Until next time!

Ten Reasons to Attend the Midwest Birding Symposium!

2011-08-05T13:29:00.000-04:00

Look at your calendar right now and check the third weekend in September, 2011. Specifically, look at September 15 through 18. How's it look? Clear? Then grab a pen (not a pencil) and write the following in LARGE BLOCK LETTERS over those dates: MIDWEST BIRDING SYMPOSIUM.

Here are ten reason why you really need to attend this year's MBS.

10. The MBS only happens every other year, so it's always freshy-fresh, never stale.

9. We work really hard to make sure that it's The World's Friendliest Birding Event—everyone is welcome, even non-birders! Beginners, especially, are encouraged to come.

8. We love making connections between bird watchers. Since the 2009 MBS more than 275 marriages have happened as a result of the event. [Not really, but that sounds impressive doesn't it?] Seriously though, everyone makes new friends at the MBS. We guarantee it! If you attend and leave without making at least one new friend, we'll refund your money (please see Reason #1 below).

7. We've arranged for another appearance by a Kirtland's warbler. You can see a photo of the Kirtland's that joined us in 2009 here. If the Kirtland's does not make the scene, we've got an Eskimo curlew flock on speed dial.

6. Our list of speakers is bodacious. Al Batt (one of Saturday evening's keynote speakers) will make you laugh until you cry/snort/beg for mercy/race to the restroom.

5. Three words: Sunset Boat Cruise! Plus other exciting extra activities.

4. Our Birder's Marketplace features more than 60 vendors, selling everything a bird watcher could possibly want. And then some.

3. Our Conservation Raffle will raise funds for bird habitat acquisition and other worthy conservation causes. The Ohio Ornithological Society has promised to match this funding, up to $10,000! Wow! Items in the raffle include high-end optics, an iPad, birding festival passes, and [yes, it's true!] an autographed photo of actress/activist/birder Betty White!

2. Being on Lake Erie, on the charming grounds of Lakeside in September is incredibly beautiful —just like being in Tuscany, but with better birding and no language barrier.

1. It only costs $100 to attend the Midwest Birding Symposium. Your last speeding ticket or dinner out was more expensive and less enjoyable. Don't fight the urge. Come join us!

Favorite Moments in Birding

2011-08-04T08:37:00.000-04:00

Waiting (in vain) for the Cebu flowerpecker. That's Tim Appleton third from the left.

A note from BOTB: With this post, I'm starting a new category of blog posts here on Bill of the Birds, called "Favorite Moments in Birding" most of which, like this one, will have little to do with actual birding.

A year ago in March I was part of a familiarization trip for birding tour leaders and media to the Philippines. One of our most interesting stops was on the island of Cebu where we attempted to see the Cebu flowerpecker and incredibly rare endemic bird species. [You can hear my podcast about this species and conservation efforts on its behalf at this link.]

We did not see the flowerpecker, but on our walk back to the bus, we passed a small open area where kids from the local village were playing basketball. I asked them for the ball and they let me shoot a few hoops with them. Then one of the older kids asked me if I could dunk. I could tell that this basket was somewhat lower than regulation so I gave it a shot and dunked the ball. Then I did it again, with a bit more flair.

One of the leaders of our trip was my friend Tim Appleton, MBE, co-founder and organizer of the British Birdwatching Fair, the world's largest gathering of bird people, products, and stuff on the planet. Tim is not one to let a macho challenge pass untaken. So he, too, tried to dunk. Sadly, Tim failed miserably because, as we all know, the British play soccer (they call it football) a sport which develops the legs and feet in both strength and coordination, but which leaves the upper body—especially the arms—unused and dangling, like the useless upper arm appendages on a T-Rex.

Seeing that he could not dunk himself, Tim decided to try to prevent me from dunking, leaping up in an attempt at a block. This was like an ad for Bad Idea Jeans. Here's a photo (taken by another wonderful Brit birder, David Tipling) of me posterizing Lord Tim in front of the awestruck village kids.

When we were done, one of the smaller kids approached me to ask is my name was Shaquille O'Neal. I answered "That's right, young squire, but you can call me Shaq!"

Caption Contest #19

2011-08-02T08:25:00.003-04:00

Pull out the lobe of your brain in which clever quips are created, shake it awake, and send us your most funniest caption for the photo above. In case it matters to you and your creative process, the above image was taken in June near Chase Lake NWR in North Dakota. That's all I'm permitted to share due to several restraining orders.

If your funnyhaha caption is chosen as the winner, you will receive a set of the forthcoming Birder's bumper stickers from the BWD Nature Shop. That's a $15 value, people.

Please use the comments window below to enter. A winner will be chosen on Tuesday, August 9, so get your entry in by midnight on August 8, 2011. Good luck!

Giant Things of Montana

2011-07-26T16:18:00.000-04:00

On a lonely highway in eastern Montana on a day in June with unsettled weather. Objects on the horizon...what could they be? They are strange creatures, but they do not seem to be moving. Yet.

My stars, there are a lot of these strange things and they've occupied the high ground. I hope they do not attack our car as it rolls along the highway.

Starting to feel a little FREAKED OUT....

I wish that tall one would stop staring.

This one must have very strong neck muscles.

"Yay! Here comes another container of crunchy and delicious humans!"

This one is sad because he's not sure if he's a dinosaur or a lion. A lionosaur, perhaps?

It's so hard to run with bird poop in your eye.

OK. Now I'm finally calming down. They're just sculptures. Man, they were so lifelike, I was losing my grip on reality. I expected an attack from the Sleestaks at any moment.

Buck Samuelson's work is cataloged by The Smithsonian Institution.

I am proud to be an American. Cue the red-tailed hawk scream!

Happy Birthday Julie!

2011-07-25T17:32:00.000-04:00

Happy belated birthday to mi esposa, Julie Zickefoose, who is an amazing person doing amazing things—some of which I'll share with you now:

She loves things like baby sea turtles (above) and baby box turtles which she tended for years until they were ready for release on our farm (below).

She teaches our kids about the truly wonderful things in nature. Like tadpoles (above) and badlands (below).
She's as at home hanging with birding glitterati (above) as she is sitting on the kitchen floor, in a winter power outage, making suet dough by headlamp (below).

She can rock out with The Rain Crows (above) or zen out in her kayak, barely speaking for hours on end (below).

She's not afraid to take chances, like photo-bombing with the local coppers at the county fair (above) or snorkeling in shark-(and dork-)infested waters (below).

She gets as much joy from her garden pod full of flowers (below) as she does in a really great piece of North Dakota strawberry-rhubarb pie (above).

And she dearly loves her friends, human and otherwise....

Happy birthday, Zick! May you live as long as (or longer than!) our old driveway oak.

Full Moon Meadow

2011-07-18T09:26:00.002-04:00

The moonlight on the landscape has been amazing in this wetter-than-normal summer. Now, with the symphony of bird song slowly winding down as summer peaks and wanes, one of the comforting things I relish most is a long summer evening, when dusk hangs on endlessly. Fireflies, whip-poor-wills, and luna moths take over for the hummingbirds, cardinals, and butterflies. Nature's daily shift change. We sit and watch it all unfold, like the blooms on an evening primrose.

Darwin Awards Nominee

2011-07-12T08:17:00.001-04:00

The Badlands in Teddy Roosevelt National Park near Medora, ND.

I'm sure you've heard of The Darwin Awards...these are the awards given to people (humans) who improve our species by accidentally removing themselves from it—often in unintentionally creative ways. Well, I have a possible nominee for such recognition.

Last summer we took the kids to Teddy Roosevelt National Park in westernmost North Dakota. TRNP is famous for its herds of wild horses and bison. Signs all over the park contain warnings about the dangers of bison—how they are large and unpredictable creatures. People and their vehicles are sometimes attacked and badly damaged/injured by bison and because the herds at TRNP are free-roaming, you regularly encounter them as you drive around the park.

Notice that I said "drive."

Teddy Roosevelt National Park is huge. To get from one part to another requires driving your car, which is no problem because everywhere you look there's something new and amazing to see. Mostly you find yourself stopping at the designated overlooks and roadside pull-offs. I got my life look at American elk from one such vista.

My lifer herd of American elk in TRNP.

Generally speaking you encounter the bison herds as you drive along the roads. Sometimes you have to wait for a herd of bison to cross the road. Sometimes you have to park on the road and wait while the herd moves around and past you. It's a bit terrifying, I have to admit, to be sitting in a small rental car with a dozen or more huge, dark, bellowing and grunting mammals on all sides—so close you can smell them!

The spots where we found ourselves getting out had no nearby bison (or we wouldn't have ventured from the car). And we knew better than to get our when we DID encounter bison.

Halfway around the driving route of the southern part of TRNP there's a side road that leads uphill to a very nice overlook named Buck Hill. As we turned into Buck Hill, we noticed that the guard rail on the corner of the two roads was rubbed to a high polish. From the footprints in the soil and the piles of chips scattered nearby, we deduced that this was a place where bison scratched themselves. There were no bison near, so we climbed out of the car to inspect things. Liam has always been fascinated by bison, so he took especial joy in feeling the rough metal rubbed smooth and shiny by the bisons' rough coats. He whooped with excitement at the wads of rubbed-off bison fur he found below the guard rail. We followed the bison tracks with our eyes, noting that they lead up the rise toward Buck Hill.

Back in the car we went, and up the road to Buck Hill. Parking in the lot, we took our time scaling one hill (not actually Buck Hill as it turned out) and then the other, more well-trod path to the overlook known as Buck Hill. It was from here that we scanned the miles of valley below us and found a large herd of female elk and calves (lifer!).

Phoebe scanning from Buck Hill.

We spent a good couple of hours up on Buck Hill, feeling the energy of the landscape, marveling at the Badlands ecosystem, spotting tiny dark spots that were herds of grazing bison in the distant green valleys.

As the day drew down, the wind picked up and swiped what little heat the sunshine had lent us. So we tromped back to the car and headed down the road leading off the hill.

Our Darwin Awards candidate.

As we reached the T-intersection at the bottom, we saw a man standing outside his large pick-up truck, leaning on the back bed, intent on photographing something. Then we spotted the huge bull bison at his scratching post. The man, only feet away, was pointing a tiny point-and-shoot camera at the bull, taking flash photos as fast as he could. We stopped well back from the scene, unsure whether or not we wanted to:

• stay to watch a possible bison attack
• drive up to warn the man to get the heck back in his truck.
• drive up to ask him his name and contact info for the Darwin Awards application submission.
• drive past and hope for the best.
• all of the above

We watched for a minute or two, and then the man got back in his truck, smiling a very large and proud smile. As we pulled past the bull bison, I swear the giant creature rolled his eyes at us as if to say "Yeah I know I could've killed him...but I didn't."

I love nature.

Sycamore Warbler

2011-07-05T12:36:00.006-04:00

There's a male yellow-throated warbler singing from the sycamore tree outside my office window right now. These dudes are known to wander around in mid-summer—often venturing far from their nesting territory, and I'm always happy to hear them. This also happens each summer out at our farm: the post-breeding males show up in our one big sycamore tree and proceed to explore the sycamore, then our feeders, our stone chimney, the willow tree. One August morning I had an adult male YTWA climb up the leg of my spotting scope's tripod! He seemed intent on exploring and was unfazed by the large, grinning mammal (me) standing right next to him.

When I was a teenage birder (which sounds like a movie title) I knew this species as the sycamore warbler. Around these parts (southeastern Ohio) most of our breeding yellow-throated warblers are found in sycamores along rivers and streams. Nature has it all figured out. The sycamores love being near the water and the warblers love being in the sycamores.

Marietta, Ohio, where I work at Bird Watcher's Digest, is a river town, built at the confluence of the Ohio and Muskingum rivers. With these two waterways and scores of other streams, creeks, and runs, we're blessed with an abundance of sycamore trees. Some folks dislike the sycamore, which is somewhat understandable. It can be a messy tree, if you worry about things like keeping your sidewalk, lawn, or car clean. Sycamores drop their flaky bark year-round. They drop branches and sticks like a furry dog sheds. They drop their sycamore seed balls and tons of pollen in the spring, and they drop their giant leaves in the fall.

The sycamore that lives outside my office window.

But I love the sycamore. The big one right outside my office window shades our building all summer long and is a bird magnet, letting me see nesting Carolina chickadees, tufted titmice, Baltimore orioles, American robins, white-breasted nuthatches, and roosting common nighthawks. The bird list for the sycamore even includes things like indigo bunting, rose-breasted grosbeak, at least a dozen warbler species, and the lone merlin I've ever seen at BWD.

Yellow-throated warblers return early in the spring to our part of the world, often being our third or fourth warbler species to arrive in spring migration, just after the pine warbler, the Louisiana waterthrush, and the ovenbird. My guess is that the yellow-throated's foraging method is what allows it to come back so early—long before there's consistent warm weather and insect avalability. Watch a YTWA and you'll see that it often gleans the bark of trees, much like a nuthatch or creeper—or another tree gleaning warbler, the black-and-white.

It's often the yellow-throated's song that tips us off to their presence: Tee-yew, tee-yi, tee-yi, tee-yi, tee-yew, tee-yeet! The song cascades downward in pitch as the bird sings from the treetops, until the last note, which often rises upward, almost as if it's ending the song with a question.

And that's how I discovered today's post-breeding wanderer in the sycamore outside my office window, far from any water. He sang five times in a row. I hope he'll stay a spell, but I'm sure he's just a-ramblin' around. Nice to hear him, though, and to be reminded of this species that seems to love sycamore trees as much as I do.

Bee-Buzz Haiku

2011-07-02T15:09:00.004-04:00

Your wings are not blue
While others sing more sweetly
You just say "Beee-buzzzz!"

* adult male blue-winged warbler digiscoped at Long Point Meadows near Fayetteville, WV, May 2011.

Lifer #684

2011-07-01T14:10:00.003-04:00

On Monday, June 27, at approximately 7:55 am Central Standard Time, I saw my life golden-cheeked warbler—an adult male—at a small cluster of ponds below a windmill-powered pump in Friedrich Wilderness Park, north of San Antonio, Texas.

This was my 684th North America life bird.

I'll tell the entire story about this lifer quest soon. Just wanted to share the news with my bird-head peeps out there in Interweb-land.

Trip from Bountiful

2011-06-23T11:33:00.005-04:00

While speaking and guiding at The Great Salt Lake Bird Festival in May, the kind folks at the festival put me up in Bountiful, Utah. The hotel was lovely, but being between two busy highways it was not so birdy.

When I found myself with a free morning, I was determined to find some birds to enjoy and to photograph, so I enlisted my new friend Valerie a festival volunteer and local Utah birder, to help me find a good, birdy spot. Also joining us was a longtime friend, birder, and Rio Grande Valley Birding Festival raconteur Marci Fuller. Marci was seeking a Virginia's warbler. I was seeking some bird photo opps. Valerie was kind enough to take us to a real gem of a spot called Willard Bay State Park, north of Salt Lake City and Bountiful. It turned out to be a bountiful trip!

As soon as we got out of the car our ears were assaulted by bird song. Yellow warblers were singing from every direction. Lazuli buntings and black-headed grosbeaks vocalized from the cottonwoods, and a host of other noisemakers chimed in. And then I heard one of those calls that you KNOW you know, but you can't quite place it. Know what I mean? This happens to me every spring.

Cavorting along the branches of a tree with lots of apparently tasty buds was the calling bird and, when I saw what it was, I jumped up and down, squealing, like a six-year old girl who's just been given a pony!

"Hey! EVENING GROSBEAK! Yes! Holy #@$%&*#$%! I KNEW I knew that call! How OSSUM is THAT BIRD!"

Then (I hope not because of my antics) the flock flew far away and I had to wait for a couple of hours before we relocated a photograph-able bird (below). I love evening grosbeaks, in case you were wondering. The first year of publishing Bird Watcher's Digest in our home in Marietta, Ohio, we had a huge finch invasion with loads of evening grosbeaks at the feeders, so they've always occupied a special place in my heart.

Male evening grosbeak.

Valerie lead us along the park's paths, many of which were flooded, necessitating some detours. We picked carefully through flocks of still-migrating warblers hoping to find a Virginia's, but we dipped out. Lots of orange-crowneds and clouds of yellow warblers, though.

Another song caught my ear—familiar, but not as familiar as the grosbeak's. It was a dark-plumaged fox sparrow singing a slightly weird song. We listened to his amazing melodic phrases. Fox sparrows pass through my home turf in spring and fall, only occasionally stopping long enough to be heard singing. In my opinion they are an underrated singer.

Fox sparrow.

Valerie and Marci scanning the woodland edge.

Farther along the path, winding in and out of the campground, we came to the edge of the lake and scooped up a nice variety of species new for the day's list. A male California quail and his covey of purty ladies skedaddled along the shoreline and into deep cover—though not before I got a few photos.

California quail.

Several American white pelicans were soaking up the warm morning sunshine in a small embayment. They hardly paid any attention to us.

American white pelican.

Out on the lake a Clark's grebe drifted in toward shore and I digiscoped it. This species seemed to be present here in Utah in equal numbers to its near-lookalike, the western grebe. Little did I know then, but I'd be straining my eyes to find a Clark's on a Big Day adventure in North Dakota just three weeks later. In ND, it seems to be 50 westerns for every single Clark's grebe. [Yes, we finally got a Clark's in ND!].

Clark's grebe.

A very cooperative male black-headed grosbeak sang for us in the sun. Seeing this stunning bird so well through my scope reminded me that we can get blasé about our familiar local birds. I recall wondering about a European friend's overwhelming joy at seeing a northern cardinal on my farm in Ohio. There are no all-red birds in Europe, so seeing one for the first time made his eyes pop out. I felt that way about this black-headed grosbeak—so handsome, especially to my eastern eyes.

Male black-headed grosbeak.

It's funny how easily we may overlook common birds. A pair of American robins was building a nest in the interpretive signage near our parking lot. They seemed wary, as if not wanting to tip us off to the nest's location. Since I began dabbling in various forms of bird photography, I think I've paid a bit more attention to common birds, especially if they are being cooperative enough to photograph.

American robin, adult male.

Valerie (left) and Marci laughing at my evening grosbeak happy dance.

It was a fine morning of birding at Willard Bay State Park, thanks to Valerie. Too bad we missed the Virginia's warbler. That one'll have to wait until next time!

For my readers who are interested in experiencing some excellent birding in the western United States, I highly recommend the Great Salt Lake Bird Festival as a fantastic starting point. The festival organizers really go all out to make everyone feel welcome, the birds are great, the birding hotspots convenient, and there's a lot offered for young birders, too. Check it out!

An Appalachian Sandhill Crane

2011-06-17T11:04:00.005-04:00

We get a lot of telephone calls about birds at Bird Watcher's Digest, as you might expect. People call in with all kinds of questions (I found a baby bird, what do I DO? There's a weird bird at my feeder! What is it? How do I attract more Kirtland's warblers to my bird feeder? What are the Baltimore Orioles going to do about their horrible relief pitching?).

And we get lots of calls with bird sightings. Some of these calls are about birds returning in spring (hummingbirds, for example) or arriving in fall (juncos). In fact for years I got an annual call from a woman up the Ohio River to let me know she'd seen "the first robin of spring." This seemed to give her such satisfaction that I did not have the heart to tell her that American robins often spend the entire winter here in southeastern Ohio.

Every so often we get a call about a strange bird and it turns out to be an awesome sighting. Back in the early 1990s we got a call from a non-birding acquaintance who had seen "a large white pelican-like bird" up at Newell's Run. Sure enough, she'd found Washington County's first-ever (or at least the first-ever recorded) American white pelican. We've gotten calls about rufous hummingbirds, peregrine falcons, tundra swans, black terns, bald eagles, and even earlier this spring—a Bullock's oriole. Some of these sightings are more unusual than others and for some odd cosmic/karmic reason a lot of them come in when I'm away on a trip.

I've never been much of a rarity chaser—oh there were a few years when I lived in new York City when my friends Bob, David, Starr, and I chased quite a few vagrants around the East. But we missed a lot of them and I kind of lost my taste for the chase. Now that I own some land of my own (80 wooded acres in southeastern Ohio) the list I most love to add a bird to is our property list (currently hovering somewhere around 186 species).

Still there are some sightings that you've just GOT to check out. This was the case yesterday when the phone rang and a longtime Washington County resident told my mom that she had a weird bird that was hugely tall and she was "pretty sure it wasn't a great blue heron." My mom talked her through a few possibilities and they came to the conclusion that it was probably a sandhill crane. My mom told me about this bird about 4 pm and handed me the directions to the farm field where the bird had been seen. Daughter Phoebe was working with me at the office and I was entangled in a few projects, so we could not break away until 6:15 pm to go after the bird.

At 6:15 pm yesterday, as we were leaving the BWD offices, a big thunderstorm was arriving. We found the farm, picked up Donna, the woman who reported the bird, and went looking. Rain, rising mist, and imminent nightfall all conspired to keep the bird from our view for about 45 minutes as we drove along a cart path through a neighbor's corn and barley field. No joy. We turned around and started back toward the main road. Donna and the neighboring farmer had seen the bird that same day and the day before, so I had a hunch it might still be around.

As we drove back out the path, I stopped the van and told Donna and Phoebe that I wanted to climb to a high point in the field to scan the one section we'd been unable to see from the path. I did this and scanned, finding nothing. As I turned to go, two small birds flew up from an adjacent field that was contour planted in alfalfa. They turned out to be eastern meadowlarks, but as I followed their flight path with my (crummy) office binocs, a large gray and rust bird came into view!

SANDHILL CRANE! My first-ever sandhill in Ohio! I looked back down the hill and gave the gals the thumbs up. The crane was feeding and preening leisurely. And then it called once, which gave me goose flesh! Such a wild-sounding bird!

Sandhill cranes have bred in northwestern Ohio in one or two places for a few years. And they migrate over Ohio in spring and fall, though I believe their path takes them farther to the west than our corner of the Buckeye State. I've dreamed of adding this species to our farm property list, and as the eastern population (nesting in Michigan and to the north and west) expands, perhaps my chances at this are increasing.

[A disturbing side note: Kentucky and Tennessee have recently tried to establish hunting seasons on sandhill cranes. Tennessee has put a two-year moratorium on the hunt. Kentucky pushed the hunt through hastily. You can read more about this whole issue on Vickie Henderson's blog here and on Julie Zickefoose's blog here. I'm not anti-hunting, but I DO feel there are some species we should not hunt because they are so special, so wonderful, so inspiring to see. And sandhill cranes are among the most inspiring of all creatures.]

Having spotted the lone sandhill, I knew I needed to spread the word among my birding pals. It was too late in the day to get them out immediately, so we made plans to return early today (Friday, June 17).

Steve, Shila, Cheryl, Sage, Julie, and I met at the Berg Church in the dewy sunshine and started scanning. We drove back to the spot I'd seen the bird last night and walked up the hill. Halfway along, Julie blurted "It's calling! I can hear it!" Sure enough, just as we crested the hill, Steve spotted the crane foraging in a strip of still-standing barley. Not a single one of us had grabbed our cameras as we got out of the vehicles! Major bummer!

The sandhill noticed us and walked off, then flew slowly, calling, to the far end of the complex of fields. We relocated ourselves and then re-located the bird and were able to get long, satisfying looks.

We watched the crane, making notes about its red crown, its rusty gray body feathers, its apparent lack of leg bands. It seemed perfectly healthy, which was good.

Members of the Whipple Bird Club flash the club's hand sign to celebrate the sandhill crane sighting.

Since it was a life bird for a few of our group, we celebrated with a Life Bird Wiggle. This was an amazing bird to see in southeastern Ohio in mid-June. And all thanks to a phone call from a kind, curious acquaintance. Thanks Donna!

Most Beautiful Blackbird

2011-06-12T09:20:00.004-04:00

My nominee for North America's Most Beautiful Blackbird is the Brewer's blackbird. Check out the iridescence on this dude I photographed on territory in North Dakota recently.

He's got that "look" in his pale eye that the ladies can't resist. Just enough of a bill to be taken seriously. Drooping his wings to show he's down with it. AND, he's got a sweet rock in the center of his turf, surrounded by blooming prairie wildflowers.

He reminds me of a gangster in a shiny, shark-skin suit (though there have not been any sharks in North Dakota for a few million years).

I trust you'll agree this is a beautiful blackbird. But I'll accept rebuttals and counter-nominations.

Blurry is Beautiful

2011-06-12T09:12:00.002-04:00

Big orange sunset
I almost threw you away
blurry beautiful

Some North Dakota Birds

2011-06-04T16:07:00.004-04:00

Wilson's snipe.

I've spent the past few days leading bird tours as part of The Potholes and Prairie Birding Festival in Carrington, North Dakota. The neat thing about bird watching out here is that everywhere you look, you see birds.

Another neat thing is the chance to see east meeting west, like with these kingbirds (eastern kingbird on the left, western kingbird on the right).

Among the specialty prairie birds to be found here is the chestnut-collared longspur. Here's a male on territory in Stutsman County.

With all the wetlands, sloughs, wet ditches, and flooded farm fields, there are many chances to see water-loving birds such as this Virginia rail, which came out to see us along Pipestem Creek.

Sharp-tailed grouse are common here but can be tricky to see. We found this one along a fence line while we birded the Jackson Highway.

If you've never birded in native prairie habitat, this event offers an excellent way to do just that. Great people, amazing birds, and rolling prairies that go on forever—all the way 'til they meet the sky.

Stilted Haiku

2011-05-30T16:14:00.003-04:00

Pied marshland dainty
Lady in a tuxedo
striding on pink stilts

Appalachia to Asia

2011-05-26T15:20:00.004-04:00

I'm sitting in my home office today in the Appalachian foothills of southeastern Ohio (and will continue doing this over the coming holiday weekend) trying to write a compelling, readable account of an adventure I had back in March of 2009 in The Philippines.

The subject of the article I'm writing is a trek I took with some birding pals (pictured above) to see the Philippine eagle on a mountain in Mindanao.

This photo (above) of the thick mountain jungle with a bit of rising mist (or is it smoke?) figures prominently in the story, which will appear in the September/October 2011 issue of Bird Watcher's Digest. If you don't subscribe to BWD, dang it, ya should, because you're missing out on some of the best bird-related content on the planet. You can get an entire year of both the printed-on-paper version of BWD and eBWD our enhanced digital edition for less than $20.

Just wanted to post this today to note how weird it was to be sitting in these old mountain foothills in Ohio, remembering our incredible hike up Mt. Kitanglad on Mindanao. It's all coming back to me now...

Birding the Inland Sea

2011-05-23T18:28:00.002-04:00

There's something sort of magical about getting in an airplane in the flatlands and flying to a place where the mountains are capped with snow. This (above) was the view out my airplane window as we circled in for a landing at the Salt Lake City, Utah airport. I was way out west for the Great Salt Lake Bird Festival.

The kind folks at the GSLBF knew that I was interested in doing some photography/digiscoping/videography and so they made arrangements, on the day before the fest started, for me to have a guided birding tour of a place called The Inland Sea Shorebird Reserve (ISSR). The ISSR is a mitigation project of The Kennecott Utah Copper company, a copper-mining operation nearby. To mitigate the habitat damage being caused by the copper mining, Kennecott funded the creation, enhancement, and maintenance of the Inland Sea site. You can read more about this mitigation site here.

Turning overgrazed range land into shorebird-friendly habitat seems to have worked and it has been a boon to the shorebirds. During our first few minutes inside the gates we saw black-necked stilts, American avocets, teeming herds of killdeer, and lots of semipalmated plovers. More special for this site were the snowy plovers and black-bellied plovers we found, thanks to the scouting skills of my guides, Valerie and Haylie, both of whom work at the ISSR as field research interns.

Haylie and Valerie scoping the Inland Sea

Many of the shorebirds at the ISSR were already getting "nesty." Several males called loudly and flew circles around our truck.

Black-necked stilt and barbed wire (isn't that a Lucinda Williams song?)

Pronghorn antelope.

As the afternoon wore on and we'd covered most of the good birding spots, I started to get some of the more interesting insider info from my guides. For example, they knew where several of the male pronghorn antelope hung out, and the gals had given each male a name: Michaelangelo, Donatelo—actually I 'm not remembering the names correctly, but I do recall suggesting that one be named Fabio. It seemed fitting at the time.

Like often happens when I take someone birding in my local patch, a set of truly objective eyes will find something out of the ordinary. The same was true on this afternoon of birding. We found two notable species for the ISSR: a male lark bunting and a male red-breasted merganser.

Red-breasted merganser was a noteworthy species at the ISSR.

All too soon it was time to split. Their work day was over and I (still being on Eastern Time) was so hungry I was tempted to chase down a pronghorn on foot. As if to show us one more eyeful of wonderment, a golden eagle took off from his hunting perch and flew past the distant mountains. Majestic overload!

Though I knew the eagle would be just a speck in the frame, I simply couldn't resist taking this shot.

Great birding on the Inland Sea! Thanks to Valerie and Haylie for guiding me. What a fine way thing, to get right off the plane and be birding in a spot like this only minutes later.

How We Get Our Bird-friendly Coffee

2011-05-20T11:31:00.005-04:00

A few months back, while we were kicking around some ideas in our marketing team meeting, a bunch of us at Bird Watcher's Digest came up with a concept for a video to help promote the sales of shade-grown coffee.

The benefits to the birds, coffee growers and workers, and bird watchers of shade-grown, bird-friendly coffee have been discussed and explained many times over. We decided to ask some of BWD readers and friends to help us make a video that would be light-hearted but that would also demonstrate our enthusiasm for this kind of environmentally friendly product.

The video above is the final version of our project. We hope you like it. And if you DO, and you're a coffee drinker, we hope you'll consider buying coffee that is certified as bird-friendly. Birds & Beans is one of the most tasty and popular of the bird-friendly coffees currently available. You can buy Birds & Beans from the BWD Nature Shop, or directly from the Birds & Beans website.

Special thank-yous go out to Bill Wilson of Birds & Beans, to Jefferson & Gabriella of Gaia Estate (growers of Birds & Beans coffee in Nicaragua), to Chris, Ann, Wendy, Shirley, Eric, Robin and Roger, Emma, Edmund, and our leading man, Jim Cirigliano for contributing their acting talents to this video.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to go refill my coffee cup with bird-friendly goodness.

The Big Question about the Chukar

2011-05-13T13:12:00.002-04:00

How many cars could a chukar chuck if a chukar could chuck cars?

The Spring Feeding Outlook is Rosy

2011-05-04T18:00:00.000-04:00

This spring, for the first time ever, a male rose-breasted grosbeak has been visiting the sunflower seed feeder outside the kitchen window. We get them annually on the feeders outside the studio windows, which are farther from the house. And their tennis-shoe-on-the-gym-floor eeek! is a common sound on spring mornings here at Indigo Hill. But this dude was so close that I was able to take this image with my Canon G12 standing at the kitchen window.

I wish we were lucky enough to have the rosies around all summer, but they are merely passing through en route to more northerly woodland. At least while they're here we know they will be well fed and watered.

Wind Power and Birds

2011-05-03T10:40:00.002-04:00

Recently I was birding in Oklahoma and I was astounded at the number of wind farms—clusters of giant wind turbines—that I saw as I drove around the northwestern part of the Sooner State. This should not have surprised me. After all, Oooooooooklahoma is the state where "the wind comes sweepin' down the plain!" And as the photo above shows, wind-generated power has been around a long time.

No bird watcher would argue against the notion that our country—and the world at large—needs to begin harnessing other, greener forms of energy. In many ways wind power is as green as it gets. The wind blows, giant turbines are rotated at high speeds, and energy is generated by this motion. However the problems with wind energy center on these same giant turbines. Among the turbine-related issues are:

1. Though they look as though they are spinning languidly, the giant blades—especially the tips of the blades—are actually moving at several hundred miles per hour. Anything trying to move past these blades, but within their reach, is going to be hit by them. For a flying bird or a bat, this means instant death. We know that there is mortality at most wind turbine sites. And we know that some are far worse than others based upon their location relative to patterns of bird movement and migration.

2. And speaking of location, lesser prairie chickens and other grassland species of lekking gallinaceous birds (such as both greater and Gunnison sage-grouse) will leave areas when wind turbines are erected. In some cases this moves birds off lekking grounds where they (and their ancestors) have been doing courtship displays for decades if not a century or more. To a prairie chicken a wind turbine (or a cell tower or a string of high-tension power line towers) looks too much like a predator perch, so they leave the immediate area permanently. The same avoiding predators dispersal behavior would happen if we put a bunch of trees out on the prairie.

Lesser prairie chicken

3. Them things is ugly! Opponents of offshore wind farms shout most loudly about how clusters of turbines disrupt their natural vistas. And I have to say that when I've been out in the great wide open spaces of the Great Plains, scanning with my binoculars for longspurs or pipits and a cluster of wind turbines has come into my view, my reaction is negative, not positive. They are an eyesore we're not yet used to seeing.

At their most virulent, the arguments for and against wind power sound like the daily animosity we hear on the political talk shows. Proponents of wind power—and especially the wind industry—are trying to wear the Green Energy badge with pride while largely ignoring the legitimate concerns about incidental deaths of birds and bats. Not ALL wind turbines are bad. But the ones that are bad can be REALLY bad. Still, we want to reduce the consumption of fossil fuels, right?

On the other hand, anti-wind-power people sometimes seem to want to ban all forms of turbine-generated energy. Both sides cite statistics to back their claims (environmentalist/birders say towers kill millions of birds. The wind-energy industry counters that far more birds are killed by collisions with cars or window glass or by feral cats. Perhaps this is true, but why add another bird-killing element to our continent? In many states there is basically no regulation on the siting of wind farms, which means towers go up and start spinning before we know the impact on birds and wildlife.

So whom are we to believe?

What we really need is a wind turbine design that is efficient in generating energy but that is also safer for birds and bats. Furthermore we need some cooperative action among environmentalists, policy makers, and the wind industry to ensure that the impacts on birds and wildlife are considered when wind farms are being sited. Right now, it's all about location, location, location.

Until that day, all we can hope for is that the information gathering and the conversation continues. Perhaps we can find a happy medium.

We need wind-generated power. But we need it to be done right.

Here are some interesting links to sites covering this controversial topic.

The American Bird Conservancy's Wind Power Policy
http://www.abcbirds.org/abcprograms/policy/collisions/wind_farms.html

Misconceptions About Bird Mortality and Wind Power:
http://www.treehugger.com/files/2006/04/common_misconce.php

How Turbine Design Can Reduce Bird Impacts
http://science.howstuffworks.com/environmental/green-science/wind-turbine-kill-birds.htm

The USFWS Proposes Voluntary Guidelines to Avoid Bird Deaths
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/02/10/wind-energy-voluntary-gui_n_820708.html

KQED-TV Feature on the Altamont Pass, California Wind Farms
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RtgBWNKwBkE

Black Swamp Bird Observatory's Wind Energy Issues Page
http://www.bsbobird.org/wind_energy.htm

Blog Post by Ted Eubanks on the Wind Energy Rush
http://www.birdspert.com/?p=1630

The American Wind Energy Association
http://www.awea.org/

Laura Erickson's Blog Post About Testifying in Court Regarding Wind Power
http://lauraerickson.blogspot.com/2011/04/from-court-transcripts.html

ID Quiz Winner: Birds on a Wire

2011-05-02T10:29:00.002-04:00

Left to right: Loggerhead shrike, boat-tailed grackle, mourning dove, Eurasian collared-dove.

And the winner IS..... Oggie. Who correctly identified all four species and wrote a haiku to proper haiku specifications.

His entry:: Loggerhead Shrike
Boat-tailed Grackle
Mourning Dove
Eurasian Collared-Dove; My Haiku:
Dove flies to the west
Dove circles the world in time
Dove that ate the south

Oggie wins a copy of my latest book Hummingbirds and Butterflies co-authored with Connie Toops and published by our friends at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

[Oggie, please see my contact info in the captions on the original post so we know where to send your fabulous prize.]

By the way, we got some great haikus with this contest. You can read them in the comments section of the original post.

Caption Contest #18 Winner!

2011-05-01T10:18:00.000-04:00

It's time to announce the winner of the Bill of the Birds Caption Contest #18. You can see the original post for Contest #18 here.

Congratulations to Robert Mortensen from the Birding is Fun blog for his winning caption which is:

On the eve of their nuptials, Prince William and Kate Middleton kissed and they both turned into toads. A very public couple, regrettably with no modicum of privacy, British paparazzi photographed them consummating the marriage.

He also chimed in with this one:

The minister said not to do this before marriage or we'd get warts. I guess he was right!

Robert wins a $20 gift certificate from the BWD Nature Store.

Some other great chuckles were generated by these contributors:

Face said...

Ribbit to me one more time, once is never enough for a frog like you...

tommyart said...

I knew we should of done this back at my pad.

CNemes said...

Not tonight, dear, I've got a frog in my throat.

pambirds said...

“It’s okay Trudy, no one will see us – they’re all looking up for the warblers.”

Thanks to everyone for playing!

Man, Dog, Morels

2011-04-27T13:00:00.001-04:00

Oh how I wish our wonderpup, Chet Baker, Boston terrier, could be trained to find morel mushrooms using his highly sensitive nose. That would make him truly useful in ways that transcend his utility as a companion animal and terror to the bunnehs.

I LOVE all of spring's wondrous bounty: the returning songbirds, the hillsides bursting with blossoms, the greening of the landscape, the warmer weather, the almost vastly improved Pittsburgh Pirates...but right up there in my top five or so spring things is the ephemeral appearance of edible fungi.

We'll be eating morels most nights this week thanks to the wet spring and warming temps of recent sunny days. It's good to be alive.

Photo by Julie "Don't Say Anything Mean About Chet Baker" Zickefoose.

Caption Contest #18

2011-04-21T08:30:00.001-04:00

I toad you we weren't done with the Bill of the Birds Caption Contests! Here's the latest. Send in your clever caption for this photograph (keeping your cleverness on the clean side of the NC-17 line). Our panel of ninja-like judges will select a winner and that winner will receive a coupon code good for $20 in the BWD Online Nature Shop. Deadline for your caption that trumps all captions is Thursday, April 28.

Good luck! Gentlepeople start your captions!

Lesser Prairie Chicken

2011-04-20T20:40:00.000-04:00

This adult male lesser prairie chicken spent our morning together dancing in his lek on the Selman Ranch, near Buffalo, Oklahoma.

I didn't want you to think I didn't get any good photos! I'll tell the whole story in the days ahead.

Dreaming of Dawn Dancers

2011-04-18T08:36:00.001-04:00

In my dreams I have seen you there, dancing.
Dew-kissed little bluestem your stage set.
Grunting bison and whistling meadowlarks your only audience, save for me.

Many's the time I thought to come find you, but life snatched my plans from me as the prairie wind tugs at my words. Getting to the middle of nowhere requires more than good intentions.

Now sitting hunkered down, as if to imitate your own pre-dance posture, I wait, breathless, for your show to begin. I hear you hoot and whinny, gurgle and cluck. I am beside myself with anticipation.
All of us are waiting for the sun to tell us when this show can begin. As it has for thousands of years, the sun rules this natural phenomenon. No one will blink the house lights to alert us. We must be here, poised, prepared to leap and court. Or in my case, prepared to gasp with utter amazement.

I'd like to thank you gentlemen for letting me watch your prairie ballet. And, lest we forget, thanks also to the ladies for making these dudes dance.

Two Words

2011-04-15T22:44:00.004-04:00

Yes! and....

Yes!

Those rather poor photos represent my two latest life birds: the black-capped vireo and the lesser prairie chicken. I got both of them while attending The Woodward Lesser Prairie Chicken Festival in Woodward, Oklahoma. This small-sized birding fest is a keeper. And the birds are stupid ossum.

I'm going back for better chicken photos tomorrow, if the weather gods comply. Got great looks at both species, though, and that counts most of all for me. Just love being out here in the land of the big sky—it does one's heart some good.

ID Quiz: Birds on a Wire

2011-04-12T10:33:00.003-04:00

Location: A residential neighborhood in Miami, Florida
Date: March 30

Yes these birds are in silhouette (sorry) and yes they represent four separate (bird) species.

The first person who can correctly identify these four species AND write a separate (and proper) haiku about one of them, wins a copy of my new book Hummingbirds and Butterflies (which I wrote with co-author Connie Toops).

Deadline for entries is Saturday, April 16, 2011. May the best birder/poet emerge victorious!

Paying it Forward

2011-04-08T08:33:00.001-04:00

Dear Fellow Bird Watchers:

Now that spring is here, or will be soon, I have a suggestion for how you can help to make the world a better place. Consider doing this: Volunteer your time to lead a bird walk for kids or new bird watchers. There's no better way to share the joy of being a bird watcher than to help another human open his or her eyes to the wonders of birds.

Remember how you felt the first time you "sparked" on birds? And remember all the help you got as a new bird watcher? Birding mentors, bird club friends, and helpful individuals are the people that welcome us into the community of bird watchers, encouraging our interest and enthusiasm, sharing their knowledge, and—perhaps most importantly—inviting us along to go birding. Without those invitations, our interest in birds might never have blossomed.

Every spring, Julie and I go to the local elementary school and take several of the classes outside to look at birds. The school is in a rural setting, so all we really have to do is step outside and pass out the binoculars or set up the spotting scopes. The birds do the rest.

Last Wednesday, we took the school's after-school Science Club out for an hour. The results were awesome! More than a dozen species seen well, just a few steps from the playground, including some species and observations worth noting: The American kestrel pair is again nesting in the barn on the west border of the school. Six black vultures added further confirmation of this species' ongoing range expansion into our part of Ohio. An eastern meadowlark sang all around us, going from tree to wire to fence, marking the boundaries of his territory. And two first-of-spring sightings seemed to be our reward just for being outside on April's first warm evening: barn swallow and osprey.

It was a grand experience and the kids thanked us over and over again. We even had a few parents join us! Who knows? Maybe we showed a spark bird to one or two youngsters. And that is the whole point. I feel like I am paying back the kind souls who encouraged my interest in birds way back in the mid-1970s. Wow! That's 40 years ago! I'd love to think that in 2051 one of these kids—now all grown up to adulthood—might be inviting a group of youngsters out for a bird walk, remembering all the fun we had and all the neat birds we saw and heard.

It's the BEST time of year to be outside with the birds, folks. Being a bird watcher is one of life's most renewable gifts. Consider paying it forward, won't you?

Our New Name!

2011-04-01T05:55:00.004-04:00

It is with great pride and excitement that we announce our magazine's new name: Wild Bird Watcher's World (and Blooms)! Here's the cover of the first issue, which is mailing out today. We can't WAIT to hear what you think.

As you can see, we're still publishing only the very best, most engaging content. We loved the name Bird Watcher's Digest but we feel our NEW name really captures what we're all about. And what you're all about.

Borrowing a page from Martha Stewart and Oprah, I'll be featured on every cover, doing what I love to do most: being on the cover of a magazine.

Stay tuned!

Bill Thompson, III
Editor

Bankable Lifers?

2011-03-29T07:09:00.002-04:00

Indian hill myna

On a recent quick trip to South Florida, I was shown two new, but currently uncountable, life birds. The Indian hill myna, and the chestnut-fronted macaw are established exotics here in SoFla. We saw them nesting and making babies, so we know they are establishing their North American populations, however neither species is currently on the North American Bird List as an accepted, countable species.

Chestnut-fronted macaw.

So I am tucking these sightings away for the day when some enterprising ornithology student decides to do a study on these species for his/her PhD thesis. We're calling these species "Bankable Lifers" until they are countable.

Chestnut-fronted macaw. This one is for Charles.

Peregrine Nation

2011-03-24T14:26:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time, when a bird watcher flipped through the raptor pages of his or her field guide, the image of the peregrine falcon probably engendered wistful and wishful feelings. Despite the fact that the peregrine is one of the most widely distributed raptors worldwide, in North America it has been an endangered species for as long as most of can remember. This was due to the lingering effects of DDT and other chemical toxins in the food chain, which inhibited the falcon's reproductive success.

A number of recovery efforts for this species—mainly hacking peregrine chicks into protected human-made nest sites–has succeeded beyond expectation. With the happy result that the American peregrine falcon was taken off the Endangered Species List in 1999.

Today we find peregrine falcons nesting in places where they never existed. Indeed this has been the subject of great debate among birders, wildlife managers, and both government and NGO biologists. Is it OK to put a super predator into a habitat where it never naturally occurred? For example: a peregrine nesting tower built in a vast, flat, coastal marsh which has chicks fledge successfully from it is likely to be where at least one of those chicks returns to nest. And when it does it begins to prey upon the local colony of least terns or piping plovers—two other federally endangered species. Depending on the location and landscape, historically such a habitat would only have passing visits from migrant peregrines.

And what if the local great horned owl comes by the peregrine tower and starts making owl pellets out of the peregrine nestlings? Big dilemma.

Setting aside the bio-ethical dilemma for un momentito, I have to say that I LOVE seeing peregrine falcons on a more regular basis. We even have them nesting on a bridge over the Ohio River between Belpre, Ohio and Parkersburg, WV. And in this area, my guess is that the falcons are living primarily on a diet of rock pigeon—which we have in abundance.

Last Friday as we were leaving a rather somber event in Parkersburg, I spotted a big female peregrine flying between buildings, heading away from the river. She landed on a six-story bank building and began to call. Within minutes her mate swooped in carrying food, landed briefly, then both birds took to the sky. What a thrill!

One of the birds landed on the Wood County courthouse and began drinking (we hypothesized) from a rain puddle on the roof. My guess is that this is the pair of adults that nested under the bridge last year, raising three birds to fledging.

Atop the Wood County, WV courthouse.

On my recent Bohemian waxwing adventure, I spied this peregrine in downtown Grand Rapids, Michigan, perched on a hospital.

Grand Rapids, Michigan peregrine falcon.

Many middle-to-large Midwestern cities now have a resident breeding pair of peregrine falcons. There are scores of falcon web-cams documenting the private lives of these aerial masters. As bird watchers, I would imagine that most of us are happy to see this impressive raptor. We have become, if you will, a peregrine nation.

I just hope that, when I leave this mortal coil, I'm not reincarnated as a rock pigeon in Parkersburg, WV.

Spring is a Teasing Vixen

2011-03-18T12:19:00.000-04:00

I found further proof, thanks to today's balmy weather, that writing about birds is much easier when you can write with the windows open, bird song floating in on the gentle breeze. Spring!

However there is this caveat: Spring in mid-March (at least here in southeastern Ohio) is a teasing vixen. She'll let you glimpse her rapturous beauty and catch a whiff of her sweet perfume, but reach out for her expectantly and she'll slap your face with three days of sleet and snow.

She'll make you watch while she coats the daffodils in frost and forces the timberdoodles to forage in roadside ditches. She'll bruise your heart with her apparent cold-hearted cruelty, but that's just spring's natural way of making you truly thankful when she arrives for real.

And on that day, each year, I drop to the ground and roll around in the new green grass, trying my best to hug the entire Earth.

Talking with the Old Oak

2011-03-14T16:17:00.004-04:00

"How can we know for certain," I asked the old oak, "that those are your branches reaching up to scratch the sky? And not your roots, in some weird, inverted universe?"

The sky and snow-covered ground look to be one and the same to my early morning eyes.

"But then my acorns—here's one plonking your head now—would be falling upward, would they not?" answered the oak.

"True. But let me see your roots, then, just to be sure," I replied.

"You don't really want that now, do you?"

"No, I suppose not."

"It is good that you see alternatives to this reality, my friend. But you should also know that there is reality that is real, yet unseen," the oak said.

"Like your roots?" I asked.

"Yes, and yours, too," came the oak's final reply.

Bohemian Quest: The Final Day

2011-03-12T17:48:00.001-05:00

Dawn breaks over Harbor Springs, Michigan.

After spending the night inside my wrapped Christmas-present box of a motel room, I got up early, put on every piece of clothing from my duffel bag, and loaded up The Back Breaker for another day of looking for our target bird (also known as tilting at windmills). We thought we'd get on the road by 5:45 am, grab an early breakfast at a local diner by 6 am, and probably nail the Bohemian waxwings by 7. At the latest.

Wearing eleventeen layers of clothing for cold-weather waxwing chasing.

Minor detail: there is no diner open at 6 am in Harbor Springs. So we lowered our sights and grabbed a couple of convenience-store belly bombs and two cups of hot battery acid (with hazelnut creamer). NOW we were ready to go birding.

Down to the harbor we went, arriving well before the sunrise. Gazing out over the frozen harbor, I noted the distinct lack of bird life. No crows, no starlings, no Canada geese. It was 2 degrees F. I couldn't blame them.

We drove around the old familiar places, getting excellent looks at bare fruit trees, piles of snow, and some ice-fishermen out on the lake, still frozen in the same positions they'd been in the day before. We even went back out to the land of snow buntings, where some waxies had made sporadic appearances. We scanned the open water on the lake. Nada.

Heeter scans the open water of Lake Michigan.

The day was slipping away.

I'd sent out another plea for help on the MI-birds listserv and got some good leads on BOWAs both farther north and farther south. Since we were running out of time, we needed to make a strategic move, and fast.

By 10 am I was getting both restless and slightly annoyed. So Heets and I decided to head south to a hopeful-sounding sighting in Traverse City. A kind soul named Holly had e-mailed me to share her day-before sighting of a sizable flock of BOWAs in a neighborhood with ornamental fruit trees. It was time to man up or clam up.

Man up it was. I took a nap while Heeter drove us down the lakefront highway to Traverse City.
We stopped at several places where fruit remained on the trees. No dice. We spotted some tundra swans. And a ring-billed gull. And a pile of rock pigeons. Yawn.

And then we pulled into the un-gated gated community where Holly had seen many, many Bohemian waxwings the day before. We began driving the roads, hoping for a miracle. First street: nothing. Second street: nothing. Third street...

"THERE THEY ARE!!!"

Those dots at 1 o'clock in the tree are Bohemians.

They were just seven or so dots in the top of a tree, but I knew, KNEW, that they were Bohemian waxwings. It's possible that I caught a whiff of their diagnostic aura of patchouli. After gawking at them for three seconds in my binocs, I began scrambling for my various cameras. First the Canon 30D. Clickclickclickclick.

Two shots taken with my big rig Canon 30D.

Then the Leica spotting scope for some digiscoping.

Two shots taken with my digiscoping rig.

And then, like leaves blown by the wind, they lifted into the air and disappeared into the distance. Gone! But we'd SEEN them. How sweet! Figuring we'd find another flock or that this one might return, we left the perfectly manicured neighborhood and went looking for a lunch spot. We found a great little deli a half-mile away and settled in for our first real food of the day. Four spoonfuls into my soup I felt the irresistible urge to check Bohemian waxwing off on my checklist. Geoff caught the moment on video.

And so the journey ended successfully. Sigh of relief.

We headed southward so Geoff could visit his family in Big Rapids and Grand Rapids (lots of rapids in these parts, nearly all frozen solid). We made a stop at Geoff's boyhood home.

Geoff Heeter, 2009 or so model. (photo by Jeffrey A. Gordon)

And I took the opportunity to capture a photo of a photo of good ol' Geoff (I'm OLD GEOFF!!!) from "back in the day." It was on the wall of his parents' house, so I am sure I'm violating some sort of bro-code by sharing it here, but....it's simply too amazing NOT to share.

Geoff Heeter, late-70s model.

So here's to you, Heets! Thanks for making the trek with me, bro. And I've gotta say, dude, if you'd been a singer, with your flowing mullet, you could have given Shaun Cassidy a run for his money.

And that's the story of The New Brohemians and their birding victory over the itinerant Bohemians.