The Times, They Are A-Changin'

Oh man, it’s almost here. I can smell it on the wind – the sweet aroma of blooming flowers and fresh grass that means spring is here and migration is on its way. There’s an old adage that says robins are the first sign of spring. Now, any birder worth his salt knows that’s not true, and that American Robins are present throughout the year, weathering our coldest winters and breeding in our hottest summers. But that hasn’t stop huge flocks of robins from forming all around the Triangle recently, noisily foraging in suburban lawns and dense forest.

For being so common, it really is an awesome looking bird!

The warm temperatures are encouraging our winter birds to do strange things. Hermit Thrushes have started singing in the woods, and I’ve been hearing the ascending tunes of both kinglet species. But among them, I’ve begun to hear the songs of my familiar summer birds, finally back after this mild winter. At Mason Farm today, I heard both Blue-gray Gnatcatchers and Northern Parulas, a welcome respite from my normal roster of White-throated Sparrows and Yellow-rumped Warblers. Plus the herps have started moving too, and I managed to find several immature Five-lined Skinks with their electric blue tails.

Unfortunately I couldn't get one to sit still! Quick little buggers...

While herping, I’ve found that flipping logs is a perfectly fine way to find reptile and amphibians – just today I found my fair share of Marbled Salamanders, and last week it was the best way to find Brown Snakes. But recently, I’ve found loose bark to be even more productive, and every time I see a tree with its bark hanging off, I peek behind it to see what I might find. Mostly I’ve found Carolina Anoles and a couple adult Five-lined Skinks. But yesterday I found this beautiful adult Eastern Fence Lizard hanging out, perhaps the largest I’ve ever seen. You can even see a bit of that reflective blue underside showing from just beneath its chin!

Of course, the sun disappeared just as I took this shot. Figures.

But lizards aren’t the only thing I’ve been finding as of late. Sure, I’ve uncovered my share of termite nests and ant colonies, and immediately I’ll lay the bark back in place (I had a bad experience). But today, when I peered behind the dead bark I found the unmistakable black and gray pattern of an immature Black Ratsnake. Now, I’m far more used to seeing his larger brothers, but this little guy had some fight in him. As I dragged him off the tree, he immediately struck out and dug into my pointer finger like it was his last meal. Of course, being so small, his needle-sharp teeth barely drew blood, but it was a good experience for me – any good herper has to learn to be bitten by snakes, and this was my first step into a larger world. Eventually I got him under control, and learned how difficult it is to photograph a snake in one hand while holding the camera with the other.

He was an extremely wriggly little guy!

With my herping pretty much done for the day, I got to admire the birds, and there were a lot of them. For some reason, the White-throated and Song Sparrows took to flocking in the path looking for food. Occasionally a cardinal or mockingbird would join them, and on one occasion I saw a Hispid Cotton Rat make his way amongst the flock. While I watched one particularly large group of birds, I noticed an enormous yellow blaze hurtle to the ground and land among the sparrows. It took me a half second to realize it was a Northern Flicker, a large woodpecker that’s particularly keen on hanging out land-side. As I crept closer, the flicker ignored me for food, and I was more than happy to sit there and photograph him til he took off for a stand of trees. What a way-cool bird.

I mean, who can say no to a woodpecker with polka-dots?

Seeing as I had to get back and watch Lehigh kick some Blue Devil tail, I left the birds and herps as they were. In just a couple weeks time, the trees will be full of singing warblers, the trails full of cruising snakes, and the woods full of nature yet to be discovered. I can’t wait.

#50: Black-headed Grosbeak - Cabrillo National Monument, CA

Oh man. The Drip. It’s a legendary site among birders visiting southern California. During spring and fall migrations, songbirds will flock to a leaking pipe at the Cabrillo National Monument to drink and bathe. Of course, James and I visited in the middle of summer, so we didn’t see nearly that kind of action. Still, I got more than my share of lifers there, including a Bell’s Vireo that belted out its favorite song. Then this guy showed up.

Honestly I couldn’t identify it at first. Not because it isn’t distinctive, but mostly because I’d only been in the state a couple days and he was in an odd plumage. Clearly it was a grosbeak, but a far cry from our Rose-breasteds that like to hang out high in trees and out of site. Rather, he was an immature Black-headed Grosbeak – the expected species that breeds in California, just without the namesake black head.

This guy was my lifer, and I honestly couldn’t complain – I mean, he hung out just a couple feet from us while we watched him drink from that eponymous pipe dripping into a manmade bowl. Yet always the greedy birder, I wanted to see an adult male before I left, in his breeding best with an onyx mask and bright ochre underparts. I got my wish just a week later, when one flew out of a stand of trees near the San Elijo Lagoon. But none could match the awesomeness of the first Black-headed Grosbeak I ever saw – the one that day at The Drip.

Sweet Georgia Brown

Seeing as it’s extremely common throughout its range, it’s no wonder the Northern Mockingbird has become the state bird of no less than six US states. But when you think about it, there’s nothing really special about the mockingbird. Sure it’s conspicuous, but ultimately rather monochromatic, and while its song is extremely variable, it becomes repetitive after a while. Nothing, however, can really compare to the intricate random garble you can hear just once a year around spring. Come that special time, Brown Thrashers will ignore their secretive tendencies and perch out in the open for the world to see.

Of course, it’s not nearly that time of year yet, nor was it when I took these photos. But when I visited the Rufous Hummingbird on UNC’s campus a couple weeks ago, I was pleasantly surprised to view a couple Brown Thrashers foraging out in the open, a far cry from the sepia blur I usually see flitting through thick hedges. When I stepped too close, one of the thrashers attempted to fly into a bush and conceal itself within the vegetation. However, being early March, the bush hadn’t yet sprouted leaves, and while the Brown Thrasher thought itself camouflaged, I could clearly see it through the maze of branches

Occasionally, the bird would mumble a couple notes of its song, perhaps in anticipation of the spring breeding season, but never would it move a muscle. From farther away, no one would suspect that the small bush held such a bird, mostly thanks an intricate pattern of streaking that lets it melt into its surroundings. Had I been a predator, I could have easily plucked the bird from the bush and made a meal of it, but being a birdwatcher I merely enjoyed.

So far, only Georgia has recognized the Brown Thrasher’s beauty and made it into a state bird. While I watched it, I was instantly reminded of that old Django Reinhardt tune which seems to perfectly encapsulate the bird. Even the melody is reminiscent of a thrasher singing from the top of a hedge in late April, all while maintaining an atmosphere reminiscent of its Southern home. Thanks to my latitude, I can enjoy Brown Thrashers year-round, and even in the dead of the coldest Carolina winter, I can look forward to seeing this exquisite Mimid do it’s thrasher thing. Thank God for small miracles. Oh, and by the way, the Rufous Hummingbird is still looking nice, and has molted even more of its gorget.

He’ll be looking his summer best in no time!

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.