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. 

Damn Nature, You Scary!

WARNING!!!!! Graphic nature images to follow!

This winter, for reasons unbeknownst to me, I’ve been exceptionally good at finding Fox Sparrows. It’s not like I ever find them in any numbers – one here, a second there, and that’s it. But for several weeks in December, it seemed like every birding site James and I visited had at least a Fox Sparrow or two, but it wasn’t always easy to find them. Sometimes I’d spy one at the very top of a tree acting like a finch, and sometimes one would skulk in the undergrowth like a towhee. But no matter what, we would always find them.

This one we found at Mason Farm is totally unrelated to the later bird, but it really illustrates my point.

The Durham Christmas Bird Count proved no different. After we’d scoured the mudflats near the mouth of Ellerbe Creek on Falls Lake, James and I found ourselves following the railroad tracks and checking the tree-line for additional species. Suddenly, I saw a large passerine flush from our left, landing in the gravel on the near side of the tracks. At first I thought it was a female Northern Cardinal – it was about the right size, and I caught a glimpse of rufous as it passed. Upon sighting the bird in my binoculars, however, I immediately recognized it as yet another Fox Sparrow.

Hum dee dum dumm... just a Fox Sparrow minding my own business...

James started sidling up to the bird. Hunkered down near some pine straw, it appeared the bird thought itself well-camouflaged, and it refused to move even as James inched closer. Eventually, James stood no more than ten feet away from it, a feat I’ve never seen a Fox Sparrow repeat in my entire birding career. This bird must be acclimated to humans or something, perhaps used to the fishermen that walk the tracks on their way to catch a carp or two. Then, as James stood over it, the Fox Sparrow turned its head.

OH MY GOD! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUR FACE?!?!?!

That’s why the Fox Sparrow didn’t move as James got closer. Not that it didn’t care, or that it chose to ignore him, but that the sparrow literally couldn’t see James coming from the left side of its body. Its eye lay dangling out of its socket, probably the result of a failed attack, perhaps by a fox or a Cooper’s Hawk. Looking at this picture, I wonder if the optic nerve remained connected, but I can’t imagine how debilitating this must be for the bird. Eventually, the Fox Sparrow turned its head so its good eye was facing James, and upon noticing the encroaching human, flew off for the safety of the bushes.

Nothin' to see here folks... nope, no hanging eye-ball or anything...

Of all the Fox Sparrows in all the world, we got to see the one that couldn’t see us, an incredible feat of survival in the one-eyed face of adversity. I may never again get this close to one of these birds, and if this is what it takes for Fox Sparrow proximity, I may never want to. I don’t often get grossed out by this kind of thing, but I almost couldn’t handle this bird… because, damn nature. You scary.

A Tale of Two Loons

We saw our first birds at Oregon Inlet early in the morning. Just as the sun rose over the eastern horizon, gulls kited over the old Bonner Bridge, and pelicans soared low over the cresting waves. Upon reaching the Pea Island side of the bridge, I noticed a cormorant standing tall upon a bundle of pylons next to a couple of Great Black-backed Gulls. It looked large and beefy, almost as large as the gulls themselves, and I thought, just maybe… but we didn’t have time to check it out, as our North Pond count awaited.

After counting our area, we returned to Oregon Inlet to check out what birds we could find. My mystery cormorant had vacated his pylon, though his black-backed compatriots remained. No matter, we had to check out the jetty to see what the cold winter winds had brought. Just past the first bend in the jetty, James noticed a small flock of Red-breasted Mergansers dancing among the waves that crashed upon the rocks, including this nice male individual, whose bright red bill positively glowed in the early afternoon sun.

Zoom in and you can totally see the serrations on its bill!

As we continued our way down the jetty, we couldn’t find any of our hoped-for sea-ducks, scoters, eiders… heck, not even a Purple Sandpiper or two. What we did find, however, were birds streaming past at an astonishing rate. Almost all of the birds consisted of Northern Gannets flying low and occasionally picking off a fish that strayed to close to the surface, or north-bound Red-throated Loons flying with those clumsy wing-beats of theirs. Throughout the day, we’d seen both these birds in good numbers, but only at the end of the Oregon Inlet jetty, jutting out into the tumultuous Atlantic Ocean, could we get close to them.

The loons flew much closer in than last year, when my lifer was almost 300 ft out!

As if that weren’t enough, several Gannets appeared to be feeding right on the shore not a hundred yards away. James raced down to photograph them, but I stayed behind to continue the sea-watch, and just as it seemed I’d made a mistake not following my brother, a small flock of four Red Knots flew in from the south, planting themselves right in front of me at the base of the jetty. The birds were much closer than the one I’d seen just a half-year ago on Ocracoke, but far from their namesake plumage, each knot wore a winter coat of drab gray feathers. While I may have had my fun, James apparently had even more fun as the stiff sea-winds made it difficult for the Gannets to fly quickly as they hunted, and several kited slowly just in front of him – not bad for seeing a pelagic bird from land!

The last time I saw Gannets this close up, I was on a cruise in the North Sea
and one flew right outside my window!

On the way back, the birds came more slowly than they had before, with more mergansers loafing in the surf, and several gulls floating overhead. But when we reached the beach, we noticed something different among the now-ubiquitous mergansers – they’d been joined by several Horned Grebes, who apparently enjoyed swimming among the rolling waves. They’d dive and resurface just in front of us, apparently indifferent to the humans gawking at them from shore. As with the mergansers, we never get looks this good in the Piedmont, so I really enjoyed the experience while I could!

Why must diving birds be so aggravating to photograph?

Upon reaching the parking lot again, our car-mate Patsy noticed that the mystery cormorant had rejoined the Great Black-backed Gulls on top of the pylons. The sun lay just to the birds left, leaving him fairly back-lit, which made it hard to discern many details. Still, just by the silhouette, I was pretty sure… so I called Norm over to confirm it. He had trouble too. There was white under the chin, but not that much white… then Kyle and Brian pulled up to see what was going on. They, too, thought the proportions looked beefy but… Then I remembered. It’s so simple; I can’t believe I didn’t think about it before. The Double-crested Cormorants that abound in the inlet all have orange skin over their lores, but no other species of cormorant around here should show that. Neither did this guy, and the combination of the large size (almost as big as the Great Black-backeds!) plus that white stubble under his chin solidified it – we were looking at a Great Cormorant, a pretty good bird as south as we were, and a lifer for me!

Pretty sure I did a little jig after seeing this bird.

Content with my lifer, we piled back into the car and headed for Bodie Lighthouse, to check out all those ducks you saw last post. While we were waiting for that supposedly “sure-fire” Virginia Rail to show its face, I got a text from Brian. “Pacific Loon at the jetty.” Aw, crap, what to do, what to do… leave one potential lifer for a definite one? We decided to cut our losses and head back for the jetty, but just as we were leaving the parking lot at Bodie Light, I got a second text: “Loon hasn’t been seen for 5 minutes. We’re checking if maybe it moved up the jetty.” It was getting nail-biting. We pulled up to the jetty, and just as I stepped foot on the rocks, I got a third text: “It’s back!!!” All right! James and I raced down to the end where we could see a mass of birders apparently following the bird as it moved. Finally we caught up to them, and then… success!

Photographing this thing was easier said than done!

The bird preferred to feed in the extremely rough waters just to the left of the jetty, apparently caused by the incoming tide. It actually spent most of it’s time underwater – every once in a while, you’d hear “It’s up!” and everybody would train their cameras and binoculars towards the swells to catch a glimpse, but after catching a quick breath, the look would dive again and hunt for food. The whole routine got almost comical after a while. “It’s up! Wait, no, down again…” “There it is! Nope, dove…” “There! Aaand back down…” Eventually I succeeded on training my scope on the bird. It seemed good to me – thick, dark coloration on the nape and neck, and what seemed to be a chinstrap. Everybody seemed to be in good spirits after seeing the bird.

And why shouldn't they be?

That is, until we got to the countdown and started reviewing the pictures. Several of North Carolina’s top birders took a look at the shots and started picking apart the details. The bill was held at a slight upward angle – Pacific Loon doesn’t do that, its bill is straight. The light and dark areas on the bird aren’t demarcated enough, there’s no remnant vertical streaking on the neck, the chin-strap isn’t well defined… in the end, after much discussion, pretty much everybody decided this was an odd, young Red-throated Loon. It’s too bad, I would have liked to’ve gotten a second lifer out of my Outer Banks excursion. Oh well. At least I got awesome looks at a Red-throated Loon!

Our eastern North Carolina excursion isn’t over just yet! Check back next Monday for Part V of our adventure: How Otterly Delightful!

A-grebe to Disa-grebe

Like I said last post, the best part of any CBC is chasing rare birds once you’re done counting – just a few weeks ago, James and I were checking out a Greater White-fronted Goose found not five minutes from our count area. This time, however, we knew what to look for in advance.

Red-necked Grebes are pretty good birds in North Carolina, so good in fact that I traveled almost an hour and a half to find my lifer early in December. Oddly enough, one had been sighted just a mile or so from our Pea Island count, and could supposedly be seen from the end of the Oregon Inlet marina. We’d tried for the bird the previous day, but the heavy rain made long-distance bird viewing difficult. Not that this was a problem when we checked out the marina on count day – far from being a distant bird, the Red-necked Grebe decided to take up residence within the marina, giving us looks at no farther than fifty feet at all times. As the bird dove and resurfaced hundreds of feet away, James chased after it, eventually nailing this shot from between two moored boats. While the Greensboro bird may have been my lifer, this is the Red-necked Grebe experience I’ll always remember.

Sure it may look nicer in breeding plumage, but this is about as good a look as you're ever gonna get!

After checking out the Oregon Inlet itself (which was both a boon and a bust in its own way – more on that later), we headed for the Bodie Lighthouse, a great little spot with a nice viewing platform next to its large pond. While Pea Island may have been devoid of ducks, Bodie Light was relatively packed with them. Several large rafts of common species fed among the larger Tundra Swans, and of them, Northern Pintail was the most numerous. It’s a species that’s pretty hard to find in Durham, so heading to the coast is the one time a year I know I can always find them. We found this one just off the observation deck at the lighthouse, dabbling to his heart’s content.

A handsome bird... I would have one mounted on my mantle, if I didn't have to shoot and kill it first.

If Pintail are the most numerous species on the coast, American Black Duck are a close second. Sure they look kind of like female Mallards, but there’s one big difference – their call. While American Black Duck may be a thoroughly descriptive name, it’s kind of boring. Instead, I suggest calling them Laughing Ducks, as their descending nasally quacks are probably the easiest calls to pick out among an impoundment full of noisy ducks. Needless to say, this particular individual felt right at home among the Northern Pintails, feeding quite close to the observation deck.

I'm 2-for-4 on Mallard-like ducks... Mottled, and Mexican, you'd best be lookin' out!

And then we come to the third most common duck out east – the American Wigeon. I’m not exactly sure what part of the duck ‘wigeon’ refers to (although the archaic American name, Baldpate, seems to make more sense), but I relish any chance to see these ducks up close and in person. The ducks themselves aren’t even the best part – they’re kind of cool, but not really colorful and flashy like some of the others we get around here. But their calls are totally unreal, a high-pitched drawl that sounds like somebody blowing through a kazoo, or like one of those toy guns you could get as a kid that would spark when you pulled the trigger. These guys stayed pretty far out the whole time, which made searching for the odd Eurasian Wigeon difficult (nigh, impossible), but eventually a couple sidled up towards the observation tower, and let James grab his life photographs of these awesome birds.

American Wigeon is nice, but Eurasian escaped me once again... just a matter of time now....

And that was that. The wind kept a lot of the birds down, which meant things like a sure-fire Virginia Rail, and cooperative Marsh and Sedge wrens would just have to go un-viewed. However, just seeing ducks in large groups harkened back to the previous year, which such numbers were commonplace. Being an off-year for waterfowl, I guess you just have to take what you can get… but really, when you’ve got Pintail, and you’ve got Wigeon, who could ask for anything more?

Come back Friday, when our Outer Banks adventures continue with Part IV - A Tale of Two Loons!

The Stop Short

On last year’s Bodie-Pea CBC, I visited the legendary North Pond in the early afternoon after having already canvassed our residential Nag’s Head count area. Immediately, I found myself dumbstruck by the awesome numbers of birds there – a hundred avocets here, several hundred swans there, and thousands upon thousands of ducks in thick rafts that edged upon the grassy walkways. This year, however, something was different. This year, something was wrong. When we walked up to North Pond, we found it empty. No rafts of ducks. No large flock of swans. Nothing.

Hurricane Irene might be to blame. When she made landfall on the fragile Outer Banks, she tore a new inlet right through the middle of Pea Island, and cleaved in two the grass walkway that surrounded North Pond. Now, what had been isolated from the sea was consumed by it, increasingly filling with brackish water. However, there could be a simpler answer. This winter has been incredibly mild, and I’ve been able to bird in short sleeves on more than one occasion in the middle of December! This hasn’t escaped the notice of our nation’s waterfowl. With the lakes and rivers up north remaining unfrozen in the dead of winter, migrating ducks, geese, and swans no longer have to travel so far south to find food. It’s a phenomenon called the “short-stop”, but because I’m a huge Seinfeld fan, I’m going to rename it the “stop short” in honor of the immortal Frank Costanza.

That’s not to say we didn’t find any ducks – just not a whole lot of them. A couple Bufflehead flushed from the side of the causeway, and we found several American Black Ducks in a sheltered bay, cowering from the strong sea-winds against the reeds. Interestingly enough, Red-breasted Mergansers ended up being one of our most numerous ducks, likely a result of the saltier water I mentioned earlier. Luckily for us though, North Pond has a whole lot more to offer than just ducks. We found the American Avocets in good numbers just like last year, but more importantly we found a bird James had been really hoping for as a lifer. At first we couldn’t find any, but soon enough James spotted a hulking white shape amongst a small raft of rather miniscule Northern Pintails – an American White Pelican, and a real beauty too.

One of the heaviest birds in the country, just behind California Condor!

That bird was slightly too far away to photograph, but luckily we found one lounging against the causeway on the far side, it’s head clearing the three foot walls that lined the impoundment. Carefully, we snuck around the corner, hoping to hide ourselves amongst the tall hedges, but while trying to maneuver into position we found ourselves exposed amid a hole in the shrubbery, and James managed to fire off just a couple shots before the beast lifted up its eight-foot long wings and hurtled into the air. I can’t imagine anything more magnificent, and despite the poor light in the shot you see above, the experience was one of the coolest I had on the entire trip. Between trying to photograph the pelican and watching it fly off into the morning sun, we almost missed this Lesser Scaup foraging nearby. Lucky we did, as it gave James his second lifer of the day.

The only scaup we saw that day, a victim of low waterfowl diversity.

After rain the day before, the strong winds we encountered on North Pond came as an additional disappointment. Normally the hedges along the pond are filled with large numbers of Yellow-rumped Warblers, Red-winged Blackbirds, and Boat-tailed Grackles, but that day we only managed to locate a few individuals of each species. Then, we heard an interesting chip-note coming from the hedges to our left, and while trying to find it, we were suddenly diverted from our search when we spotted a mammal lumbering down the path towards us. Was it a Nutria, common in this part of the state? No, upon raising my binoculars, I found a Common Raccoon walking in our direction, not a care in the world. North Pond is the only place I’ve been able to find raccoons reliably in the daylight hours – I see one every time I’m down here, it seems. We found two that day, and we would have like to’ve gotten better shots at this one, but it spooked at the last moment and ran for the hedges, never to be seen again.

The last raccoon I saw was this time last year, interestingly enough on this very CBC.

Once we got over our momentary distraction, it was time to figure out who’d been doing that odd chipping. It didn’t take long for a beautiful male Orange-crowned Warbler to stop skulking and start foraging on top of the hedgerow. The Orange-crowneds ended up being incredibly plentiful on our eastern excursion, and by the end of our trip I must’ve come across ten different individuals. It took me long enough, but I’ve finally added the Orange-crowned Warbler to the list of Parulid chip calls I can identify. They’re a pretty uncommon bird in the Piedmont, so it’s nice to see them in good numbers for once. The male decided he had enough of putting on a show, however, and went back to skulking and chipping in the hedges. We moved forward.

Apparently a banner year for this species in NC - over 60 seen on the Mattamuskeet count!

Before long, we reached the end of our count area – that fissure Hurricane Irene gouged in the North Pond causeway. Looking across the newly-created inlet, we spotted more of the same – a couple Bufflehead and just past them, a pair of Red-breasted Mergansers. Pied-billed Grebes grouped in the narrow inlets, and amidst the waters of the Pamlico Sound, we watched Northern Gannets dance above the placid waves when all of a sudden a diving bird surfaced between us in the mergansers. A drab bird, but the huge bill gave it away almost immediately – a nice Common Loon, and a lot closer than I usually see them!

Usually they're a quarter mile across Jordan Lake from me.

On our way back to the car, we decided to take the low road so we could more clearly check out the one spot we’d neglected this whole time – a small mudflat that had formed in some of North Pond’s shallower waters where all the shorebirds in the area seem to have concentrated. Over a thousand of the birds we saw were Dunlin, clearly visible with their long drooping bills, but among them were some seemingly gigantic Black-bellied Plovers. Unfortunately, every once in a while the whole flock would alight and I’d lose track of the birds I was looking at. Is that one Sanderling or two - *birds flush* - dang! Oh, hey, a Ruddy Turnstone - *birds flush again* - crap! Still, it was amazing to see so many birds fly in perfect synchronicity – if only they’d sit still a little longer before doing so!

All these Dunlin and we still can't manage a decent picture of one...

With that, our count was finished. More American White Pelicans flew over, as did a flock of Snow Geese, but most of the birds we saw on the way up. This means we had a whole half a day ahead of us, the perfect amount of time to celebrate that most hallowed of CBC traditions – chasing rare birds in the afternoon, and poaching good birds from other counters areas. Game on!

Come back Wednesday, when our Outer Banks adventures continue with Part III – A-grebe to Disa-grebe!

Go East, Young Birders!

Between Christmas and New Years, the best birding in North Carolina can be had along our famous Outer Banks, those narrow strips of land that could scarcely be considered sandbars, and yet represent a major hub of tourism in our state. However, once all the tourists have left for the season, waterfowl flock to our shores in numbers only found in a few select sites around the country. As birders, it’s our job to count them.

The morning before the legendary Pea Island Christmas Bird Count, James and I headed out with local and international birder extraordinaire Norm Budnitz and his friend Patsy to try and cram another day of birding into our Outer Banks excursion. The weather, however, had other plans, and as we left the Triangle fat drops of rain already splattered across the windshield. Thankfully, as we cruised eastward, we began to outrun the storm system, and as we reached Greenville the rain had ceased altogether. In the overcast sky, we found the first sign that we were nearing our target – on the side of the road, a large pond abounded with a flock of enormous Tundra Swans, home now from their summering grounds in the high Arctic. We pulled over, and as James leaped out of the car to photograph them, the murmuring din of a hundred swans vocalizing at once spread through the air, and I knew I was back for another year of fantastic winter birding!

I only get to see these guys once a year, and I love it every time!

Once we viewed the swans to our hearts content, we decided to stop at a random agricultural center run by NC State. Normally it wouldn’t be anything special, but part of their research involves finding better fishery techniques, and the large pool of fish this research hinges on is frequented by scores of majestic Bald Eagles – two score, in fact, as the numerous adult and immature eagles we saw totaled almost forty individuals! While the American Kestrels perching atop the nearby telephone wires were cool, and the Northern Harriers dancing low over the fields were awesome, nothing quite beats seeing Bald Eagles up close and personal, and this young bird put on quite a show in a small pine right next to the gravel road.

He's giving us the "evil eye" - or, would that be the "eagle eye"?

Alas, as we left the fishery, rain began to drizzle once again on our car’s windshield, quickly whipping itself into a downpour before we reached the highway. Nearing our hotel in Nags Head, we decided to visit Alligator River National Wildlife Refuge, a wildlife drive that on good days can house bears and bobcats, not to mention Short-eared Owls and a whole host of rarities. But today, the pouring rain and the frequency of gigantic Dodge Rams full of hunters meant that a couple Song Sparrows and Yellow-rumped Warblers were all we could muster out of this legendary site.

The rain couldn’t stop our lust for birding, however, and soon enough we were driving down to the marina at Wanchese to look at gulls roosting atop the pylons and moorings. Once there, we spotted a whole flock of Red-breasted Mergansers just off the dock, and James dashed out of the car to photograph them before they could sidle away. I grabbed an umbrella to keep the rain off his camera, but the winds proved too much, and before long a gust had turned the umbrella inside-out. We reached the dock’s edge just as the mergansers began to swim too far out of range for photography given the conditions, when with a sudden quick splash a whole cadre of beautiful males jumped out from under the dock and paddled in the ocean waters just in front of us.

The Red-breasted Mergansers gave us fantastic looks all three days!

I’ve seen Red-breasted Mergansers many times before, but seeing them so close up was a real treat, especially when the males looked their breeding best. Having had our fill and a little too much rain, we retired to the car and our hotel room. As darkness neared, the clouds broke and a little twinkle of sunset shone upon the adjacent beaches. Tomorrow we’d have much better light, but with it came its own slew of birding highlights and disappointments.

Come back Monday, when our Outer Banks adventures continue with Part II - The Stop Short!

'Twas the First Count of Christmas...

In all honesty, I’ve inherited pretty much the coolest spot on any Triangle-area CBC. For the last couple winters, I’ve been able to count the mudflats that form on the northern arms of Falls Lake in the latter half of the year, an area which probably hasn’t been covered fully in the past. But it’s my spot now, and I love it – not just for the unique winter birds, but also perhaps for the solitude I can find amongst the vast expanse of mud and grass.

As I’ve mentioned before, venturing out onto the flats themselves takes some effort – there’s a half-mile hike down railroad tracks before traversing a steep rock flow, but after taking the trip so many times, I’ve learned which rocks are loose and which are stable, which helps in, you know, not breaking my neck. The flats themselves are pretty devoid of birds, save for a few Savannah Sparrows that’ll pop out of the sedges in front of you, but if you find a flock of birds, man you’re in business! Pretty soon, I found the shorebirds that make this place special – a wintering flock of six dozen Least Sandpipers suddenly burst into view following a cadre of flushed Killdeer. It’s a species that’s extremely hard to find within the count circle, but given proper habitat, they will stick around during the colder months. 

However, that day James and I had a second quarry in mind. Traveling farther down the flats, I could hear a high-pitched double whistle, and before long we spooked them – a large flock of American Pipits flushed from in front of us, and instead of flying away from the large, annoying humans, they flew right towards us! Pretty soon James and I were consumed by birds zipping between us and low over our heads, swerving and dodging to avoid the two humanoid obstacles in their way. Several of the birds landed in a nearby tree, and as one of the birds made its way up a branch, bobbing its tail the whole time, I was struck by how odd it was to see them perched and so high off the ground.

Check out those ridiculously long hind claws! All the better for perching with, I suppose.

Having made our way to the end of the peninsula, I could see a large flock of gulls congregating about a half mile from us. Most of them were Ring-billed Gulls, but I could clearly see a couple large Herring Gulls mixed in. Like any good CBC counter, I had to get a closer look, so we headed back to make our way to the far mudflats. On the way, however, I found myself distracted by a reedy whistle. Immediately I recognized it as a Golden-crowned Kinglet, a bird that’s common enough around here, yet one I can never get a good look at. So, I decided to try a little playback, which will attract the ire of any nearby Ruby-crowned almost immediately yet never seems to work on their gilded brethren. A couple seconds later though, a small bird landed on the isolated tree in front of us, then a second, and a third. The Golden-crowned Kinglets had shown up in force, and I thoroughly enjoyed my amazing views of these tiny little birds with their unfathomably neon orange crests.

Golden-crowned - great Kinglet, or the greatest Kinglet?

Continuing along the railroad tracks, James and I came upon few species, chief among them being a couple Hooded Mergansers and a very special Fox Sparrow (more on that later). Upon reaching the far flats, however, we were greeted to the sight of a large flock of Northern Shoveler flushing from in front of us, with a few Bonaparte’s Gulls mixed in for a little flavor. The gulls gave their odd hollow screech as they kited on the strong winds towards the main gull flock. Setting myself up on a close peninsula, I made an effort to count and identify every gull there. Most were Ring-billeds as I’d surmised, and sure enough there were a couple Herrings mixed in. But one gull had a dusky head, and a darker mantle than these two species should show, plus size-wise it lay halfway between the more expected species. I’d found a Lesser Black-backed Gull, a bird that’s seen only a couple CBC's a decade around here, and probably our best bird of the day.

It's the gull in the middle. No, the other gull in the middle. No, the other gull in the middle!

That’s as far as the flats got however. Now having nothing but water between us and the interstate, we turned back only to find our flock of Northern Shovelers had nestled itself into the cove we’d just passed to get to the gulls. Most of the birds were females, but there were more than a few smart-looking drakes to be had, their golden eyes showing bright against their dark green head. Obviously, it would have been nicer to get closer to these birds, but it’s hard to stay mad at a flock that flushes because it’s shot at every day of the week except Sunday. If hunters had seen the shovelers as we had, they would have had point-blank shots at the birds peacefully foraging along the shallow shoreline. Instead, we merely enjoyed.

Every day I'm shovelin'...

The gull and ducks could have been the high point of the count for us, but not so. I decided to scope one final arm of the lake before heading home, and as James tried to photograph some cormorants, I heard a distinct “Woah!” emanate from his direction. Assuming it was a cool bird, I turned towards him, only to hear something crashing through the underbrush, panting and snarling the whole way. I prepared to give some hunter a piece of my mind, telling him he can’t be hunting on Sundays, and he should probably train his dog better than to jump on people. But then the thing hurtled in my direction, almost running headlong into me, before swerving at the last moment and leaping with surprising ease over a tall log. Mid-jump, I could see the rufous tinges to a silver body, and immediately I knew I’d just been less than two feet from a magnificent Gray Fox. It's the first Gray Fox I’ve ever seen in the Triangle, and unless something seriously changes the psyche of foxes, it’s the closest I’ll ever get to one. At the end of a long day of Christmas Bird Counting, the birds proved more than memorable – but perhaps somewhat ironically, the Gray Fox will always be that thing I remember best.

Species Spotlight #1: Nutria

You might remember when James and I were down at Pea Island a couple weekends ago and through the smoke and haze we found a Nutria feeding beside North Pond. Now, normally this is something I’d add to our “Other Animals” gallery, but because it was such a mediocre picture, I really don’t want to. So instead, I’m going to start a new column that’ll show up every once in a while wherein we spotlight one of the many non-bird animals we’ve seen on our adventures.

This story goes all the way back to December of 2010 (er, so, eight months ago). I’d just taken part in an amazing bird count at Bodie and Pea Islands, and now we were moving on to our second Christmas Bird Count of the weekend – Lake Mattamuskeet, a place that at the right time of the year, can be filled with damn near a million ducks, geese, and swans. Our scheduled route took us along the wildlife drives that surrounds the waterfowl impoundments next to the lake, and we were finding the usual stuff – Northern Harriers, Tundra Swans, and multiple species of ducks. All of a sudden, we came across a couple of large furry rodents feeding alongside the gravel drive.

Not a care in the world!

They were Nutria, a mother and a baby, happily munching away amongst the American Coots and Wilson’s Snipes that surrounded them. They didn’t seem to mind us getting out of the car for pictures, and when we did end up getting too close, they tried to bail into the water as Nutria are wont to do. There’s only one problem: that week, eastern North Carolina had seen somewhat unusual snow and cold temperatures, which meant the impoundments had all frozen over. So what did the Nutria do? Walk on the ice, of course!

This is going to work out well, I'm sure of it.

Both the mother and the baby tried walking on ice – I think the baby even fell in at one point, leading to an adorably hilarious attempt to get back onto the slippery surface, probably because the water was pretty darn cold. The mother, on the other hand, decided she’d had enough of us. With as much grace as a large rodent could possibly have on ice, she turned around and waddled to the canal on the other side of the road, never to be seen again.

Hey, who you lookin' at tough guy?!

Not sure which animal I’m gonna spotlight next, but I should let it be known that I saw two “lifer” mammals on that day at Lake Mattamuskeet… and the Nutria was by far merely second best!