The Vanellus Icing on the Cake

You know that feeling you get when you turn on the radio and hear “Bum bum bum bada bumbum!” and you’re like “Heck yeah, Under Pressure is my jams!” But then instead of hearing Queen and David Bowie it ends up being “Ice Ice Baby”? Multiply that exact feeling of disappointment by several magnitudes, and you’ll know what it’s like to miss a mega rarity.

Although I saw it on the first day it showed up, James had never seen a Northern Lapwing. This particularly reliable individual had been hanging out next to a pond in rural Person County, and as soon as James came home for Spring Break, we headed out to see it. We arrived to see a half dozen birders milling around their scopes, and it soon became clear the bird hadn’t been seen since that morning, when a bold photographer ventured to close and flushed it from its favorite field. It was a tough loss.

So instead we turned our minds to herping. Even though it’s been quite frigid outside, the herping season kicked off with a bang. Salamanders prefer to do their breeding in the moist and cold weather of late February and early March, as the summer months prove a little sweltering for them. James and I visited a couple sites in Duke Forest and after turning a couple logs, we found our lifer Spotted Salamanders.

It’s a species I’ve been wanting to see for quite some time, and these large salamanders have the typical Ambystoma temperament. They are extremely docile and slow-moving, probably a side effect of having to breed in 40-degree temperatures. However, our next quarry couldn’t have been different. In a different part of the forest, we found a ton of Red-backed Salamanders, including one log that had seven individuals under it!

They’re the complete opposite of Spotted Salamanders. Small, lithe, and quick moving, the Red-backed Salamanders were extremely difficult to photograph, and would often scurry off the log before we could photograph them. There are two color morphs of these guys – one dull and gray (the “lead-backed” kind), and one much more vibrant (the nominate “red-backed”). Of course, we wanted to photograph the more colorful type, which we soon achieved with a little luck.

But James was still left without his lifer Northern Lapwing. After a report that the bird had returned to its field the day after we missed it, James planned another trip without me (who knew work could be so lame). Again, James found himself in the same situation we faced the first time: he was at the field; the bird was not. After several birders came and went, the bird magically appeared in a far corner of the field, and he was able to snap this long-distance photo.

Vanellus vanellus - the lapwing so nice they named it twice.

Normally, just seeing a European mega-rarity is treat enough. It’s especially relieving for James, because he went to Europe and still missed this great shorebird. But to photograph what constitutes the third record of Northern Lapwing for North Carolina, the first one that’s even been chaseable? That my friends, is the Vanellus icing on the cake. 

So Long, "Crap"-tree

Out by RDU Airport there’s this local reservoir called Lake Crabtree, and it’s supposed to be this great birding spot with loads of ducks in the winter with the occasional rarity mixed in. But there aren't many accessible points to view the lake from, and the birds always seem to be out of scope range. Add to that the cold and wind that seem to accompany our outings there, and it all adds up to one relatively miserable time. So James and I have given it a nickname: Lake “Crap”-tree. And each time I visit, I swear I’ll never go again.

That is, until James and I had to pick our sister up at the airport. We were in the area, so we figured why not get a little birding in? The best place to check out the lake is the dam on its back side, and as soon as we got out of the car, we saw a nice raft of Hooded Mergansers with some Red-breasted Mergansers and Redheads mixed in. A nice Eastern Meadowlark called down-slope from us and our second Osprey of the year flew overhead – a much better start than we usually get from birding Crabtree!

Ospreys are back, Fish Crows are back - it's 40 degrees outside and it feels like spring!

Of course, there was a reason we’d come down to the lake that day. A lone White-winged Scoter had been sighted associating with a flock of scaup, and as we’ve gotten only distant views of this species in the past, we were keen to get better looks. The raft of scaup proved elusive at first, but I soon spotted them amassed along the mouth of Black Creek: hundreds of Lesser Scaup, more than I’ve ever seen at once! The obligatory sweep of the flock turned up several dozen round-headed Greater Scaup, a slightly larger species that kept themselves along the edges of the flock.

Not a bad shot from almost 1000'! Plus there's a Lesser Scaup on the left side for comparison.

But we had a mission, so I continued to scan the raft of ducks. I scanned right past a small group of American Wigeon, and I ignored a couple of Ring-necked Ducks. And then I saw it – a large, dark duck with its head tucked under its wing. Our White-winged Scoter! Before long, the raft of ducks started drifting towards the middle of the lake, and the White-winged Scoter stretched itself out and started preening, giving us great looks at its namesake white wings.

I've seen this species in the Triangle more than the other two scoter sp. combined! Definitely my best looks ever.

While we were busy checking out the scoter, who by this point was diving and coming up with something apparently edible, a small raft of Lesser Scaup broke off from the main group and made its way towards our viewing platform. We were able to note their peaked head feathers, a far cry from the rounded heads of the distant Greater Scaup. Plus they showed a purple sheen to their feathers, while the Greaters’ were green. This is supposed to be an incredibly variable field mark, quite dependant on the sun’s angle, but I mean – peaked, purple-headed birds and round, green-headed ones? It doesn’t get more cut and dry than that.

I wish more ducks would be as confiding as these Lesser Scaup.

We enjoyed the antics of the scoter just once more before heading back to the car. The Osprey was back soaring overhead, this time joined by a beautiful adult Bald Eagle. We gazed up at the majestic birds while bikers and runners zoomed past, completely ignorant of what they were missing. Their loss, I guess. But we had a better than great day birding at a lake that I don’t visit often. Good enough that I’m going to start calling it by its real name! So long, Lake “Crap”-tree. Hello, Lake Crabtree.

Spanish Bird of the Week #16: Eurasian Wryneck

By James

As much as I’ve enjoyed blogging about the many lifers I found in Spain, I’ve struggled to remember the story behind every bird. I remember the first time I saw a Rose-ringed Parakeet, preening in a knot of a tall tree in Parque Maria Alvarez. I remember the first time I found a Great Tit, feeding on a low branch at Parque Alamillo. However, I don’t remember exactly how I found them, or whether I was able to instantaneously identify them, and writing up the story of my experiences with them has been difficult. That said, there are a few species where I clearly remember the first time I laid eyes on the bird, where my memory goes well beyond the picture I have in the “Birds” folder on my computer. The Eurasian Wryneck is one of those birds.

At this point in my semester, Spring migration in Spain finally began to pick up. This really started to test my ability to identify birds by myself. During very previous migration of my career, Robert birded with me, picking out calls while the two of us worked together to figure out the source, sometimes a nice warbler flitting in some low trees. But in Spain, I had no clue what I was listening to. I trained myself to ignore the constant calling of Serins and Eurasian Blackbirds, and would instead listen for something unique.

As I walked up and down the reeds that lined the large pond of Parque Alamillo, my ears heard something they hadn’t before. An odd song that I knew was a bird I’d never found, and it was close. It kept calling, and I tracked it to a small but dense tree. I tried some “pishing” that is so effective in the States, not knowing if it would work as well across the pond. Suddenly, a small passerine shot out of the tree. For whatever reason, I had a feeling that this was not the mystery caller, and I did not pursue. Another 15 seconds passed, all of the sudden a second bird flew out, and landed on an open branch not more than twenty feet from his original perch.

The second the odd woodpecker landed I knew exactly what I had: a Eurasian Wryneck. I’d thankfully taken a long look at the field guide for Parque Alamillo, which suggested that the wryneck is a very good bird for the park, listing it as escaso (scarce) for the park, for Andalucía and for Spain in general. eBird confirmed that this was an unusual find, with no reports for Andalucía outside of the coastal park of Donana. I was lucky enough to get several excellent shots of my lifer before it flew back into dense foliage.

While I had over 120 lifers in my time in Europe, this is undoubtedly in the top five. The second I heard the distinct call I knew I had something unique. I still remember being in a state of shock for a little over a second as one of the weirder birds I have ever seen landed out in the open, seemingly asking me to photograph him. I wish I had as crisp a memory of every lifer I’ve gotten, but not every bird is as rare, as awesome or as cooperative as that one Eurasian Wryneck.

Spanish Bird of the Week #15: Lesser Kestrel

By James

I mentioned in an earlier Spanish Bird of the Week that the Common Kestrel became a bit of a nemesis bird for me. Luckily, I had a much better experience finding and photographing the far less common Lesser Kestrel. Not only did Lesser Kestrels frequent the massive Seville Cathedral (the third largest cathedral in the world) but they also made their homes in some of the smaller churches throughout the city. Fortunately for me, one of these smaller cathedrals could be found just four short blocks from my apartment. I typically just saw the small falcon, which is actually considerably larger than our American Kestrels, flying over the cathedral or city square, but on one occasion I was fortunate enough to find them perched on a low overhang.

Not only was this by far the closest to the ground I had ever seen these birds, but it was also my first time seeing a male. These birds became one of my favorite parts of my city walks, and I saw them almost daily as the church they frequented was right along my path to the Parque del Alamillo. But I never got better looks at these dapper birds than that time I found them perched on my local cathedral.

The Quasi-Lifer

As often happens in birding, sometimes you get a perfectly serviceable and identifiable view of a bird you’ve never seen before. This bird is a lifer, beyond a shadow of a doubt, yet your views are far too fleeting and you’re left with a tick on your life-list that is little more than a name. For me, this bird was the Razorbill, an alcid that breeds in the northern reaches of our hemisphere. I’ve seen several, but always a mile or so out in the distant surf, little more than a speeding football with wings. This Sunday, James and I headed to the southeast corner of the state to try for his lifer Razorbill, with little more than a sliver of hope that his lifer photo would be identifiable.

I’d always heard that Johnnie Mercer’s pier in Wrightsville Beach was the place to go for these so-called “flying penguins”, but every time I visit they’re nowhere to be found. At least, I told myself, I could occupy my time trying to pick out the Pacific Loon that was said to frequent the structure. We arrived at first light, with the sun blazing over the horizon, and the flock of loons already far out to sea and situated in the sun’s glare. I glanced away from my scope just long enough to see a view I’d find increasingly frequent as the day wore on.

It was a Razorbill, less than ten feet away! James snapped his lifer photo but with a tip and a quick flap of its wings, the bird dove far underwater. As I scoped around the ocean, I found Razorbills everywhere I looked – some close, diving just off the pier, other dotted amongst the loons, and still more flying past in long lines of southbound birds. While we enjoyed their antics, the Razorbills dove and surfaced a little too quickly for a decent picture, and James instead had to settle for his second lifer that day – a tight flock of Black Scoter that buzzed the end of the pier.

From there, we decided to visit Carolina Beach Lake to try and find the drake Long-tailed Duck that had been frequenting its shores. Unfortunately, the lake was drained when we got there, its high waters giving way to mudflats. Boat-tailed Grackles and White Ibis fed along the mud, and our only consolation was this beautiful Tricolored Heron roosting just offshore.

In a tree above the lake, I found this little Yellow-rumped Warbler chipping in some of the lower hanging branches. These “butter-butts” have to be the most common bird along coastal North Carolina – it’s hard to go anywhere without hearing their familiar call-note. If you can find a grove of wax myrtles, it’s not uncommon to have a decent sized flock foraging on berries. This little guy responded to my pishing, and decided to investigate, giving me great looks of this surprisingly common bird.

So the lake was a bust. C’est la birding as James would say. Our next stop was the old Civil War museum at Fort Fisher, a great place to find some otherwise hard to see birds. As we pulled up, I noted a tree that last time I was a here housed a pair of Loggerhead Shrikes. I asked James to check the tree as we drove past, and sure enough, a Loggerhead Shrike watched his territory from atop a leafy throne.

I love shrike vocalizations – so metallic, like it shouldn’t belong in nature. The bird flew from his perch to another just across the street, which happened to be my go-to spot for another hard-to-see species: Sedge Wren. In this random little section of Fort Fisher where a mowed field abuts marsh reeds, I can always get these secretive little birds to show up with a little playback. Sure enough, this little guy decided to poke his head out and see what was going on.

If you’re at the Civil War Museum, you’ve got to check out the old gazebo across the street. A wall of gigantic rocks lines the beach here, which for whatever reason make perfectly suitable habitat for several sparrow species. Song Sparrows will flit in and out of the crevices, and you’re hard pressed to walk past without hearing the reedy whistle of a Savannah Sparrow. This particularly bright individual sat up on the rocks giving us fantastic looks.

At high tide, waves crash against the protective rocks, and many jetty-loving species that usually stay far out to sea will come in to feed. Immediately, we found a small flock of Buffleheads, and a little scoping revealed a pair of female Black Scoters quite close by. As I looked up from my scope, I barely glimpsed that which I’d become so familiar with earlier in the morning. James leapt onto the rocks to ready himself when the bird surfaced. Sure enough…

Another Razorbill! This one swam calmly just off the rocks and didn’t dive like the others had. Finally, after all the stories I’d heard, I was able to view this species close up and for a good amount of time. No longer will I remember Razorbills as that winged dot zooming across the horizon. Now I’ll always think of that ‘flying penguin’ bobbing up and down in the waves just off Fort Fisher. It may have been on my life list already, but these were definitely my life-views. My quasi-lifer.

A Special Broccasion

Thanks to President Franklin D. Roosevelt somewhat arbitrarily assigning Thanksgiving to the fourth Thursday in November, James was able to come home during his break. We decided to celebrate the occasion by trying to find James his lifer Iceland Gull on Falls Lake. Though I’d seen it a couple days earlier, we were unable to relocate this bird amongst the large flock of gulls and cormorants. Instead, we made do with a trio of immature Bald Eagles that graciously circled overhead.

There was also a fourth-year individual that was starting to grow in its white head and tail.

That’s when James noticed something white high up in the clouds. I assumed it was a gull, but after getting it in my scope, I was surprised to see an American White Pelican riding the very thermals the eagles were enjoying. It’s another bird I’d seen recently at the location, but because the bird hadn’t been reported in days, I thought it’d left. We watched as a small Cessna from the nearby airfield appeared to come dangerously close to the large bird, though I’m sure it was an optical illusion. Still not something you see everyday around here!

Honestly, from this distance, the pelican looked as big as the Cessna!

Because he had a couple days left in town, we decided to hit up our old standby of Mason Farm, where we can always expect good birding. We weren’t disappointed – as soon as I stepped out of the car, I heard the perky chirps of a flock of Pine Siskins. This is supposed to be a great winter for irruptive finches, and though we haven’t heard hide or feather of grosbeaks and crossbills, seeing the siskins again is good enough for me.

I never get tired of hearing their rip-cord calls. Look forward to it every winter!

But the finch party didn’t stop there – we spotted a couple of Purple Finches along the old canal. While one of them was clearly a female, the other had flecks and hues of raspberry coloring in its plumage, like it had just bathed in a puddle of red wine. Either it’s a young male just starting to attain his adult feathers, or it’s an extremely mature female individual. The former is probably more likely, but either way we only got a good shot of the undeniably female bird.

I honestly don't get to see a whole lot of Purple Finches - this is by far my best view ever.

Along the fields, we noticed large flocks of Field Sparrows moving through the hedges. Normally a pretty skittish species, several of the birds popped into an open view, even responding to some tapes, something I’m not used to with this species in winter. We got such good looks that I was able to appreciate the subtle plumage of these tiny birds, complete with their bubblegum pink bills and their wide white eye-rings. These have got to be the one of the most adorable birds in the state!

Except for maybe Winter Wrens - they might take the cake in the cuteness category.

Not to be outdone, a nearby Northern Mockingbird stopped skulking in one of the bushes and perched out in the open. James froze because he was quite close to the bird, easily within five feet. He tried to take a picture, but against all odds, the mockingbird moved even closer to him. The bird ended up within the camera’s minimum focal distance, so James actually had to step back to take the shot you see below. But oh what a shot!

You can see every damn feather on this bad boy, from it's slightly-worn primaries to the bristles 'round it's bill!

Now when we showed up to Mason Farm, it was cold. Not like real cold, but certainly North Carolina cold – somewhere in the high forties or so. James and I both had our sweatshirts on, and I even opted to wear gloves. Even the birds seemed to be feeling it, some of them puffing up their feathers to retain heat. So herping was the last thing on my mind, but even so, James and I decided to flip our “Magic Snake Log” (actually a 6x6 wooden beam) to try our luck. And sure enough…

This is the third species of snake we've found under "Magic Snake Log" - it's living up to its reputation!

This small Eastern Garter Snake lay underneath, curled up against the winter weather. When I picked him up, he was quite cold, a tribute to their ectothermic habits. While I held and posed him, the exquisite snake started to warm up, even taking a strike at me. This is the garter snake I know, a cantankerous musking snake that doesn’t like to be held. But when the temperatures are this low, snakes don’t really have much of a choice. So I’ll choose to enjoy calm garter snakes and confiding birds for as long as I can – however long that may last.

#55: Bushtit - Famosa Slough, CA

Before I headed out to California during the summer of 2010, I had a short-list of birds I wanted to see. On that list was the miniscule Bushtit, the only North American representative of the largely Eurasian family called Aegithalidae, or the long-tailed tits. I looked forward to seeing these birds all summer, but when I arrived in San Diego, I was surprised to that they were one of the first birds I saw.

Bushtits are wholly unique among North American birds. For one, they fly in tightly-knit flocks numbering between 20-40 birds, moving through low shrubs and bushes even in suburban habitat. I say “flock”, but these birds skillfully move between dense branches, flitting in and out more like a swarm of flies over roadkill. Additionally, the sexes look quite similar except for one key difference: female Bushtits have light-colored eyes, while those of the male are pure black, like shark’s eyes.

Which would make this one a male Bushtit.

During our time in San Diego, James and I found that Bushtits are particularly responsive to taped calls. Merely playing the tape in their general vicinity would lead to a swarm of these tiny birds in the nearest shrub. As such, we had fantastic views of these birds at close range, and got equally fantastic photos. I can’t wait til I can head out that way again, and get to enjoy these birds in all their miniscule glory.

Spanish Bird of the Week #14: Sardinian Warbler

By James

Previously, I’ve mentioned why I enjoy bird photography so much. The challenge, the frequent failure and the eventual rewards all make it an incredibly enjoyable hobby. A fortuitous byproduct of photography is that is really helps out with identification. This doesn’t happen as often anymore, but when I was a traveling novice birder, I would often identify birds by scrutinizing the photos on my computer. Usually I have my hunches and am able to confirm them in the field, but from time to time I completely misidentify a bird.

For instance, I have no real memory of seeing my lifer Purple Finch. Robert and I made a stop at Dairyland Road two winters ago to look for White-crowned Sparrows. I snapped a picture of a bird that I must have written off as a House Finch at the time, but when I got back to the computer I saw the picture and realized I had made a mistake. But hey – free lifer!

Upon further review - much more different!

An even more unusual situation is when I have a similar realization while viewing my photos on the computer, but it comes months or even years after I snap the picture. This has taken place only twice: once in Nicaragua with an Orange-chinned Parakeet (which I originally assumed was a more common Crimson-fronted Parakeet) and once in the mountain town of Ronda in Spain where I got my lifer Sardinian Warbler.

To be fair, it would have been easier to ID if we had a good Nicaragua bird guide.

Fortunately I have a much clearer memory of finding the Sardinian Warbler than the Purple Finch or the parakeet. The town of Ronda has one major tourist attraction – a gigantic stone bridge spanning a chasm nearly 400 feet deep. I was hiking down into said chasm and, of course, birding along the way. Spring was right around the corner, which meant the birds were quite active, and I ran into European Goldfinches, Red-billed Choughs and a Common Raven.

Looks like something out of Lord of the Rings!

I came around a bend and saw this small black bird sitting on a branch. Unfortunately I only got one shot of the back of the bird, hiding (for the most part) the bright red eye ring that would have been a dead give away. I assumed it was one the very common Blackcaps, which is a pretty embarrassing misidentification as there would be no white throat, and the back would be grey.

A lifer is a lifer!

That remained my identification until last July, almost a year and a half after the picture was taken, when a random bout of nostalgia led me to flip through some of the pictures from my semester abroad. After gaining more experience with Blackcaps during the course of my stay, I instantly realized I had made a mistake in my first month of Spanish birding and that I’d actually seen a Sardinian Warbler! And that is why I will continue to take pictures first and ask questions later… even if it’s sometimes much later.

Scouting for Scoters

For the past few days, a Surf Scoter has been reported on and off from the Hickory Hills Boat Ramp on Falls Lake. This part of the lake falling in Durham, I needed the bird for my county list, and headed out yesterday morning to chase it. Unfortunately, after about an hour of scanning the lake, I packed up and left. No way was this scoter still around, I thought. The lake seemed totally devoid of birds! Later that same day, however, the bird was refound.

So today I tried again, this time opting to check the lake later in the afternoon, when the light was better. But after another hour, still no luck. A local fisherman looked intrigued by my scope setup, so I showed him a flock of cormorants roosting a half mile away near the interstate. He was pretty impressed. My first Pine Siskin of the winter flew over and I told him how I identified the bird by its flight call. That started a conversation about all the birds you could find on the lake, and I pointed out crows, egrets, and herons. I was starting to explain ways you could identify birds by flight when I saw an odd dark bird rocket into a nearby cove. It wasn’t elongate like a cormorant, but more like a football with wings. I swung my scope over and sure enough – Surf Scoter!

I showed the fisherman, and although he was still impressed by the optical range of my scope, he was less impressed by the dingy first-year bird in front of him. A birder’s bird I guess. I raced down the clay hillside and made my way towards the cove, but got stopped a hundred feet away when the route became impassable. Still, I was close enough to snap a couple pics of the bird foraging along lake’s edge. It’s not as pretty as the clown-faced males I can find along the coast, but it’s good enough for Durham county bird #214!

On my way back I stopped by the artificial wetland were I’d gotten my 213^th county bird earlier this week. Sure enough the American Bittern was sitting just in front of the bird blind, neck outstretched as a form of camouflage. Clearly the bittern thought it was doing a good job, because it barely flinched as I sat there photographing it!

Eventually the bittern got bored, or hungry, or some combination of the two, and started making its way around the wetland, doing this odd kind of shuffle with its feet, presumably to scare up a meal. I watched it spear at crayfish and frogs, as a school of tiny minnows tried to flee from its gigantic feet. I’ve never seen a bittern this active, it’s a heck of an experience. But don’t take my word for it: check out the video!

So it’s been a good week. Two awesome county birds, some early winter visitors, and absolutely beautiful weather. If this is how the vagrant season is shaping up and it’s only October, it’s gonna be one hell of a winter! 

Goes Down Easy Like Vermouth and Bitterns

When you’ve found over 200 birds in your county, it becomes difficult to add ticks to your county list. One of the birds I’ve been dreading is the American Bittern because it usually involves waking up before dawn in early Spring and heading out to rural Durham county, just hoping you’ll flush one from the local waterfowl impoundments. So when I heard that same bittern could be found at a spot that’s been one of my birding haunts since I first took up the activity, I jumped at the opportunity.

I got off work late and raced over to the running trails that lay alongside the Washington-Duke golf course. The gravel parking lots were full, so I ended up starting my journey from the neighborhood that I grew up in – a little far away for my comfort, given how quickly the sun was descending in the sky. I was afraid that it would be too dark to photograph the bird were it still present, so I decided to do something I’ve not done in a long time – I ran.

Out of breath, I paused on the bridge that stretched across the artificial wetland. I put my binoculars up to my face, and I saw it. The American Bittern was a couple hundred feet away, motionless in front of a wooden walkway. I had my county bird, but I wanted more. So I ran over to the walkway, tiptoeing once I got there so I wouldn’t frighten the bird. I looked out of the viewing platform and… I couldn’t find it.

Frantically I searched. I’d just seen it, I know I had. There’s the little peninsula of pond weed I saw from the bridge, a couple of willows, the creek. The bittern was nowhere to be seen. I casually glanced to my right, and immediately realized my mistake. I’d been looking about twenty feet too far away. The American Bittern stood just six feet off the viewing platform, looking right at me. I pulled out my camera, but couldn’t see through the viewfinder because my glasses were fogged up from all the running. With a little effort, I managed the one decent shot you see below.

The bittern was actually too close for my camera to focus. I had to zoom out a ways just to fit it in the frame, and that still equated to just a head-shot of the bird. The bird seemed to acknowledge my presence, and started walking out into the marsh. Frogs and fish jumped out from in front of its feet, but the bittern had fed enough that day and ignored the potential meal. Then it stopped and stared at me, almost motionless.

There we were, one awesome county bird and one out-of-breath birder. For as much as I’d been dreading picking up an American Bittern for Durham county, I was glad to have such an easy tick in front of me. My glasses finally stopped fogging up, and I was able to glimpse the bird through my binoculars, enjoying the subtle shades of its feathering, the same colors that made it invisible to me not five minutes before. Though it’s not likely, I hope the bird stays around all winter. Eventually I’ll get a chance to head out in the morning when the light is better and fully photograph this wonderful creature. But until then, I’m left with a feeling of relief and county bird #213. And man it feels good!

Brace Yourselves...

Winter is coming. I first noticed when I got out of my car in the Mason Farm parking lot. The air was cool and crisp, with a clear blue sky overhead. A flock of Cedar Waxwings flew in the trees above the creek, and my first White-throated Sparrows of the season chipped away in the brambles. The whole place was surprisingly birdy, perhaps because everything was trying to fatten up before it got really cold.

I never give up the opportunity to watch a confiding bird, even one so common as a Mockingbird.

While the winter birds began trickling in, the migrants were trickling out. At first we couldn’t find any real migrants, and instead contented ourselves with a lagging flock of Palm Warblers that flitted through a field of Queen Anne’s lace, picking at chaff and working its way along the tree line.

If only they'd let themselves be photographed, but as with all warblers, easier said than done.

Most surprising were the stragglers, those summer birds that haven’t yet made their way south. Among the vocal Yellow-rumped Warblers, we found breeding birds like Red-eyed Vireo, Indigo Bunting, and Yellow-billed Cuckoo. It’s hard to imagine seeing birds like this on a day when the temperature dips in the 50s – I’m used to seeing them in weather more than 30 degrees warmer! After picking through tons of these birds, we finally began to see our promised migrants, highlighted by a pair of Black-throated Blue Warblers that foraged right in front of us.

No picture can do this fantastic bird justice. What a treat!

As we continued along the trail, I heard the loud, sharp notes that signaled a pair of Hairy Woodpeckers up ahead. As we reached the forested area, I saw a bird fly to the right, and immediately had it in my binocs. One of the woodpeckers was making its way up the tree. I’ve always liked Hairy Woodpeckers because, despite looking extremely similar to Downy Woodpeckers in field guides, they’re immediately distinguishable in the field thanks to their size. James snapped a couple pics in the general area, and pointed out to me an odd bird, which perhaps not coincidentally then flew off. That was the bird I’d seen fly in, and the woodpecker was merely in the background. Then James showed me the pic.

Somehow, an almost unmistakable bird.

It was a Gray-cheeked Thrush, a species I haven’t seen in years. I’m still kicking myself for not being more focused and getting a better look at the bird. Even so, I had to be happy for James. It’s a lifer for him, which is something that’s happening less and less these days. I think he's the only birder in history to get his lifer Gray-cheeked before his lifer Swainson's!

We exited the forest, and started walking past some of the large fields. Just when I thought I’d go all winter without finding one, I heard a distinctive nasally call I’ve been training myself to recognize. I’ve heard tell it’s a good year for these guys, and after getting them on my last two outings, I’m inclined to agree. A little playback and a small bird flew like a feathered dart into the tree next to me. It’s a species I see all too infrequently, and one I’m hoping to get to know better this winter: a Red-breasted Nuthatch.

I've seen five nuthatch species in my life, and this is by far my favorite!

Ever since I started birding, the North Carolina winters have seen poor numbers of Red-breasted Nuthatch. But apparently the pine crop failed up north this year, which means the birds are starting to enter the state in droves – and it’s not even really that cold yet. Hopefully, the nuthatches are just a harbinger for large flocks of irruptive finches, which could include Evening Grosbeaks and Red Crossbills if we’re lucky. It’s been almost twenty years since the grosbeaks came to the state in any numbers, but if it’s going to happen again, it might as well be now. This winter is going to be cold as Hell on Hoth, and the birds already know it. Brace yourselves.

Spanish Bird of the Week #13: White Wagtail

By James

The White Wagtail is undoubtedly one of the most common birds in Andalucia. I saw them just about everywhere. However, despite quickly becoming a bird you overlook as a result of its abundance, this bird has a special place with me. The White Wagtail was actually the first of well over 100 life birds that I got in Spain.

As a result of some delays and flight changes, I ended up getting stuck in the Barcelona Airport for a six hour layover. The airport has HD-TVs everywhere and feels more like a mall than an airport. It’s pretty nice. For the first hour. Around hour three I completely zoned out and started staring out the window a la John Dorian. Suddenly my eyes caught a small black and white bird skittering its way across the tarmac. Now, I didn’t do too much bird research prior to heading across the pond, but I had done enough to know what this bird was. I was shot the picture through a grimy window, and the bird was probably 100 feet off, but a lifer is a lifer! Thankfully that was not my final experience with these guys.

A few weeks later I finally started getting tired of the urban birding haunts of Sevilla, and found, in the top right corner of my map of the city, what appeared to be a large green area. A little Google research and I had a new birding destination: Parque Alamillo. I’ve mentioned this park several times before, but all the other species I posted about were birds I got en route. Before I got there, I was expecting another park filled with people and impressive, but not exactly bird-friendly gardens. What I found was a surprisingly American and delightfully quiet park. It was simply a green-space, and was subsequently surprisingly birdy. My Google search turned up a rather intensive 8-year ornithological study of the park, and that they’d made a park species list complete with seasonality, relative abundance, and even the best places to look!

This park, which I completely missed for the first few weeks, turned out to be a decent birding haunt, and my new Sevilla hotspot. In total, Parque Alamillo yielded me 25 lifers and over 50 species over my four month stay, including plenty of looks at White Wagtails. Among them was this absolutely incredible look, as one of these handsome birds wanted to forage, and occasionally strike a pose, right in front me!

How Not to Identify a Bird

We’re going to start this post the same way I started out my last one. I have the afternoon off from work, I drive up to the Few’s Ford parking lot, and I exit my car. From the woods, I can hear an odd clucking, a cuckoo. I search for it, and before long it sits up on a bare branch allowing me to get photos. A dark, thin bill. A dull eyering. Small size. Everything points to one ID in my mind: Black-billed Cuckoo. But, as the discussion of the bird continued, it became clear this was actually a young Yellow-billed Cuckoo. And everything I know is wrong.

My mistake? Relying on field marks. On some level in one’s birding career, they stop using field marks to identify a bird. Instead, you rely on the overall impression of a bird, and by gestalt you immediately know its ID. Every once in a while, a bird throws you for a loop, and you begin to register field marks to try and find an answer to its identity. Sometimes you have to take a step back though, and acknowledge that even with an unknown bird, its general impression can give important clues. While many of the field marks appear to point towards Black-billed Cuckoo, the overall impression of the bird is wrong. The bill is actually a little too small, and its vocalizations are too guttural. Plus the tail is too small.

A young Yellow-billed Cuckoo. Can't you tell?

First off, why does the tail look small? It’s missing tail feathers, which is important because that’s a sign of molting, and a heavy molt like this would make it harder for a migrant to continue on its southerly journey. It’s hard to see in most of the photos, but you can just make out a pale area continuing inward from the beak towards the eyes. They aren’t feathers – no, this bird is a fledgling, and the pale area is the gape it retains from its time in the nest. It’s late in the year, and most field guides indicate this plumage doesn’t continue past August, but cuckoos are apparently notoriously late breeders. Plus, I blame global warming.

You always hear about confusing fall warblers, but never confusing fall cuckoos.

So why is the bill so thin and black? Turns out, some young Yellow-billed Cuckoos actually have dark bills in the nest, and even fewer retain that past fledging. In addition, young birds don’t have very large bills to begin with, but the real kicker lies in the bird’s feathers. They’re shaggy and fluffy, not sleek like those of most cuckoos. This bird is in juvenal plumage, that awkward stage when a bird is just out of the nest and learning to fly. The fluffy feathers obscure part of the beak, making it look even smaller than it should.

How a Yellow-billed Cuckoo is supposed to look - sleek, slender, and with a big honkin' yellow bill!

And what about those weird sounds the bird was making, that call and response with another cuckoo in the woods? It seems this was the call of a juvenile bird, and while it maintained the tempo of a Black-billed Cuckoo, it’s growling, guttural nature is unmistakably Yellow-billed. It’s something I should have noticed in the field, but the call was so strange I pretty much dispelled the idea of Yellow-billed Cuckoo from my mind.

So there you have it. A mistaken ID, but one resulting from a perfect storm of odd and poorly-known circumstances. This could have been identified correctly in the field, but it takes an expertise much greater than mine. You can’t look at this bird and use its field marks to ascertain its identity. You have to know so much more – about its breeding habits, about its growth cycle, about its social behavior. You have to understand the bird’s whole biology to figure out its identity, and until you do, you’re just a guy looking at pictures in a field guide. The whole thing is an experience always remember, and for the rest of my life, I’ll never again mis-identify a fledgling Yellow-billed Cuckoo with a black bill. You could say I… won’t get fooled again.

YEEEEAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!

When It Rains, It Pours

::ROBERT'S EDIT:: Check out the post above for a discussion about the correct ID for this bird!

Migration is really heating up around here, but I can’t fully enjoy it. I’ve been stuck in the work routine recently, which means my birding (and by extension, blogging) time is limited - something I'm trying to work on getting more of! Today, for example, I had a free afternoon, so I decided to visit Few’s Ford on the Eno to see if I could drum up any of the Empids that’ve been reported recently. As soon as I stepped out of my car, I heard an odd clucking reminiscent of a farm chicken, or a turkey with something stuck in its throat. So I pressed forward into the woods to investigate.

I could hear the clucking up ahead, deftly dodging spider webs and poison ivy. Twenty feet in, however, the sound changed direction – it was coming from my right, no, wait, behind me! So I raced back to the parking lot, and the clucking again retreated into the woods. By this time I had my suspicions about this bird, but I had to see it to confirm. Finally, the sound stopped moving, and I could hear it just above my head, at the top of a tree. I ran to the parking lot and there it was.

Honestly, not a bird I thought I'd ever photograph. And certainly not in the Triangle!

A Black-billed Cuckoo! Actually there were two of them, doing a little call and response routine from the woods. But this is the only one that showed for pics. It’s a great bird anywhere in the state, but in the Triangle it’s pretty phenomenal. How phenomenal? Well, I've actually seen them once before, on the 17 Acre Woods greenway in Durham. But most of my birding friends have never seen one! Immediately, I texted all the birders I could think of, but half of them were going out of town and one of them already “had” the bird on his state list by way of Nocturnal Flight Calls (you know who you are). But Nate Swick of The Drinking Bird needed it as a lifer, and raced over to check them out.

Not a great pic, but all the field marks are there - non-contrasting tail pattern, green-gray eyering, and...
what was that last one... oh yeah, the black bill!

The bird flew from its perch well before Nate showed up, but the birds were still vocalizing. Eventually we found it again, foraging between the leaves of a sweet gum (or was it a sycamore? Note to self: learn trees better). We noted how different it was from the more common Yellow-billed Cuckoos: smaller, leaner, with a tiny bill that stuck out like a thorn. Even the way it foraged was different, deftly flitting about, almost like a large warbler.

In exchange for getting him a lifer, Nate agreed to show me where he’d seen a couple Empid flycatchers a couple days earlier. If the flycatchers were there, they weren’t vocalizing at this time of day, so I decided to hike back to my car along the river. I didn’t find all that many birds, but I did flush a pair of drake Wood Ducks and this nice Green Heron.

They may be common, but it's always awesome to sit there and watch a Green Heron do his thing.

I braved overgrown trails and patches of mud, and soon lamented the effort I was giving when there weren’t birds to be found. Just as I was about to give up, I heard chickadees up ahead, and soon found a large flock flying back and forth across the river. Flitting between the common birds were the warblers that make a birder’s day worth it – Tennessees, Redstarts, and Black-throated Green Warblers actively foraged, often obscured by thick foliage. I enjoyed a nice Black-and-White Warbler that made his way up a trunk not ten feet away. But in my enjoyment I forgot to take pictures, so you’ll have to make do with what is probably the biggest River Cooter I’ve ever seen.

To put it into perspective, the turtle in back was a good foot or so long.

Down the trail, I heard an odd spink! That’s how I’d describe it – loud, sharp and metallic. Like a Northern Waterthrush chip-note on steroids. Then I realized I’d heard the sound once before, when I was in Ornithology class. We were on a bird walk around Beaver Lake when our professor pointed out a black bird vocalizing from the top of a tree. It flew off, and I could see bright crimson on its chest and armpits. The memory finished replaying in my head and I ran after the sound, because this Rose-breasted Grosbeak would be a photo-lifer for me.

I'll take what I can get, yeah I'll take what I can get... but you ain't seen nothing yet!
... actually that was my last picture of the day. Sorry!

I found the bird almost instantly, but much to my chagrin it was a female, not the brightly-colored male I was looking for. Still, a photo-lifer is a photo-lifer, and I tried to get my camera to navigate the thick foliage and focus on the grosbeak. I gave up pretty easily and just took a shot of the general area around where the bird was foraging. Luckily enough, one of the shots picked up the bird you see above!

I finished the loop and returned to my car. Even this late in the afternoon, I could still hear the Black-billed Cuckoos calling, albeit deeper in the woods than before. I briefly considered going in after them, but I was sweaty, muddy, and seriously wanted a shower. But it was totally worth it – I had my best day of migration all fall, and I didn’t even have to wake up early. The best kind of birding!

For Those About to Twitch - WE SALUTE YOU!

You loyal readers may have noticed I’ve been absent lately. There’s no excuse, really, but if I had to create one – work, life, and writer’s block got in the way of my blogging. That isn’t to say that I haven’t done anything lately. Over the past couple weeks, rare birds have been reported across the Triangle, and I’ve gone to chase them. This is the tale of three twitches – one that worked, one that didn’t, and one that was so ridiculous I honestly didn’t have a chance in hell.

We’ll start with the ridiculous. Last Sunday, a Magnificent Frigatebird was reported flying over the local mall. But the local mall is several hundred miles inland, you say? I agree, but the prevailing theory is that the bird was blown in by Hurricane Isaac. The frigatebird made its way down Jordan Lake, and the whole Triangle birding community took up the chase. One other birder saw it on the way down – Ali Iyoob, lucky birder extraordinaire, found it along the lake just after it was reported. The rest of us twitchers missed it by a good hour. No other good birds were to be found, so a couple of us headed towards the local water treatment plant, only to find a single Least Sandpiper to console us for our disappointment.

To be fair, it's a very fresh-plumaged juvenile. I've never seen a Least Sandpiper so rufous!

The next day, being Labor Day, many birders were out and about. And sure enough, a second rare bird was found – this time a Lark Sparrow, out at Lake Crabtree. Through texts and emails, the word spread, and soon enough I found myself at the parking lot of the lake, looking through the scope at a large sparrow chowing down on a huge caterpillar.

Apparently, the edge of a recreational volleyball court is the perfect habitat for hungry Lark Sparrows.

The bird was a lifer for me, and a welcome one – I’d missed seeing one earlier this year by just a couple minutes. But somehow the victory seemed bittersweet. The bird before me was drab, dingy, first-year – not the crisp white bird I’d always dreamed of seeing. Still, as the bird foraged for grass seeds on the edge of an unused volleyball court, I couldn’t help but enjoy it. Maybe it wasn’t the lifer I felt I deserved – but it was the lifer I needed.

It's a bird I've wanted to see for a long time... but this plumage? It's 'eh'.

For the most part, the birders stayed far away, viewing the small bird through high-powered spotting scopes. I find this to be a very European style of birding – enjoying the bird from a distance. To me, birding is a personal experience, best had when you’re feet away from a bird and you can view its habits without the need of binoculars. I’ve only experienced this with a couple of species, and I wanted Lark Sparrow to be one of them, so I moved closer.

Out in the Great Plains, Lark Sparrows frequent the volleyball courts that abound in the prairie.

I soon found out why this bird was called a Lark Sparrow. As I got closer, the bird flew a short distance down the shoreline. Immediately, it’s demarcated characteristics disappeared, and all I saw was the drab, streaked back of an apparently boring bird. While this description fits the larks of Europe and Africa very well, it’s not the most telling feature of the Lark Sparrow. Instead, I noticed its flight – bounding, flying high and then shooting down to a much lower level. A sparrow, though one immediately reminiscent of a lark in its breeding display. A Lark Sparrow.

Looks pretty much like every lark I've ever seen... not that I've seen that many larks.

Giving up on the perfect picture, I opened the door of my car, and took one last look at my lifer – hundreds of feet away, still, foraging on the sides of a recreational volleyball court. I’ve no idea why the bird chose this morning to hang out at one of the local birding sites, but it wasn’t the only one. A Willow Flycatcher was reported in the area just a couple days later, and as our current picture of the species is quite frankly terrible, I decided to chase it. Unfortunately, the reportedly vocal individual was gone – I blame the service guy who just finished mowing the trail. Certainly the noise of his John Deere ride-on mower proved too much for the bird to handle, and it vacated its premises. This obliging Eastern Cottontail was a partial consolation prize. But even a rabbit can’t take away this sting of missing a bird.

If you look closely, you can see a fat mosquito turgid with this rabbit's blood. I'll bet I fed many mosquitoes that day.

But, as James says, c’est la birding. Sometimes you get want you want, sometimes you get what you need, and other times you get nothing at all and you’re super disappointed for the next couple weeks. Each time you decide to twitch a rare bird, you take on a gamble, one you’re likely to lose. Every once in a while it works out for you, but for the most part I find twitching a hostile and soul-crushing activity. That’s why I give a shout out to all you birders who seek rare birds on a whim, traveling for miles to reach your potential quarry. I know it’s hard, I’ve been there. I wish somebody were rooting for me too. So, in the slightly modified immortal words of AC/DC, I pledge: For those about to twitch – WE SALUTE YOU!