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!

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. 

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!

The Most Interesting Hummingbird in the World

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Rather Blustery Day

Who’da thunk it? Just a month after James and I rushed down to Pinehurst for a beautiful male Western Tanager, I received a phone-call from Ali Iyoob apprising me of a second individual, a female – and pretty much in my own back yard. The bird had been coming to a feeder in northern Durham, but a combination of strong winds and extreme cold made me wonder whether the bird would survive the night. Nevertheless, the next morning I headed out with Mark and Nate to check out this awesome find, and we weren’t disappointed – almost immediately, a bird looking much like a giant goldfinch flew into a tree right in front of us, allowing for spectacular photos! Oh, wait…

Alas, we meet again - my old nemesis, Stick-Through-the-Face!

Nevermind that, it was only a fluke. The Western Tanager flew off from its perch across the street, but I would get my shot when it returned. In the meantime, we had plenty of bird life to occupy us as we waited in the cold and wind. American Goldfinches were plentiful, and several smart-looking Northern Cardinals chased each other around a small hedge. Then, without warning, a whole flock of birds flew in, including a saffron rocket that landed in the pine right above me – this was my chance, my one perfect shot!

Damn! Foiled again! What a dastardly foe...

Still, it was awesome to see this western species so close to home. As we left, we happened to glance at the feeder complex across the street. Among the multitude of House Finches stuffing their faces full of nyjer seed, we noticed an altogether raspberry bird, totally out of place even from a distance. Upon taking a closer look, we found ourselves looking at a male Purple Finch, a good bird this year considering the finch stock has been running low – I mean, how long has it been since you saw a Pine Siskin? Making the best of our morning, we ran around getting additional county ticks for everyone, including Hooded Mergansers for Mark and Mute Swan for myself. Still, nothing quite measured up to the little subdivision with two awesome birds.

All birding is relative - I've seen more Western Tanagers than Purple Finch this year!

But the day was still young; we had places to be and birds to see there! Mark and I parted ways from Nate and headed to the New Hope Waterfowl Impoundment – ordinarily it’s nothing special, but it was kind of on the way home and Mark wanted his Durham county Brown Creeper. We totally dipped on any sort of creeping birds, but on the cement causeway, we found a small cadre of Ruby-crowned Kinglets foraging along the swampy bottom. A little pishing here and a little playback there, and one of the males reared his namesake feathers and started going crazy.

He's got a better punk-rock 'do than Sid Vicious!

I was shocked at how brazen this little four-inch bird thought himself. He would occasionally forage on the trees around us, but he focused the bulk of his attention on the two humans in his territory. From his base of operations in a nearby bush, he’d make little sorties to buzz right by Mark, or check out the algae-filled no-man’s land between us. At one point, the comparatively tiny kinglet landed not three inches from my size-11 shoe, completely oblivious to the fact that I towered above him. At this distance, my camera couldn’t possibly auto-focus, but he hung out so close I had no problem snapping several dozen awesome shots.

To infinity, and... well honestly, like a foot away.

Eventually, the Ruby-crowned Kinglet ended his campaign, preferring to focus on food and females. Throughout the years, I’ve had many close calls with these boisterous little birds, but none have come so close I that could have stepped on them were I not careful. The whole experience was definitely one of the coolest of the day – and on a day that included a vagrant Western Tanager, that’s nothing to sneeze at!

Unless you happened to be allergic to kinglets, I guess!

The Duck Days of Winter

The sun blazed over the horizon as we sat huddled against the cold at the end of Johnny Mercer’s pier. Normally it’s a place you would scarcely give a second look. But every winter the pier is home to a large flock of Common Loons, which makes it a prime spot to scan for the rare Pacific Loon. In fact, the loon in question had been seen the previous day, which made sitting in the cold early on a Sunday morning all the more appealing. The day was shaping up to be gorgeous, which presented a problem for us birders – rather than staying close in by the pier, the loons were already far out to sea, making further identification impossible. Oh well, at least we were able to amuse ourselves with some obliging Ruddy Turnstones that ran around the pier nipping at bits of old fish.

This one kept running away while staying out of the perfect light... pretty sure it was mocking me.

After our failure at the pier, we decided to travel a scant mile down the road to check out the jetties that line Masonboro Inlet. At first it seemed like we were sunk – we arrived at the middle of high tide, and the low stone jetty was underneath several feet of water. I thought there’d be no way the little ducks would stick around, but sure enough the call went up that a trio of birds were riding the swells next to a pylon. Sure the light was bad, and the constant up and down motion made photography difficult, but there’s no mistaking the three little Harlequin Duck we saw that morning. Plus there were Great Cormorants and Purple Sandpipers on the nearby rocks, it’s like we were birding in the northeast or something!

Yeah, I know I used this last week... but it's my only decent shot!

As the day had been set aside for chasing rarities, we immediately headed for the Black-chinned Hummingbird I mentioned in last week’s post. But I’ve already gone over that bird in great detail, so after getting our bird we left for the nearby Oleander Memorial Gardens, a nice little cemetery that ordinarily wouldn’t seem too great for birds. Just, somebody had seen a Mottled Duck there recently, and as obligate chasers, we had to check it out. Upon arrival however, we found the pond filled with American Wigeon, Gadwall, and even a large Mute Swan, but no Mottled Duck. A couple of the nearby American Black Ducks had very yellow bills, but nothing could quite match our quarry. A single drake Redhead mingled amongst the other waterfowl, standing out like a beacon amongst a sea of relative uniformity.

I don't see Redheads nearly enough. Also, the ducks are nice too.

The day was almost up and we had to get going back to the Triangle, so we decided to check just one more spot – Greenfield Lake, a small recreational area near downtown Wilmington. We’d been hoping to find an Anhinga, but the rare winter visitor never materialized amid the dross of Ring-billed Gulls and nearly-domesticated Mallards. Among the Mallards, however, and not feet from the raucous park-goers, a pair of American Black Ducks made themselves right at home. Apparently they’d taken to the flock of Mallards during their wintertime interlude and found the plethora of free bread appealing. Normally it’s a species that’s pretty skittish, so it was nice to finally see them up close and personal.

Photography is actually incredibly difficult when your subject is less than three feet off!

The awesome black ducks couldn’t make up for the fact that we were Anhinga-less, even after trying to turn every other cormorant into something better. The sun shone low in the sky as I rolled up my sleeves to cope with the mid-70s weather. On a nearby bridge, we watched a beautiful male Great Egret, his plumes already grown in and his lores turning green. If that’s not a sign that spring is almost upon us, I don’t know what is.

The Archilochus Conundrum

For a number of weeks now, Bruce Smithson’s sugar feeder has been visited by two female-type Archilochus hummingbirds. One is almost certainly a female Ruby-throated Hummingbird – it shows a clean white underside and a straight, short bill. The other bird, however, looks slightly different. The breast area is slightly dusky, and the bill is longer and decurved. Michael McCloy, Ali Iyoob, and Matt Daw all went down to see the bird earlier this month, and after reviewing their pictures, I couldn’t be sure whether or not the bird was just an odd Ruby-throated. Mike maintained the bird’s identity, and said it was quite easy to identify because of its unique behavior. Apparently, the hummer would continuously pump its tail as it hovered at the feeder. The only Archilochus hummingbird to exhibit this behavior is the rare for North Carolina Black-chinned Hummingbird.

Not that I didn’t believe him, but I couldn’t imagine mere behavior separating two closely related species so obviously. Hummingbird expert Susan Campbell added more evidence against the Black-chinned identification in an email to the CarolinaBirds listserv. Tail pumping, she said, can be exhibited by coastal Ruby-throats as they attempt to steer in wind, and plumage can’t be properly ascertained because Archilochus hummingbirds molt at this time of the year. My spirits weren’t high when I drove up with Aaron and Kayla of Anywhere, Earth to check out the bird this past Sunday. I mean, after successfully having seen the three Harlequin Ducks at Masonboro Inlet, how could we possibly pass up this potential rarity a scant 15 minutes away?

Because yeah, that totally happened! My lame shot does not do these birds justice.

As we piled out of the car, we met Nate, Scott, and Mike, who’d already staked out their spots on Bruce’s lawn (and each of whom have their own blogs; what was this, some kind of blogging convention?). We enjoyed the yard birds and county ticks we all got, but we were really here for one bird and one bird only. While I watched a Brown Creeper making his way up a pine, I heard the tell-tale squeaks of a hummingbird, and watched a blurry shape rocket from a row of hedges. The bird hovered for a second, tail flicking sporadically, before perching itself on the rim of the feeder. This had to be the bird, I thought, it was doing the tail motion and everything! But common sense overruled – the bird was much too clean underneath, it’s bill far too straight. Merely a female Ruby-throated.

Remember what this bird looks like. It'll be important in about a paragraph or so.

Perhaps this identification was going to be more difficult than I thought; as I watched the female feed, she continued to flick her tail intermittingly. She seemed very skittish to me as she sat on the feeder, constantly looking around and finishing its meal in just seconds before buzzing off again. A second, male Ruby-throated Hummingbird also landed at the feeder, and again, it seemed quite cautious. No hummers visited the feeders for a good ten minutes after that, and I began to worry that this may turn into my second dip of the day (damn you Pacific Loon). Then, more squeaks, and another hummer zoomed over to the feeder. And man, she couldn’t have been more different.

Next time I'll have to find a male with a full-on gorget... but for now, this'll do.

The bird hovered for a good while before landing, its tail giving constant rhythmic pumps the entire time. It sat on the feeder and dipped its bill, totally unconcerned about the throng of birders watching it just yards away. She alighted, and just when I thought she’d flown off for good, the hummer returned to hovering and tail pumping, and then back down for more sugar water. The entire encounter lasted a solid thirty seconds, allowing us to pick apart its plumage, noting the dusky breast and the long, curved bill I’d been promised. Before long, the Black-chinned Hummingbird finished feeding and flew off towards her chosen perch. Before coming here, I really struggled to think that a hummer could appear so different just based on behavior, but now I’m a believer. Don’t take my word for it though – check out this sweet HD video I got of the little guy: 

Click through to Youtube for HD quality!

No longer having any doubt as to their identification, we left the hummers in peace. At this point, it was just after noon, and the day was young. We still had a couple spots to hit up, and some more awesome birds to see. Check back Saturday for ducks, ducks, and… well, more ducks!

#48: Yellow-crowned Night Heron - San Diego River, CA

In San Diego, pretty much every bird I saw was a lifer for me, including some birds I never thought I’d see. However, only two of the birds I found could be considered rare for the area, but there’s a problem – birds that are rare for San Diego are unfortunately common on the East Coast. One was an American Oystercatcher I found roosting at the Cabrillo Tide Pools, an area where Black Oystercatchers are far more common (never did find a Black, grrr). This is the other.

James and I pulled up to the San Diego River to find shorebirds swarming over the flats that formed in the low tide. Short-billed Dowitchers probed the mud while my lifer Marbled Godwits raced back and forth, occasionally dipping their heads for a bite. Upriver a couple hundred feet, we could see a large flock of Elegant Terns lounging around with a couple Caspians. We started walking down the bank to get a little closer, when I noticed a small gray wader on the close shore. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, but raising my binocs, I found myself looking at a Yellow-crowned Night Heron, a bird that’s not supposed to be here, and a lifer for James!

They may be rare in San Diego, but they breed every year in suburban Durham county!

Later, I learned that these night herons are part of a small colony that has only recently begun to colonize southern California. They’re still rare, but with enough time and effort you can certainly find some. Apparently they’ve taken to nesting in the nearby Sea World, so perhaps they’ll stick around for some time. Either way, it’s certainly the most cooperative Yellow-crowned Night Heron I’ve ever seen, and to this day, it remains the bird I recollect when I look at its tick on my life list.

A Bird In The Hand Is Worth A Dovekie In The Bush

As the old saying goes, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. That is, what you have is not worth sacrificing for something that merely could be better. The adage is used as a cautionary tale, but today, as James and I birded the Outer Banks on his way back to William and Mary, I learned that this proverb may, in fact, be totally wrong.

As James and I passed over the Bonner Bridge, we noticed a bunch of cormorants hanging out on a couple of roped pylons just offshore in the placid, glass-like waters of the Pamlico Sound. Scoping them out, I found a Great Cormorant towering over its numerous Double-crested cousins.

“Hey, we should photograph the Great! It’s in pretty good light right now,” I shouted over to James, who was already checking out the mergansers in the small bay.

“No,” he maintained. “I’d rather see what’s out at the end of the jetty.” Fair enough. After yesterday’s strong winds topped 20 mph, I couldn’t refuse a day of sea-watching across a calm Atlantic Ocean scarcely able to create a single white-capped wave.

Walking around the stone wall that lined the bay, James noticed a rustling in the nearby grass. “What do you think it is?” he asked. Several birds called from just inside the chest-height blades.

“I dunno,” I replied. “I hear a Savannah Sparrow and a Towhee in there.” It had to be one of those. Towhees especially are well known for turning over the undergrowth with their legs, looking for food. But because most birds hop around, their rustling often sounds rhythmical, unlike this. This sounded random.

“It sounds like a mammal,” James said. It would make sense. We’d seen some cotton rats recently, and their skittering through fields and briers sounded pretty similar. “I think I can see it,” he continued. “Take a step into the reeds, you should be able to flush it towards me.”

As I advanced, the Savannah Sparrow and Eastern Towhee both flushed past James, landing in the dunes on the other side. I couldn’t locate the source of the sound, but I could definitely hear it again.

“I see it!” James exclaimed. “It’s a… bird?”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s black and white… like a Razorbill. I’m not sure what it is though!”

As I continued into the tall grass, I finally saw the source of the rustling. Flailing around on the ground in front of me, unable to fly, was an unmistakably tiny Dovekie, a rare little auk scarcely larger than the common Northern Cardinal. Assuming it had a hurt wing, I picked it up so it wouldn’t become food for a feral cat, or some native predator.

I'm probably one of only a few people ever to hold their lifer Dovekie!

James and I rejoiced in our find, and called out to a passing group of birders. They knew the name of a wildlife rehabber we could take the bird to. But one of them came up with an alternative theory.

“You know, it could’ve overshot the ocean with these winds we’ve been having. Maybe it just can’t take off?”

I hadn’t thought of that possibility, but he was right. Like grebes and loons, Dovekies and most other auks have their webbed feet set far back on their body. As obligate divers, a Dovekie’s feet and wings work in perfect synergy, allowing them to swiftly locate and capture prey underwater; however, in order to take off, they have to get a running start before there’s enough air over their wings for flight.

I call this one, "As Close As You Can Get To A Dovekie Without Getting Wet".

I’d been restraining the bird’s wings so it wouldn’t flap and perhaps injure itself further, but upon moving my hand, the Dovekie gave several strong flaps, its wings slapping against my extended arms. The bird certainly seemed healthy, so we cautiously walked over the large rocks that divided the parking lot from the bay, and headed down to the beach.

When I say it's a small bird, I mean it's tiny. At least, compared to me it is!

Surrounded by birders as if it were some kind of ceremony, I carefully placed the Dovekie on the packed sand just a couple feet from the gently lapping waters of the Atlantic. James was going to try and photograph it in situ on the beach, but as soon as I let go my hands, the bird pattered its feet across the sand and seamlessly continued into the ocean before finally alighting. The bird flapped its stubby wings for all their worth and before we could comprehend what happened, the bird had flown around side of the Oregon Inlet jetty and out of sight.

Sure it's blurry, but it remains the only record of my "Free Willy" moment.

After parting ways with the passing birders (who, it turned out, shared pretty much our exact birding agenda for the day), James and I decided to walk the length of the jetty and see if perhaps the Dovekie had decided to grab a quick bite to eat in the breakers off the point. Along the way, I heard an odd sound that made me turn around – but there was nothing. I heard it again – puff! – and this time I could see the dorsal fin of a Bottlenose Dolphin breach the surface not fifty feet away! But not just one – a whole pod of dolphins made its way down the jetty rocks, surfacing to exhale every so often, all of them very close. What a sight to behold!

And it was low tide too! Must've been shallow out there!

Reaching the end of the jetty, we found a whole load of nothing. Apparently, the windless day meant that pelagic birds could spend their time far out at sea, and even the formerly common Northern Gannets were relegated to white specks over a mile offshore. So we turned around, noting more dolphins on the way (can I reiterate, awesome?) but nothing else of note. Once we returned to the parking lot, James noticed the cormorants remained on the pylons, and sure enough the Great Comorant stuck around too. We got our photograph and retreated for the car to plan the rest of our excursion.

Large and in charge.

So, at least today, the old “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush” phrase ended up being totally untrue. We had our bird, we left it, and we got a better one. As it turns out, in fact, a bird in the hand is worth exactly one awesome Dovekie.

Would that be Accidental or Occidental?

The bird had apparently been coming to Marjorie’s house in Pinehurst for a month or so. Being very busy during the holidays, as most of us are, she didn’t have much time to check it out thoroughly, and assuming he was an oriole, she put half an orange out for him on the feeder set-up. Weeks passed, and the orange remained uneaten. Instead, the bird continued visiting her peanut feeder, and after snapping a couple pictures with her point and shoot, she brought over Michael McCloy to check out the bird and confirm her suspicions. Sure enough, they were looking at a bright male Western Tanager, a bird of the Rockies and the Pacific Coast, and a bird off-course by several thousand miles.

Having spent several weeks out in California and coming up empty on the tanager front, I knew this chase was happening. Heck, it’s only an hour and a half away, and James really wanted to see the bird after finding out it was a nice male, and not one of the drab females that usually grace our state. So this morning, we made a bee-line for Pinehurst, and after Marjorie graciously allowed us inside her house, we waited intently while the sunlight danced around her birdless feeders, hoping that if the tanager did show up, it would land at the right moment. Then, a flurry of activity – out of nowhere, Blue Jays drank from the nearby bath, Pine Warblers and Chickadees ate out of the seed feeders; even a Northern Flicker popped up to the feeder closest to the window. And right in the middle of her platform feeder filled with peanuts, a golden bird with a wash of crimson to his head. The Western Tanager positively glowed in the morning sun.

The bird stuck around for a full ten seconds, which is like 9.5 seconds longer than
it had ever stuck around before!

Having allocated several extra hours in case the tanager decided to be timid, James and I decided to visit the nearby Weymouth Woods Nature Preserve. If you recall, we visited last summer to try and find its most famous residents, the colony of Red-cockaded Woodpeckers that call the preserve home. Of course, last summer we also got totally skunked on the birds, and I’d almost totally written off Weymouth Woods as a potential spot to find the endangered woodpeckers. This morning, however, I watched several dozen Brown-headed Nuthatches work their way through the pines they enjoy so much, when all of a sudden from the middle of the flock, I heard an odd whark! near the base of one of the trees. I assumed it was just one of the nuthatches making an uncharacteristic noise, but as I neared a larger bird flew up to a nearby pine, and the pattern of black and white bars across the back meant could only mean one thing – a beautiful Red-cockaded Woodpecker, and not fifty feet from my car!

Even at this distance I can't see the red cockades. I'm convinced they don't exist!

The woodpecker flew down one of the trails, stopping every so often to check out a pine and hammer away at a couple bugs. Suddenly, I heard another whark! come from behind me, and a second Red-cockaded joined the first. Within minutes, whark!s started sounding from every corner of the forest, and the Red-cockaded Woodpeckers started streaming in from previously unseen perches. There must have been something like 10 or 15 birds in all, every one working their way from pine to pine, starting at the bottom and sidling up until they’d rid the tree of insects. At one point, I had five of these so-called “rare” woodpeckers working the same spot on the tree, as if they were butterflies swarming over a salt puddle.

Despite the Red-cockadeds, we ended the day with 6 woodpecker sp. So close!

After following the flock for a good half mile or so, one of the birds finally decided to sit up near the light for us (for some reason, Red-cockaded Woodpeckers seem to prefer the shady side of trees). With that, it seemed like we’d gotten everything these Sandhills could have possibly offered us on this cool January morning. We stopped back by Marjorie’s to see if the tanager had shown up again (it had, just once), and we checked the local golf course rather unsuccessfully for Fox Squirrels. All in all though, I think we nailed this morning. If only birding could be this awesome every day!

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!