Thar She Honks!

It all started over five months ago, when local birder Jennifer Schrand noticed an odd white goose hanging out among her local Canada Geese. Turns out, that goose was a rare midwestern Ross’s Goose, albeit a young and dingy one. James chased it then, twice. But each time, we missed it – the rare goose appeared to have headed back to its rightful home.

Fast forward to late last month. Another birder reported the goose continued, just a couple miles from its previous location, at a suburban lake. After seeing the pictures, and a promising report that it could be seen from a nearby field, James and I attempted to chase it once again, a full four months after we’d last tried. Arriving at the lake, we found only a couple Canada Geese, some Ruddy Ducks, and a Bufflehead. Still, we could celebrate that day after finding a confiding Canvasback working his way across the lake – my first wild drake, and the closest I’ve ever been to one. But there was no sign of the goose. It was becoming a nemesis for James, his Moby-Dickey bird. The White Goose.

A bittersweet consolation prize. Wait, that's not the word... a sweet consolation prize!

Disappointed in our birding experience, we turned to our old standby of Mason Farm. Of course, being rather windy and cloudy, the birding turned out to be rather mundane. But now we’ve got a new hobby, and no matter the weather there’s always the allure of herping! After just a few logs (and several Marbleds), we found a nice White-spotted Slimy Salamander, the very unknown species I’d found last week. Luckily, this guy decided to not be as slimy as the last guy, and was rather photogenic instead.

Peter Venkman quotes need not apply.

Working through the same grove of pines, we continued to find Marbled Salamanders, albeit in fewer numbers than before. It seems like they really like logs with cool earth underneath, but are relatively dry. With our recent rains, most of the land I’ve been finding them in has become saturated, and the salamanders seem to’ve taken up residence elsewhere. Still, there were other herps to be found, and under the same burned log as last week, James and I found this beautiful juvenile Eastern Narrowmouth Toad!

The same individual? For some reason, it seems more colorful.

After the Rough Green Snake my two Brown Snakes last week, I’ve had pretty bad luck with the serpentine aspect of herping. Still, you have to try, and every so often you’re rewarded. Under a small log James suspected of hiding a Marbled Salamander, he instead found this tiny snake, not more than three inches long when outstretched. It’s spade-shaped head, pink underbelly, and tail spine mark it as a Worm Snake, an incredibly common reptile in these parts, but one difficult to see thanks to its subterranean habits.

In all honesty, this is the smallest snake I've ever seen!

Not all herping is turning over logs, of course. Sometimes you can find herps chilling in the middle of the path, but other times you have to be more inventive. Perhaps there’s a rock that looks nice, or some old plywood that looks flippable. At one point, I found a tree with some loose bark, and on a whim I decided to pull it back, revealing this male Carolina Anole. You may be asking – how do I know it’s a male? After all, it’s quite brown. When I caught it, the lizard attempted to bite my finger, and at the same time flashed his trademark dewlap, betraying his gender and making for one totally cool experience.

Now if I can just get a green one doing the same thing1

The day wore on and the herping grew thin, so we began to plan for the next day. We decided to try for the Ross’s Goose a fourth and final time – after all, Jennifer had seen it in the field several times that week, and it’s hard to turn down such a regular lifer. Early in the morning, we pulled up to an old corn maze to discover a large group of Canada Geese working the fallen millet. Even from the car, I could see the blazing white of another creature. Like old Queequeg, I called out from my shotgun seat: “That’s it  – Ross’s Goose!”

"Thar, thar - She honks, she honks!"

James rushed out of the car and snapped his lifer photo. After so many attempts at the bird, he seemed relieved to’ve seen it, and at such a close range. But the question remains – is this the same bird that made its home in the suburbs over the winter? I find it unlikely that another small white goose found it’s way into Cary, North Carolina. Perhaps, outside of our watching gaze, our juvenile goose molted into the adult plumage it’ll keep for the rest of its life. There’s really no way to know, lest you drag yourself into a sea of uncertainty. For now, I think I’ll enjoy the bird I have – my White Goose. 

A Merry Un-bird-day

That awkward moment between the end of winter and the beginning of spring is pretty painful for me. The birding has slowed to a standstill, and the mass of White-throated Sparrows can’t slake my thirst anymore – yet there’s the promise of neotropic migrants any day now. So, to ease my pain, I decided to try something new – no longer will I look to the sky for my daily biota fix. Instead, I’ll turn to the ground.

The first herper I saw in action was a guy leading the reptile portion of a nature walk to the heron rookery at Glennstone. I was leading the bird portion, and even though I’d been to the spot many times before, I never found more than cricket frogs hopping into the small vernal pools. Yet here this herper was, finding and catching snakes that would have been totally invisible to me. Chief among them was a large female Red-bellied Water Snake, a nasty creature who repeatedly struck the herper on the arm and hand, leaving bloody wounds that wouldn’t clot thanks to some specialized anticoagulant saliva. This guy is crazy, I thought to myself. No way I’d ever take up such a dangerous activity. Smash-cut to this past Tuesday.

                                                        

While I still can’t see myself handling some of the larger snakes, I decided to give this “herping” thing the ol’ college try. As the days began to grow warmer and cloudier, James and I headed off to nearby Mason Farm to see what we could turn up. Start small, I told myself, and while Painted Turtles and Upland Chorus Frogs are nice, they’re not nearly enough to get me jazzed about non-avians. We started flipping logs in the forest, finding a ton of earthworms and bess beetles, but nothing truly awesome. But it only took one log.

This log, to be exact.

As I removed the dead wood from the damp forest floor, I could see a small creature contract itself into a distinctive S-shape – we’d found a beautiful Marbled Salamander, something I’d dreamed about seeing as a kid but never managed to follow up on. Yet, here it was, practically in my own back yard, and not particularly difficult to find. In fact, after flipping quite a few decent-looking logs near the trail, we ended up with seven individuals, including a couple big fat ones (females, flush with eggs?) that took up the majority of my hand.

If I call the females "Sally Manders", then would the males be "Gerry Manders"?

Finding the salamanders super-cool, James and I couldn’t help but continue to turn up logs, hoping to find some new creature totally unbeknownst to us. Pretty soon we’d left the forest and its nice stockpile of logs, so as we reached one of the fields we decided a random 2 x 4 would have to meet our flipping needs. Good thing too, because coiled under the board was a beautiful little Rough Green Snake, who really couldn’t have been more chill. The snake let us photograph it at point blank range and hardly moved when we picked it up. Maybe this herping thing wasn’t going to be so hard after all.

Maybe it'll just be awesome instead! True story.

After getting the hang of it, I decided to take some friends to test my herping skills. Mostly just because I boasted I could show them all Marbled Salamanders, which I did – an even 15 in the morning, plus two Brown Snakes and a Carolina Anole. But my favorite herp of the day came when I turned over a burnt piece of bark to reveal a small black frog trying to hop away. It’s almost too bad it was a juvenile, because the tiny amphibian turned out to be a young Eastern Narrowmouth Toad, my first ever. Now I just need to find a big orange-and-brown adult!

Man, this iPhone thing takes some really decent pictures!

In the afternoon, Mark and I went to find more Marbleds, and ended up with ten more individuals in a completely different section of the forest. As I continued flipping, I came upon a wholly different salamander. Where the Marbleds will stand still and hope you don’t notice you, this guy tried to make a dash for the leaf litter. I grabbed him, but he wriggled out of my fingers, and I had to grab him again, this time taking a handful of leaves and pine straw with him. Mark and I had to text Ali and figure out what kind of salamander we had, because for all my research, I somehow failed to miss this one.

A certain Peter Venkman quote comes to mind after an encounter with this guy. Photo credit Mark K.

Turns out, I’d found a White-spotted Slimy Salamander, a decently common one in these parts. He’s got an interesting defense mechanism, which I witnessed first-hand – he’ll excrete a whole bunch of slime (hey, that’s the name of the salamander!) and thrash about until he slips out of a predator’s grasp. Lucky for me, the handful of leaves I picked up with him shielded me from even more sliming. Ali texted me later to let me know that I’d be washing my hands for days after this encounter, and it seems I will be – even after a full half-hour of scrubbing, I’ve still got spots of dirt that got caked on after the slime dried. Wish I’d known about this whole ordeal ahead of time – sounds like a job for Captain Hindsight!

Thus ends my first week of real herping. Three lifers, two snakes I hardly ever get to see, and an increased appreciation for nature. Which is really what this hobby is about, I think – at the very least, I’ll keep it going until migration picks up around here. Then, it’s back to the sky, and back to the birds! 

Life in the Concrete Jungle

Having recently moved from the suburbs to a much more urban location, I’ve found it difficult to find a good diversity of wildlife in my day-to-day. Most of the time I’m hearing Yellow-rumped Warblers chipping from the myrtle trees, and I’m much more used to Common Grackles being in my neighborhood. But for some reason, I just can’t find the birds like I used to.

However, earlier this week one of my neighbors put up a feeder in a large oak that towers above the communal parking area. Suddenly, the trees became alive with Tufted Titmice and Carolina Chickadees, and nuthatches and woodpeckers started to become commonplace. Even a flock of Cedar Waxwings has taken up residence, feeding on the ornamental Bradford pears. You’d think having waxwings so close all the time would mean I’d get amazing pictures of them foraging, but not so – turns out, waxwings like to hide out towards the middle of trees, probably for protection. Even still, I’ve been able to weave through the branches and pick out one or two bathing in the sun.

One of these days I'll get that perfect shot... but it was not this day.

After taking an afternoon bus downtown, I decided to visit the Rufous Hummingbird that’s been hanging out on UNC’s campus. While its Coker Arboretum hangout seems nice enough, it’s bordered on two sides by large, brick buildings, and on a third by the hustle and bustle of Franklin Street. In this oasis amidst urban life, the tiny Selasphorus has continued to feed off an enormous honeysuckle bush. Hopefully he decides to stick around – every time I visit, he’s further along in his molt. He’ll have a full-on gorget in no time!

Finally I got him to sit out in the sun for me!

I like to walk back to the apartment from downtown; it gives me a chance to check out some of our more common denizens. There’s the Northern Mockingbirds that strut across people’s minute lawns, and the House Sparrows that flock onto any available perch. Turkey Vultures cruise around the city heights, just barely above a pair of enormous construction cranes. As I rounded a corner behind my local supermarket, I noticed a mixed flock of birds feeding on some spilled birdseed along the asphalt’s edge.

These have got to be three of the most common species around here.

I tried to get closer to photograph the male Northern Cardinal, because for as common as those guys are, I can never seem to get a really good picture of one. One step too far, and the sparrows all flushed into some nearby bushes, leaving one large brown blob to continue stuffing his face full of birdseed. At first the form didn’t register, but then I realized it wasn’t a bird at all, but a mammal – a large Hispid Cotton Rat had been just as much a part of this mixed flock as the birds.

Not nearly as nasty as those introduced Norway Rats... he's got a kind of elegance about him.

Normally I see these guys scurrying for cover on the trail’s edge, so it was cool to finally see one out in the open and unafraid. He must not have noticed me with the harsh glare from the sun, because as soon as I stooped down to eye level, he too rushed off into the bushes. That just left the male Northern Cardinal, now perched on a gnarled branch, waiting to return to the cornucopia before him. As I walked home, a Ring-billed Gull loafed overhead, and a Hairy Woodpecker called from a stand of pines. Perhaps it’s not that it’s difficult to find birds in the city. Perhaps I’ve just been looking in the wrong places.

Yeah, pretty much the best part about living in the eastern United States.

Oh, by the way, if Sir David Attenborough and/or the BBC wants to co-opt this post’s title for their next nature series (perhaps about wildlife coping with increasing urbanization), feel free – I think it’d be an awesome idea! Raccoon Dogs living on the edge of cities, Greater Adjutants living on dumps in India, the list goes on!

A Movie-loving Birder's Review: The Big Year

Truthfully, I haven’t been birding all that long – I can still count the number of years on one hand. But back before there were birds, I loved movies. I loved watching them on the big screen in an empty theater, I loved quoting my favorite lines from Pulp Fiction or Spaceballs. Heck, I even loved learning about how movies were made, from script to shooting to post production. So when I heard that a movie about birding was coming out, combining my two favorite pastimes, I could hardly contain my excitement. I even read the book ahead of time in preparation. And then, last night, I watched it.

The Big Year chronicles a year in the life of three extreme birders – Jack Black, Owen Wilson, and Steve Martin. Because let’s be real here, in this movie these guys aren’t portraying characters, they’re just portraying themselves with binoculars. The film opens with Jack Black narrating his own story, anchoring him as the main character, which is probably the best move you could make. He’s the only one of the trio that’s not ridiculously wealthy, and his struggles with bird and work probably resonate with 90% of the birding community. So far, so good.

The movie starts going downhill once everybody starts birding. Much like an actual Big Year, the characters seem to be more focused with their numbers than actually seeing and experiencing the birds. Owen Wilson exemplifies this when he hops over a fence to see a Xantus’s Hummingbird for a grand total of maybe ten seconds before returning to his car. But perhaps its not the characters’ faults. This movie clearly wasn’t written by a birder, or perhaps a person who even enjoys nature. How else would you explain Jack Black and Jim Parsons sitting on a rock in the middle of Joshua Tree while Parsons blogs on his Macbook?

To get to the point, here’s really what I disliked about the movie: for the first half (doubly so in expository dialogue), every character speaks in poorly formed clichés, and the dialogue is completely mundane and not captivating in the slightest. Once they actually start birding, the movie fails to show people many actual birds, save for like two tanagers and an Indigo Bunting. Everything else is a CGI flyover or merely mentioned in the dialogue, and the film clearly ignores the first rule of screen-writing: “Don’t tell me; show me.” How are non-birders supposed to get how awesome Attu is if the only real bird they’re shown is a domestic tufted Mallard? Jack Black finding Spectacled Eiders and a Laysan Albatross in the middle of a field doesn’t quite have the same impact when they’re just words hovering on the screen.

Oh, and when they give you money to spend on a music budget, the least you could do is not license a damn Coldplay song. I mean, have a sense of decency.

At the same time, there are many enjoyable parts to the movie. I didn’t really mind the CGI birds (even the gulls in that ridiculous scene on Attu). I quite liked the subtle piano melody of The Beatles’s “Blackbird” playing in the background of one scene, and it was cool to see Asheville represented in the movie (even though it doesn’t look like any part of Asheville I’ve ever been to). Oh, and that British birder commenting on how Americans turned birding uncivilized by relegating it to sport, followed by Owen Wilson flipping him the, well, bird. Finally, Steve Martin doing his trademark “Wild and Crazy Guy” dance. Awesome.

Acting-wise, most of the performances were sub-par. As I mentioned before, the main three guys just play themselves, and most of the B-cast gives hackneyed one-liners. The worst offenders are Steve Martin’s “yes-men” played by Joel McHale and Kevin Pollack (sweet paychecks, dudes!). I think I cringed every time words came out of their mouths. However, the most disappointing acting had to’ve come from Rashida Jones, an actress I quite like from Parks and Recreation and the recent Our Idiot Brother. But between the bad bird calls (ravens aren’t that difficult to imitate) and the cobbled-together love story, I really couldn’t stand any scene she was a part of.

The great acting award has to go to Brian Dennehy. That man stole every minute he was on screen, and the only parts of the movie that felt remotely real and human were the interactions between him and Jack Black as father and son. I don’t think anybody can deny that the two of them finding a Great Gray Owl together represented the high point of the movie. From his ire at Jack Black’s big year in the beginning to rooting for him in the end, Dennehy had the most character development and was by far the most interesting part of the movie. Finally, something I could really enjoy.

But the parts I enjoy most about movies are the little cameos, especially of obscure or faded pop culture icons. Kevin Pollack could have easily fit into this category (remember how awesome The Usual Suspects was?), but there are even better ones to be had. For example, remember that one guy grilling Owen Wilson about his big year on Attu? That’s his brother. No, his other brother, Andrew Wilson, who’s seen recent roles in Whip It and The Fantastic Mr. Fox. And the guy driving the helicopter while they look for snowcocks? Corbin Bernsen, star of LA Law and more recently the USA program Psych. Finally, and probably my favorite – the one guy in the board room, whose company Steve Martin is trying to buy. That’s Steve Weber, whose last famous role was none other than the early ‘90s TV show Wings. Yeah, it’s not been a great decade for him.

I could never unfairly criticize a movie without giving a valid reason. In this case, I feel The Big Year could have been far more compelling, and I’ll tell you how to do it. For one, if you’re going to depart from the source material any, you might as well depart from it completely. Don’t try and stick in little moments from the book, or your pacing is going to be off, and having the three guys with rather unrelated storylines doesn't help either. I’d suggest having Jack Black and Steve Martin realize that Owen Wilson is a force to be reckoned with early on in the movie, and team up quickly. That way, this becomes more of a Planes, Trains and Automobiles but with birds, a great buddy road-trip movie. Everybody likes those, and there’s a lot of room for character development while you're driving in a car. Finally, knock out all that family stuff, because it doesn't end up being all that important to the characters and it'll kill your rhythm. But keep all the parts with Brian Dennehy in them, because he's awesome. Literally the best part of the movie.

In the end, The Big Year accurately represents its source material. Unfortunately, said source material is all about the mechanical counting of birds, and lacks the amazing avian experiences that represent what we’ve all come to love about the hobby. As a movie, it’s merely forgettable. As a birding movie, meant to show the world what we do and why we do it – it’s a disappointment.

#49: California Towhee - Cabrillo National Monument, CA

Once you step out of the car at Cabrillo National Monument in San Diego, you’re in a totally different world. Wrentits sing like bouncing ping-pong balls from the chaparral cliffs, and the insane ramblings of Bewick’s Wrens emanate from nearby bushes. But then there’s another sound, a crystalline chip that pierces through the morning chorus. Along the concrete sidewalk, a small brown bird hops around, ignoring the tourists walking past. It’s a California Towhee, and it’s everywhere.

For a bird with such a geographically restricted range, California Towhees are incredibly common. Everywhere I went in the Golden State, I saw these small birds that look completely non-descript at first glance. But look more closely, and you’ll see that it’s an intricate tableau of browns, tans, and oranges, all working together to create perfect camouflage for coastal California’s dry understory.

As with many mornings, San Diego's "June Gloom" plagued us once again.

Like the Western Scrub-Jay from last week, James and I found this California Towhee not feet from our car, chipping from one of the bushes that lined the parking lot. The thick morning fog clearly did a number on this bird’s feathers, and he looked incredibly disheveled compared to some of the other birds we’d see. Still, it’s the only towhee that provided a close look, and for that, I’m incredibly grateful.

The Most Interesting Hummingbird in the World

He once drank from a Venus Flytrap, and it thanked him afterwards. California Condors give him the right-of-way during migration. And when he shows up during winter, it spontaneously becomes spring. He is the most interesting hummingbird in the world!

I don’t always see Selasphorus hummingbirds in urban Chapel Hill. But when I do, I see dos rufus.

First there was the immature male that overwintered at a feeder along Airport Road; then, just today, Dr. Allen Hurlbert reported a more mature individual feeding at the Coker Arboretum on the campus of UNC-Chapel Hill. Could it be the same bird, having begun his molt into breeding plumage over this mild winter? I had to check for myself.

Immediately after locating the honeysuckles the bird had been frequenting, I heard the sharp, almost mechanical tsik!s of a hummer, and followed my ears. I stopped because I thought I’d gone too far, and looked around – no hummer, but the calls seemed louder now. Instinctively, I looked up to see the glowing bronze gorget feathers of the male Rufous Hummingbird.

Thank God he didn't... evacuate on me.

From his sanctuary in the dense honeysuckle, the hummer would venture out and start feeding from a series of pink and white flowers. I’m no plant expert so I’m not sure what they were, but from what I’m told, they’re not native. Every once in a while, the Rufous would stop to rest in the thinner canopy of these colorful bushes, allowing me to venture closer and attempt to photograph him.

Man, this was taken through like five feet of branches. Tough stuff!

He seemed to know what I was up to, and always stayed on the far side of the bush. The camera’s autofocus did not handle the tangle of branches well, and the encroaching clouds made photography difficult, but even still I was able to hang out less than 10 ft from this incredible little hummingbird.

Every once in a while his gorget would flash red in the sun. It was awesome.

As is always the case when Selasphorus hummingbirds show up, one has to consider whether or not the bird could be a much rarer Allen’s Hummingbird. Luckily, this particular individual had almost a full orange back, with only a couple bright green feathers showing through. Still, an Allen’s Hummingbird had shown up in Catawba County this year, so there was just a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. Then, as if on cue, he stretched for me, splaying his tail feathers and revealing one retrix with a perfectly shape notch at the end. This is the end all, be all of Selasphorus identification – he was a Rufous Hummingbird for sure!

999, 1000, 1001... oh, I didn't see you there. Don't know if you noticed, but that was over 1000 stretches.

So there’s the one remaining question – is this the same bird that spent the winter along Airport Road? As the crow (or, indeed, hummingbird) flies, there’s a mere half-mile between the two feeding spots. The bird frequented the feeder during the winter due to lack of resources, but it would make sense that it moved on to a readily available natural resource now that the flowers are in bloom. Luckily, Susan Campbell banded this winter’s Rufous, so all I had to do was check my photos for the tell-tale band. Rather surprisingly, I couldn’t find one. Looks like this bird is a completely different individual!

The best-looking most interesting hummingbird in the world I've ever seen!

After almost an hour, the Rufous Hummingbird finally popped up out in the open and in the light. Compared to the overwintering immature, this mature male positively glowed in the afternoon sun. The last time I saw a Rufous this bright, I was in southern California, and pretty soon this guy will be heading off for his West Coast home – but for now, I’m going to enjoy every up-close and personal moment I can get with this extraordinary little hummingbird! 

Old Friends in Odd Places

Man, time really got away from me. I totally meant to post this when James and I got back from our Christmas Bird Counts out east, but somehow it got lost among everything else that was going on. Anyway, enjoy this write-up of the day we visited the legendary Lake Mattamuskeet.

When you hear about Lake Mattamuskeet, you immediately think of some Eden-like paradise for waterfowl in eastern North Carolina. When I visited in the winter of 2010, one could house almost a half-million waterfowl in their scope view at one time. The Christmas Bird Count this year was very different, and with the mild winter many ducks stayed up north. Not that it mattered, really – James, Scott and I ended up counting an area that lacked most of the birds associated with that large expanse of water.

That’s not to say we didn’t find some good birds, just not the ones we were expecting. Rather than getting loads of waterbirds, we ended up having rather a different birding experience than we were used to. There were thousands of blackbirds in a small containment pond, hundreds of Killdeer in an open field, and birds that wouldn’t shy away as per usual. For example, I almost never see Black-crowned Night Herons unless I flush them, and even then they’re drab, immature birds. That day, however, we found several adults roosting peacefully along a canal, apparently enjoying the mid-day sun.

Dunno why they call 'em Night Herons - I've never seen one at night!

And there were Kestrels everywhere. Every powerline we crossed had an American Kestrel on it, bobbing its tail, surveying the fields. Once, we found a Northern Harrier mobbing a Red-tailed Hawk, vocalizing as it swooped low. Once the hawk was gone, however, a miniscule American Kestrel began to berate the much larger harrier, truly looking like nature’s version of David and Goliath. Of course, the Kestrel just couldn’t keep to itself, and ended up scaring off a nearby Belted Kingfisher. Luckily, once the falcon was out of sight, the kingfisher didn’t mind a couple birders in a large car inching closer – a far cry from the ones we get inland!

I find coastal kingfishers a huge improvement over their inland brethren.

All along the canals of rural Hyde County, we found birds. Sometimes we saw Pied-billed Grebes, dipping and diving in whatever small amount of water they could find. Great Blue Herons were common too, and somewhat more surprisingly, many Great Egrets dotted the recently-plowed fields, often quite close to the road. As we watched one of the egrets, James noticed a small brown bird nestled among the packed clods of loose earth – it was a Wilson’s Snipe, pretty much the closest I’ve ever gotten to one. In the afternoon sun, I was able to truly appreciate the intricate patterning that let it become invisible to all but the sharpest-eyed birders.

Luckily, James has eyes like a hawk. Or eagle. I dunno, something with good eyes. Elf?

After cruising our area for most of the day, James and I made our way to the fabled Lake Mattamuskeet causeway to check out what waterfowl we could find. However, on a fifty-degree day in late December, all that we could muster were thousands of Tundra Swans, with several American Black Ducks mixed in. As I stayed on the lower end of the causeway, trying to pish through the enumerable Orange-crowned Warblers trying to find a much better Nashville, James strode ahead and managed to find this pair of Tundra Swans near the shore.  While he was watching, one of the swans let out a tremendous muscular flap of its wings – an event that one doesn’t easily forget!

It's amazing - before I came out east, I never realized how common these things really were!

Back at the lower causeway, Forster’s Terns flew overhead, vocalizing as they skimmed the waters searching for prey. None of the birds would get very close, save for a lone Bonaparte’s Gull that seemed to find itself at home on a small concrete drainage pipe that graded into the lake. Even as James ventured within three feet of the bird, it stood its ground, preferring its perch to fleeing from a photographer. James ended up with walk-away views of this bird, which as any veteran can tell you, is almost as good as getting said bird as a lifer.

As one young birder was keen to tell me last month, it's named after the much-less successful nephew of Napoleon. 

The day wore down and we watched the sunset from across the Pamlico Sound. Cormorants and scoters flew past the fiery orb trying to extinguish itself for the night, and while James got his lifer White-winged Scoter, it wouldn’t nearly amount to the amazing views we had of North Carolina’s more common avian denizens. Sure we’d seen them all before, but not like we saw them that day. Awesome doesn’t even begin to describe it.