Bird brained stories!

Birding....The Next Generation!

2011-04-08T11:12:00.004-05:00

Recently, I became the "owner" of abundant free time. Yesterday I used some of that free time to take my 19 month old grandson, Angelo, for a little birding field trip. He was given the cool Fisher Price binoculars once owned by his father...yes, they really work!...and we set off into the LaCrosse River Marsh. This is a great area to introduce children to birds and birding, because it's fairly certain they'll see birds, and often up close.

The water was predictably high from the recent snowmelt and minor flooding, but the trails were still above water. Off we went! Of course, we didn't get very far. There were Red Winged Blackbirds right there! I showed him how I used my binoculars to bring the birds up close. He first wanted to put the eyepiece to his mouth, but that is the nature of some toddlers with anything new. Finally he got the idea and....the photo shows his reaction.

From there, we spotted the ever present Canada Geese. We were able to get several close to water's edge looks at muskrats before they dove under and away. I was amazed that by getting down behind him, speaking in hushed tones and pointing out a Great Blue Heron, that he kept that same attitude and got nice long looks before it lifted up from the weeds.

He would mimic certain bird calls... Canada Geese, Tree Swallows and Red Winged Blackbirds...as he watched their activities. At one point, two geese on the trail in front of us got into a squabble with another pair and he was ready to rush in to referee. First lesson of birding..."Angelo, no, geese are MEAN!" Surprising how fast little feet can go when they have a mission!

The child knows quality, too. He wanted to look through my binoculars, and after that...the Fisher Price ones came off and dumped on the trail!

All told, we were probably out there almost two hours. When he'd tired of looking at birds, he found a nice pile of rocks to throw into the water, an activity that he relished for almost half an hour. Though he's spent time before with Grandma pointing out birds by name, this was his first real birding outing. Interestingly, the only thing he actually calls "bird" is an American Robin. He'll figure it out.

One last bird.....

2010-01-14T19:13:00.002-06:00

Birding for me has been so local that other than the endless Chickadees, Cardinals and Blue Jays, I feel like there's not much for me to share. Sure, I had the great good fortune in the spring to take part in the WSO field trip to see the Kirtland's Warblers, after which we hit a field with lots of shorebirds to add to The List. I think I was in such a haze for so long after that, I had nothing to say here besides...aaah!

Reports in the final days of the year kept tempting me from across the state, though. A Black-Legged Kittiwake was being seen in Port Washington, clear across the state. Should I? Or shouldn't I? I hadn't really chased any birds since the Green Breasted Mango that showed up in Beloit a couple years ago. I'd passed on so many possibilities, but maybe just this once, I could go look for another new bird.

Why not? I was able to make a reservation for a bed and breakfast near West Bend, heading out right after work, along those wonderfully dark two lane highways between here and there. I was ready for the fireplace and the fluffy duvet once I arrived at my overnight home.

Taking a leisurely pace, with coordinates for endless geocaches loaded into my GPSr in case I whiffed on the kittiwake, I headed the rest of highway 33 to Lake Michigan. While heading toward the canal, I looked up over my head, not more than 10 feet, and what do I see? Good grief, it was that easy?

I spent a good hour or more enjoying this young bird, far from its normal haunts, as it enjoyed the easy pickings from the fishermen. Chatting with one of the fishermen, he wanted to know what the heck all us binocular people were looking at anyway. He laughed and said, "Well, guess I look at him differently, cause he keeps stealing my catch!"

The year certainly was not a Big Year, or even a medium sized year for me. That's okay. I enjoyed each and every bird that let me visit, ending with a very modest life bird list of 233 North American birds. No one needs to worry about me passing them up. I take my time, observe their behavior and take photos if I'm lucky. This coming year, I will finally get to add Common Puffin to my list, a bird I've long wanted to see, and have been in places where I should have seen them, but didn't. Not taking any chances when I travel to St. Johns, Newfoundland and Labrador. We're booking a whale and puffin cruise!

Here's to good birding in the new decade.

Incidental birding

2008-07-21T15:21:00.002-05:00

It's been a summer of activities that allow me to view birds, but not pursue them. Perhaps we enjoyed the rattling calls of Belted Kingfishers leading us down the Little Eau Claire River as we paddled, or had close enounters with Turkey Vultures as we stood atop a high point in Lansing Iowa, overlooking the Mississippi River.
Maybe it's just been looking out my kitchen window as I cooked, enjoying the garden variety birds that hang out nearby.

Doesn't matter....even though I haven't pursued bird sightings lately as in the past, I find that understanding their behavior, knowing their songs and calls and being alert to their presence adds to my enjoyment of the world outdoors. Wouldn't it be wonderful if everyone found their particular nature passion, whether it be birds, snakes, trees or any of the many other delights that await us? If we can only appreciate what's out there to teach us, perhaps the assault on our environment could be turned. It's easy to dismiss "birds," less so, " a lone Whooping Crane on the flowage."

Spirit guide or happy coincidence?

2008-02-21T08:23:00.005-06:00

Lady Pileated struts her stuff as we searched for letterbox hybrids in Brown County

While I love any bird with which I'm sharing oxygen, one bird, it seems, has become a personal totem or spirit guide for me. I've always been especially partial to Pileated Woodpeckers. Who isn't? Their huge size, their ability to soar, pterodactyl-like, over our head in the woods, vanishing on sight while laughing at us, are all the makings of a fun kind of bird. If you've read this blog, you know I've written about my encounters with Pileateds more than once.

Lately, I've begun to understand the idea of spirit guides and how they come to us. While I am not a person whose culture or belief system embraces such things, my experiences with these birds have shown me the way. My husband, a non-birder, has learned to identify the raucous calls of these birds, and to expect that if we hear them, he can plan on stopping whatever it is we're doing until I spot it. It's that simple. Every successful marriage is based on the partners' abilities to accept and adjust to the quirks of each other, and this is one of them.

This moves beyond quirkiness. When I've been privileged to have very close or special encounters with these birds, it seems they happen at times when I need signs or reassurance. The very close encounter, accompanied by dead camera batteries, came at a time when life had thrown me some hard stuff, and that moment gave me a chance to remove my thoughts, if only briefly, from those challenges and be truly in the moment. As my husband and I have been sucked deeper into the geocaching world, we've sought out those caches that take us to wonderful new places, hiking up the side of felsenmeers or canoeing along riverways. As we've done so, a Pileated will often call nearby. It seems to correlate with those hunts we expect to be most challenging, the ones where the dreaded "did not find" might be the end result. Every....single....time; if the Pileated calls, we make those difficult finds. I looked for one along the Wisconsin River near Portage last month, one that had not been found in months and that was buried under a thick blanket of snow and at least a half inch of ice. As I threw snow and freed deadfalls from the chokehold of ice, I heard that happy laugh...just as I was about to put an end to almost an hour's worth of searching. That gave me the incentive to press on, and sure enough....there was the cache.

My spirit guide goes beyond being a lucky charm for a treasure hunting game. Recently, I had a health scare. I had to go in for tests in the morning, and they wanted me to come in later that afternoon for more tests. It was troublesome to make the drive home, as I'd just be turning around and coming back. I chose to hike some trails overlooking the city that had not been hiked by any but the deer in quite some time. Not one, but two Pileateds, probably a nesting pair seeking a suitable nest site, were calling each other....and following me up the side of the bluff to the ridge top and beyond. I took their presence as a hopeful sign.

I was right. My health scare was just that, a scare.

Though I'd suspected it for a long time, that experience cemented in my mind that Pileated Woodpeckers are truly my spirit guide, appearing at those times when I need one, providing reassurance that my path is true.

I'd love to hear others' stories of their animal guides. Share them in the comments, and thanks for visiting.

Doing the Mango

2007-09-30T08:58:00.000-05:00

Is there a birder alive who does not love hummingbirds? Heck, even non-birders love them, just take a look at any mail order catalog and see how many items are hummingbird-themed. Living in the eastern half of the United States, I enjoy Ruby-Throated Hummingbirds. Period. There have been vagrants coming into the area, but time and distance never allowed me to "chase" them. I'm not a bird-chaser by nature, anyway. Ninety-nine percent of the birds on my not-big life list have been seen right in my own three county birding territory. I like it that way. I might not see a huge variety, but I get to know the birds of my neighborhood well, and can visit throughout the season and watch as they move through their annual cycle of nesting, raising young and migrating, if they are so inclined. I've been greatly influenced by a comment made by Kenn Kaufman in The Kingbird Highway. Near the end of his year of birding the country, he caught himself in a reflective moment, realizing that he was racing to count the birds without taking the time to get to know them. Still......

Reports started coming in from the Wisconsin Birding Network of an immature Green Breasted Mango, endemic to Costa Rica, that was visiting feeders in a yard in Beloit. Even better, the homeowners were very willing to allow birders to come visit. Driving three hours, burning fossil fuels....these fly in the face of my personal birding ethics. But....it's an exotic hummingbird! One that has only been recorded 15 times above the border, most of those along the Texas border.

I wrestled with my birding ethics and decided that I'd go. Part of Wisconsin birding history and all that. Problem was, it didn't seem like any day was opportune. The first weekend after the report, we'd already made plans to go north to help my husband's parents with some fall chores. Granted, we enjoyed breathtaking fall colors while hiking several of the falls in search of geocaches. Ravens and Pileated Woodpeckers were giving long open looks. We even had great looks at two different Timber Wolves; one even howled for us. It was grand indeed, but that was two days with no chance for a trip to Beloit.

Each school day offered some new challenge to a personal day as well. Faculty meeting. New preschool student starting. Sure, I could have taken a day, but there are work ethics, too. Finally, Friday seemed to be a day I could take off. Lots of my students were on field trips, anyway, no duty, no meetings....I was off! Not knowing for sure if it was still being seen, I planned out some geocaches to do on the way there and back. It was still burning fossil fuels, but the rationalization said that along with seeing this rarity, I was getting DeLorme pages for a geocaching challenge. Saving gas instead of burning it to meet the challenge. As I said, rationalization.

I arrived at the home and noted not too many vehicles along the road. Heading up behind the hostess's home, I saw a cluster of people facing an orchard behind the homes. Lifting my binoculars, even at a distance, I could see it...a huge hummingbird with a curved bill, perched high on an apple tree!

I spent the next two hours in the company of birders who'd come from Chicago and St. Paul. One of the Chicago birders had just purchased a very nice scope, and generously offered us its use to get even closer views. When I arrived, the Mango had apparently just finished bathing, as its feathers were very ruffled and it spent time preening. It put itself into positions worthy of a contortionist as it smoothed and rearranged its jewel-like feathers. Every so often, it would fly up, then alight. Each time, it kept its back to us, though a few times, it turned enough to allow a view of the cinnamon wash on the sides of its breast. For one brief moment, it gave a full frontal view, allowing a quick look at that center stripe with hints of blue. Always, we had excellent views of those deep purple tailfeeathers.

Over the next couple hours, it followed a pattern that became predictable. From the orchard, it would head to a basswood tree in the yard, picking insects from the treetop. It flew from there to the feeder, long enough for folks to snap a few photos, never perching as it fed. From there, it would head into a maple tree near the feeders, perch momentarily as if to allow its snack to settle, then zoom off to the orchard again. At one point, it zoomed right through our little group on its way to the orchard, a miniature B-52 buzzing the crowd!

As I chatted with the ladies from Chicago, one made the comment that she, too, did not know for sure if the Mango was still here before she left to travel. She had told herself that if she saw it, that would be grand, but if it had gone, that would also be grand. I had thought the same exact thing. When these gems wander so far afield of their habitat, the prognosis for them is grim. Although this little celebrity bird has brought joy to folks coming here from Alaska, Georgia, Arizona and West Virginia, that joy is overshadowed by the thought that if it can't find its way back to Central America soon, the story will have a sad ending.

Yes, I'm glad I had a chance to share that joy with birders from all over, but I still can't help but wonder----all these reports of birds showing up in places they shouldn't be; what does this signal for our fragile planet? When we're out in remote areas hiking, I often find our way back out by listening for the birds I heard on the way in. My husband thinks I'm whacked, but it works every time. If he were out there alone, I'd never see him again! Certain birds will be found in certain places and I've learned to know where those places will be. Let's hope that like my own navigation system, this little bird suddenly realizes that he's not hearing the right birds, and should be in a certain place, far from Wisconsin. Still, many of us are thrilled that he chose to follow an old state tourism slogan to "escape to Wisconsin."

Visits of the season....

2007-09-11T18:06:00.000-05:00

Nuthatches have always struck me as one of the cutest birds out there. Truth be told, pretty much any perching bird qualifies as "cute" in my mind, but Nuthatches are just so darn jaunty and perky. Any bird that can charge down a treetrunk head first over and over again has to be a top contender in the "cute" contest. For the past few weeks, I've been enjoying a double dose of cuteness in my yard.

White Breasted Nuthatches live in my yard year round. They, like many other birds, make themselves scarce during the nesting season but return once the kids are grown up and moved out. A couple weeks ago, I was in the house when I heard a call from the pine grove that could have doubled for the Little Nash Rambler of song. Could it be?

Sure enough, the Red Breasted Nuthatches have been making themselves at home for the time being, doing battle with the bigger White Breasted for the seed feeders. Both seem to prefer the sunflower seeds, grabbing one, flying off and then stashing it elsewhere. While hanging clothes on the line today, they were constantly darting to the nearby tree, then to the feeder and off to another tree, repeating this sequence over and over. At one point, I saw two Red Breasteds, and for all I know, there's a gang of them back in those pines. However many there may be, I'm glad they've stopped and stayed for awhile, giving me the chance to enjoy their absolute cuteness, right down to their toy car horn call.

Feathers from heaven?

2007-08-28T14:28:00.000-05:00

Fair warning; this post will contain nothing of objective scientific observation. Instead, it wanders into what my storytelling friends call "woo woo" territory. Be forewarned.

One of the joys of having varied interests can also be one of the frustrations. Though passionate about birds, bordering to the point of obsession, I do have other things I enjoy doing as well. One of them is geocaching, which does get me out adventuring in the wilderness, but since this is an activity shared with my peripatetic husband, any birding has to happen incidentally. We've been doing a lot of geocaching this summer, thus my serious birding activities have been on a downswing.

My other big passion and sometimes job, as regular readers may recall, is storytelling. In fact, with one exception, all my close friends are also storytellers. I have found myself combining these two passions into a little niche market. I've collected or created a series of stories that entertain while educating the listeners about various aspects of birds and the lives they lead. You want a storyteller who can fit your "Wing Ding" theme for a park event? I'm your girl. I'm pretty adamant that any stories for such venues, though they can have birds that talk and such other elements of imagination, maintain accuracy about the birds and their behavior.

Given that, what comes next is where things enter into the realm of woo woo. Last Friday, a dear friend passed from this world to the next. It was very sudden and all too quick. Symptoms first appearing in a fabulously healthy person on July 1, passing quietly on August 24. I'd been holding her close in my thoughts since her journey began, and was visiting family in northern Wisconsin when the word came Friday evening.

Saturday morning, my husband, his brother and I set out for a geocaching marathon throughout the forests and lakes of the Nicolet National Forest. I had my birding gear along, knowing that if anything interesting came by, my husband was sufficiently entertained by his brother for me to wander off with binoculars in hand. Almost right away, as we headed into the woods, a flash and a chuckling sound caught my eye. I was off. Camera in hand, I put my new found skills in "pishing" to work, calling in a family group of curious Gray Jays. These birds don't live near me, so I was delighted to have good looks at these "camp robbers." Even more delightful, one paused long enough to give me a quizzical sidelong glance while I took a photo.

I saw and enjoyed other birds throughout the day. When we returned home Sunday night, I was delighted to hear the whinny calls of an Eastern Screech Owl late at night outside. I have not heard them near my home before, and it led me out into my backyard late at night in my pjs, looking up at the stars and hoping for a shadowy flight across the sky.

Today, as I sat writing my tribute to my friend Leanne on my storytelling blog, just as I put my final touches on it before hitting "publish," something outside my window caught my attention. A female hummingbird was at my feeder! I typically don't have them coming until this time of year, but still, the timing of her first appearance of the season struck me as more than coincidence. My friend Leanne knew well my fixation for things avian. She regularly sent me horrible birdy puns and helped me in my search for "real" bird stories when I was developing my program. I just can't help but think that these birds, whose wings bring them closer to heaven, were messengers to grab my attention, Leanne's way of letting me know that everything is fine and we'll tell stories together again one day. Leanne, we all miss you down here already, and thanks for sending those birds my way. Till we meet again......

New life, new hope....

2007-06-18T14:52:00.000-05:00

Reports have trickled in about two, possibly three female Kirtland's Warblers nesting at an undisclosed location in central Wisconsin. The Kirtland's is a highly endangered songbird, nesting in carefully managed jackpine forests near Greyling Michigan...until now. For a number of years, birders have seen and heard singing males, some not far from my own birding territory. The birding community has long held that where there are singing males, interested females will soon follow. Last week, the news was released. One of the females was sitting on a nest of four eggs. The birding community is celebrating, and I hope that we can continue to celebrate as forest management practices create suitable nesting habitat for these birds.

In the meantime, I will happily accept this intimate view of family life of one such family that nested in the neighbor's drainpipe. Loud, flashy and boistrous, this view reminds me that they're parents, too. Celebrate this fact and enjoy the birds close at hand. Reports are suggesting some of these, too, are declining. Be reminded that though we might take birds like the Blue Jay or the Eastern Meadowlark for granted in our landscape, our choices as individuals and communities do matter.

Into the forest

2007-05-16T16:49:00.000-05:00

In fairytales, girls who wander into the forest often face challenges, even danger. They lose their way. Maybe it's the storyteller in me seeking to live a fairytale that led me out into the forest this morning. Maybe I just wanted to lose myself.

There is an enchanted forest not far from home that I love to explore, especially in the springtime. The trails meander up and down the slope through prairie, sumac and honeysuckle stands, hardwoods of oak and hickory, leading through rocky outcrops that rise up out of the earth. Spring ephemerals glow in the morning sunlight; mayflowers, nodding trillium, Jack-in-the-pulpit mingle with hillside carpets of tall ferns. For watching birds, it is sublime; one can stand and look up the hill and see what's calling from the underbrush or look at treetop warblers from above. This morning, the forest was alive with the music of birds, especially Tennessee Warblers. At every turn, three or four of them were singing from the treetops, trying to own their space. At the edges, the "bee buzz" of Blue Winged Warblers could be heard. Deep in the forest, the strange call of the Veery preceded its rare appearance, bird of the forest floor that it is.

Rose Breasted Grosbeaks seemed to be everywhere, and though the leaf cover of the forest made photography a challenge, somehow I was rewarded with views of one nabbing his breakfast. A pair of Grosbeaks was seen together, allowing a good look at the difference between the boys and the girls of this species.

At one point, the calls of a pair of Pileated Woodpeckers grabbed my attention. They always do. While waiting to see how close they would come, it seemed that the birds of the forest close by exploded around me, dropping practically to eye level on all sides, their singing intensified as if to draw my view back to them.

I wandered, enjoying the sense of being lost in the woods, though I knew that eventually I'd find my way back to the blufftop prairie. The only real danger I faced was the strong desire to simply stay where I stood, amidst the ferns and stands of red pine, smelling the life of the forest floor and scent of honeysuckle, birdsong swirling about my head. As in most fairytales, the spell was eventually broken and I returned to life as I usually know it. Still, as I wandered the aisles of Target, my imagination was hearing not the Muzak of the PA system, but the music of the forest. Ahhh!

They're back!

2007-05-08T19:17:00.000-05:00

It's been a long winter in so many ways for me. The weather doesn't typically stop me from getting out and enjoying the natural world and the feathered friends who inhabit it, but this past year, other things have. With spring full upon us, I could take it no more. I was out on the marsh trails by 8AM this morning, and it felt good!

My time watching birds has been scarce for so long, I needed to spend time remembering how to even look for them. I forget that the warblers and other migrants aren't going to just perch in front of me most of the time--although this Palm Warbler was fairly obliging. Like these active insectivores themselves, I found my eyes at first darting here and there through the leafy canopy, only to see nothing but leaves. I had to remind myself to stop, watch and listen. Once I remembered that, I was richly rewarded. So many Baltimore Orioles! American Redstarts! My first Common Yellowthroat of the season. The Yellow-Headed Blackbirds croaking away, with the Soras and Pied Billed Grebes adding to the weird chorus from the water nearby.

I parked myself on a fallen tree to wait quietly to see what would appear. The chorus of songs was loud, varied and almost too much to bear. Trying to pick out one song over the others yielded way to just enjoying nature's symphony. The frogs added to the effect, shrouded as it all was in just a faint early morning fog over the still water of the wetlands.

An entire morning, slowly roaming the trails and deer paths to see and hear what has returned at last...this is therapy far better than shopping. Songs silenced since nesting last summer are returning to the woods, wetlands and fields. Today was an eleven warbler day for me. Take some time to get outside and enjoy this all too fleeting season in the cycle of life.

Birding is soul food

2007-04-21T09:09:00.000-05:00

It's been a long time since I can say I've actually been out birding. I've looked for birds while doing other things, like geocaching, but as far as actually going out into the field, binoculars at the ready with the express purpose of observing---long, long time. Life has gotten in the way the past few months, I'm afraid. Yesterday I finally got out there again, just to bird---in foreign habitat.

I was hired to do a storytelling program in the little town of Vesper Wisconsin on Thursday night. I decided that rather than drive home after dark, risking collision with deer, I'd treat myself to a bed and breakfast stay, then spend Friday birding the Buena Vista Grasslands. I've been there once before, to sit in the bird blinds and watch the spectacle of the Greater Prairie Chickens. This time, I'd see what else this area had to offer up.

As I pulled off the minimum maintenance road to wander down a trail in the middle of the prairie, a sense of near helplessness hit me. I haven't really been birding in so long, remembering most effective use of my binoculars came slowly. Listening for birds needed to be relearned. On top of all that, this is habitat that is so different from the wetland, forest/bluff and river habitats with which I'm so familiar. How do I look for these birds on this wide open landscape?

I assured myself that I'd find them, and reminded myself of my goal as a birder; not to see lots of birds, but to see the birds well. I started off doing just that, as a bird flew to a treetop and sang. Knowing it was some sort of sparrow, and thinking by the song it might be new to me, I spent close to 30 minutes with it, watching and photographing. My conclusion? A Song Sparrow with a varied song! So much for new birds, but maybe approaching every bird as if it's new yields rewards. Would I have spent so much time with it, had I realized right away it was "common?"

I managed to flush a Prairie Chicken as I walked slowly along the trail. Sandhill Cranes could be heard bugling all around me. Meadowlarks, too, including Western Meadowlarks. That was a new bird for me, but I couldn't find it to see it! I spent much time on that task, enjoying Savannahs and Grasshoppers singing as I searched. At last I did get a good look at a singing Western Meadowlark.

I wandered about the grasslands this way, eventually stopping to look at other places along the road. At my last stop, along one of the drainage ditches placed in the area, I was about ready to head home. Middle of the day, the birds are quiet. Something compelled me to keep on walking, though. Along the drainage ditch, a huge mound of dirt had been built up and overgrown, creating a long berm. I decided to see what I could see from that vantage point. Further down the ditch, a Sandhill Crane was feeding. There was a little bridge behind him, making for quaint pictures, so I continued to slowly advance, snapping with each stop.

As I closed to about a city block's distance, something along the banks caught my eye. Another crane stretched her neck out. His mate on her nest! I'd taken numerous photos with her in the frame, not even seeing her until she moved. I didn't move any closer once I realized she was on her nest, but enjoyed the chance to really observe.

Walking out to my car and heading home at last, I reflected on how relaxed and fulfilled I was feeling. It's been a long time away, and perhaps the lesson I've learned is that even if life throws us nasty curve balls, we need to find a way to make time for those things that feed our soul.

Why the nesting crane is so difficult to see

Spring might really be here at last....

2007-04-14T20:49:00.000-05:00

Why am I looking at wildflowers on a birding blog? you might well ask. If you're a birder living in the middle of North America, as I am, you would understand. After another unseasonably warm early winter, snow arrived here with a vengeance--record snowfalls--in early March. We were tempted a few weeks back with some unseasonably warm weather, only to be socked with nasty cold winds and yes, more snow this past week. My early daffodils were buried in it.

Now, I know as a birder, we tend to be a hardy lot, going out in all manner of weather. Still, when things keep getting turned upside down, it's sometimes easier to just look out the window at the feeders and call it a day.

No choice of that for me today, however. Today was the annual crane count, and I'd signed on to take a site again. A couple days ago when the ground was again covered in snow, I questioned the wisdom of such philanthropic use of my time at 5:30AM.

I needn't have worried. The snow has melted and the earth is slowly warming at last. My site is accessed from a cemetery with a trail to the LaCrosse River Bike Trail. I spend hours and hours on this trail in the warmer months, biking to this very spot and then watching all that nature has to offer in these wetlands. This morning, walking in by flashlight, my sensory experience was at first auditory. Peepers calling tentatively, robins and other chirpy birds singing. An American Woodcock peenting over there! No skydance, but I'll check again one evening soon. Winnowing Snipe, then on cue at 5:45AM, three unison calling pairs of Sandhill Cranes around me.

The view was almost mystical. A sliver of a moon reflected in the mirrored surface of the marsh, fog rising from it. The horizon just barely tinged with deep pink. One of those moments that reminds you that sometimes it pays to get up when normal people are still deep in REM sleep. All the birdsong, long forgotten since last fall, gave hope that spring was really here at last. If that wasn't reminder enough, I later discovered this Round-leafed Hepatica blooming near a frog pond as we searched for a geocache. Some of the birds are already back, others returning. It's here at last.

I and the Bird #45 goes to a party!

2007-03-21T19:57:00.000-05:00

Jayne of Journey Through Grace takes us to her 45th birthday party as she hosts the latest edition of I and the Bird. Join her in blowing out the candles and unwrapping the gifts of some of the best bird blogging out there! Happy Birthday, Jayne!

The last winter bird?

2007-03-18T09:05:00.000-05:00

The record snowfall is already receding, swelling to flood stage many of the valley rivers and streams common to coulee country. We enjoyed some spring-like weather earlier in the week, though it's returned to the 30s the past few days.

Still, signs of spring in the form of migrating birds appear every day. The Robins and Kildeers are back. Raptors are streaming north along the river, Turkey Vultures are returning to clear our roadsides of all the roadkill. I saw a Song Sparrow the other day at the Kickapoo Valley Reserve Visitors Center and heard one singing yesterday.The Peregrines were sailing over downtown LaCrosse last weekend, checking out the nest box on the US Bank building. Sandhills are returning, as are some of the Whooping Cranes. And early morning, I am again wakened by the chorus of singing birds outside my window. It's coming!

Lone Horned Lark

I captured this Horned Lark on a day when the snow was just starting to melt. I often see them on this road as I travel to work, but this particular day, I wasn't working, so I was free to stop. I was pleased to confirm the presence along with about 50 Horned Larks of some Lapland Longspurs. I knew they had to be out there, but now could legitimately add them to my life list. As I reviewed this photo the other day, I thought to myself that this might well be my last "winter" bird, as they head back north.

Not quite. Walking the dog yesterday afternoon, I enjoyed hearing that tinkling call, then watching one fly over to the next vacant field. Maybe that will be the last winter bird, but I don't mourn. If it is, it means that the excitement of spring migration isn't far off.

Postscript-I noticed that this day's posting is exactly my two year anniversary of starting this blog. Thanks for stopping by and sharing your thoughts in the comments these past two years!

Close Encounters of the Bird Kind

2007-03-10T09:03:00.000-06:00

Winter finally arrived with a vengeance here in coulee country, but it will be short-lived. It always is. For that reason, I leave my cross country skis in my car, ready to go out whenever I have the chance, and wherever I might be. I have learned that because winter is fickle and fleeting here, if I want to ski, I might not have time to get to the "good" ski trails before it's gone. The other day, I headed out to one of our large county parks that sits right along the Mississippi River to do a little skiing, and maybe spot some Long-Eared Owls seen earlier that week. No luck on the owls. The skiing was marginal at best, but even so, I couldn't think of anything I'd rather be doing. The day was already perfect enough for me, having seen numerous woodpeckers in the woods trail, even heard a calling Barred Owl and of course visited the resident deer that have no fear of humans. Could the day get any better?

After I'd finished skiing, I decided to look in a couple more likely places for those owls. Walking down the road, I was startled by the very close approach of the Black-Capped Chickadees and White-Breasted Nuthatches. The chickadees were so close that four of them perched on a branch just feet from my face and chattered at me. I wouldn't have needed my big lens to capture them. What happened next is nothing short of magical. As I stood watching around 25 of these little gems flitting nearby, I held out my hand. A chickadee landed on my fingertips, looking at me before flying off. Then another! And another! They swirled around me, near my head, on my hands, at my feet! I know for some readers, this conjures up images a la Hitchcock, but I didn't see it that way.

Armed with birdseed, I found joy in the approach of these small and delicate creatures. They never stayed long. They never do, even at feeders out of view of humans. To have them trust me enough to approach, perch, look me in the eye, then snatch a seed and take off was an experience I've long wished to have. The flutter of their wings sounded next to my head. I could feel the little breeze that action created. I enjoyed one of those rare moments when wildness and human connect. These moments always feed my soul and ease my heartache. I don't have to have physical contact; simply being there is enough. I worry that future generations will never have this joy, taking their joy in malls and man-made interpretations of nature. If only folks would stop worrying about spiders and snakes, instead going out to meet our wild neighbors, perhaps they would begin to see that healing can be found out in nature instead of a shopping bag.

It isn't always about birds, is it?

2007-02-26T19:34:00.000-06:00

I went looking one night after work for owls......

....and found a quiet sunset instead.

The usual suspects

2006-12-31T13:19:00.000-06:00

Pity the poor Black-Capped Chickadee, so common he's usually overlooked. Anyone reading state birdlistservs will rarely see posts proclaiming "Black-Capped Chickadee in Menasha!" No, that honor goes to the Slaty-Blacked Gull, subject of numerous posts in the past week on wisbird.

I have not been in a position to take a drive across the state to see for myself if this bird really is a Slaty-Backed or something else. As a general rule, I don't make it a habit of driving much beyond my local birding haunts anyway. Out of the area bird trips have to be combined with other activities that required me to travel. Had this bird made its appearance just a few days earlier, I could have justified the trip in combination with visits to my son at a medical facility near Menasha. It was not to be.

As a result, I am not likely to be one of those ardent birders out to try and catch one last bird for my list of 2006 today. With a nasty head cold, I'm finding my late 2006 birding confined to what can be seen outside my windows or while walking the dog around Lake Neshonoc. This time of year, that means what I get to see are those birds usually lumped into birding reports as "the usual suspects." The poor birds don't even garner a listing out of their names. In honor of all the "usual suspects," I will list them out by name. My proud late-2006 sightings!

Black-Capped Chickadee
American Tree Sparrow
House Finch
Cardinal
Blue Jay
American Crow
White-Breasted Nuthatch
Downy Woodpecker
Red-Bellied Woodpecker
Hairy Woodpecker
Cooper's Hawk
Red-Tailed Hawk
American Goldfinch
House Sparrow

Along with my two cool sightings on the dog route--

Great Horned Owl--thank you, American Crows and Black-Capped Chickadees, for leading me to him!
Ruffed Grouse--thanks probably go to Loca, the dog, for her too-close approach.

Though my birding these last couple months has been sorely limited, I've enjoyed each encounter, whether it's with a magnificent owl or a jaunty little chickadee scolding me. Happy New Year!

Last minute sightings? Virtual, perhaps!

2006-12-30T16:09:00.000-06:00

Many birders hope to grab one last sighting of the year. I will not be among those this year, but I can still enjoy plenty of sightings vicariously, simply by clicking on over to the latest edition of "I and the Bird," hosted this time by Natural Visions. Stop by and enjoy the latest from the best of the bird blogging world!

Children of Lir?

2006-11-12T20:33:00.000-06:00

Tundra Swans on the upper Mississippi River

A story from Irish folklore tells of some royal children who were placed under a spell by a jealous stepmother, left to fly about as swans for hundreds of years. The spell could only be broken when two warring clans were joined in marriage. The event came to pass, the swans turned back into people, people who were very old, then almost immediately died.

Strange story.

Maybe not. The Tundra Swans have arrived in our area yet again, as they do each fall. Warring clans don't bring them here, or perhaps they do. They spend the summers in the high latitudes near the Arctic Circle, then head to our coasts when the "warring" winter storms move in to chase them off. The Mississippi River valley is a stopover at which they will remain in the tens of thousands until ice makes dipping below the surface for tubers impossible. It would seem that in one form or another, cold and ice are warring against these magnificent beauties.

I have watched the backwaters just across the highway from the school where I teach the past few weeks for signs of their approach. It took a post from Fred Lesher on wisbird to find out they'd arrived for the season. Each post would bring the numbers higher and higher until one day Fred said, "Maybe 20,000, you count!"

There have been wars of a sort fought by one of my own children of Lir for a time now, and finally that child was ready to break the curse. It required not an evil stepmother's intervention, but that of his loving parents, to cast the new spell needed to help him. No one gives out instruction manuals when a child is born, and perhaps it's just as well. If one were able to read of all the possible challenges, our species would never survive.

After making a tough phone call, it seemed like the best thing I could do would be to go see the swans for myself. On a glorious fall afternoon, I was on an overlook in Minnesota, facing a huge ribbon of feathery white stretching in front of me. The river flapped and tipped; sometimes it took flight in small drifts. A wonderful cacophony of cooing created the soundtrack for this spectacle. Adding to the drama, huge kettles of Bald Eagles would soar and stream just above the blufftops behind me.

Each fall, I make it a point to spend some time appreciating the majesty of this special migration. Each fall, as I watch the swans, I'm reminded of the strange story of the Children of Lir. This fall, as I watched them, I had a moment's respite from all the hurt, but I also couldn't help but think---when the spell is finally broken, will my swan come out stronger than even before? I can hope that in this real-life story, he will return himself, just as these swans will pass through again next spring, heading back to the high Arctic.

Stranger things have happened......

2006-11-03T17:19:00.000-06:00

Lesser Yellowlegs in a cooperative mood, photographically speaking

After about three and a half years of serious birding, I hit the magical number of 200 North American life birds this past summer, most of which were seen within 50 miles of my home. Though I would read on the various bird lists of amazing sightings within the upper midwest, envying those able to run after them all, I have a job. And a family. And a desire to try and minimize my ecological footprint by avoiding lots of driving, fuel efficient though my car may be.

I would harbor dreams of attending a conference near Lake Michigan, thereby adding in lots of shorebirds and those migrants while being a good employee AND steward of our resources. Not happening. I was lucky to be granted a one day conference in Madison this year, no overnight stays, so don't even ask for reimbursement!

Really, I enjoy any birds I happen to see, even the ever-present Chickadees and Goldfinches at my feeders. The number of birds sighted isn't that important, other than the desire to enjoy a wider variety of avian friends. But....but.....

I just couldn't help myself recently when reports started to float in of a Plegadis Ibis hanging around a wetland area less than 50 miles from here. I know the location, but had only driven past it on my way to someplace else. So, bringing along my non-birding husband with the lure of a couple geocaches to be had along the way, we set off a couple of weekends ago, into the brisk and unseasonable fall weather.

As we approached the site, I spotted the bird at once. It was somewhat distant, and continued to be maddeningly non-distinctive. Most bets were that it was an immature White-Faced Ibis, and though my photos are "mood shots" only, by studying a blow up in Photoshop, it did appear to have the reddish eye tint that suggests this bird over the Glossy Ibis. Cool! A new life bird, and one that is vagrant!

But....but....but.....

There was a lot of activity in this little area. A pair of Wilson's Snipes were working an area in plain view the whole time. Usually they take seriously the old saw, "Heard and not seen," but today was an exception. Not a new bird for me, but a much better view than I've ever had before now.

But...but...but.....

Look at all the Lesser Yellowlegs here! They worked the pond ever closer to where I crouched in the brush, allowing many nice photos. And further back....a lone Greater Yellowlegs. New life bird for me! This was almost too intoxicating to handle, two new birds in less than an hour, at a distance less than an hour from home.

But...but....but.....

Along came a family of birders I know from our birding club, and as we watched through their scope, they picked out some Green-Winged Teal. A common enough bird, but one that had escaped my notice until today. Three new life birds? This was almost too much!

But...but...but....

As we watched a flock of gulls, one stood out, with a little black "earring" behind its eye. I remember noticing a gull flying with hardly any black on the wing, and thinking, "there's a gull with hardly any black on the wing," but the excitement of all these life birds was just too much a distraction at the time. We tried calling Dan Jackson, who didn't pick up, but confirmed later that yes, he had seen a Bonaparte's Gull hanging out here two days ago. FOUR new life birds?

As we finally headed off, greeting some birders from Illinois and Baraboo just arriving, I exulted in my great good luck. We found our two caches, so that made us happy, too. But...but...but....

Loading my photos onto the computer so that we could claim one of the caches, I started looking over the bird shots, only to discover that one of those Lesser Yellowlegs was actually....a Long-Billed Dowitcher! Racing from one bird id website to the next, I found several photos that looked like better quality versions of mine.

Does size matter? Try telling the Long-Billed Dowitcher it doesn't!

That made FIVE, count them, FIVE new life birds in one afternoon. All in the same unremarkable pond I've passed on the highway many times. Stranger things have happened, but not to me, at least not in my birding life.

When two hobbies collide...

2006-09-30T12:07:00.000-05:00

I've never felt it to be a bad thing to have a large variety of interests. One can never be bored if there are enough things to pursue. The problem sometimes becomes one of picking and choosing, however. Of late, I have been having a blast by combining two of my interests; birding and scrapbooking. Throw in a third interest of "not wasting resources," and I guess I've covered three.

I've enjoyed trying my hand at bird photography, sharing many of those images right here. What then? My skills and equipment are not of a level that would ever allow me to seriously consider marketing my work; this is just for fun. I had started a scrapbook some years ago to showcase some of my best work, and that was fine--for a time. When I upgraded my equipment to digital + big honking lens, the number of photos that fit the criteria for "my best work" grew beyond anything reasonable for a scrapbook.

Enter my Birder's Life List project. I had the brilliant idea that maybe a little show and tell would be a nice inclusion if I should ever receive any calls for programs now that I'm listed in the Wisconsin Society of Ornithology Speaker's Bureau. I could print out my favorite photos, scrap them on a small layout of 6 inches by 6 inches, using up my too numerous leftover scraps saved from other projects.

I think I've created for myself a whole new hobby. In the past week, I've already completed nineteen of these layouts. Now, although my North American Life List stands currently at 206, I certainly don't have good photos, or in many cases, any photos, for all of those. Still, I have enough to keep myself busy for a nice long time. I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever get back to saving family or vacation photos in my scrapbooks now.

I'm sure I'm not the only one out there who has found a way to combine this love we call birding with another passion. Share yours. Now that I think of it, I've combined one more; my Speaker's Bureau offering is a program of stories from world folklore, sharing tales of birds and why they do the things they do!

A break from real life...

2006-09-10T13:17:00.000-05:00

Lynne commented yesterday on one of my other posts that one of the reasons she is attracted to birding is that when she's watching birds, the past and the future all fade away, leaving only the present. I hadn't really thought of it that way, but it's true. How many of us have stood glued to our scopes or binoculars, watching the show, only to discover an hour has passed in that time that seemed to be but a minute?

I gave myself the gift of the present for an hour or so after work the other day. The past and the future have been nothing short of daunting this summer, leaving me tired and on edge most of the time. A warm afternoon, coupled with listserv reports of lots of migrants, sent me to a favorite trail in a county park just south of the school where I teach.

The present, on that day, was pretty quiet. Even the numerous Black-Capped Chickadees and various Woodpeckers were keeping a low profile. No matter. I could walk, stop, listen and look, and even if I wasn't seeing much, I was in the present...all cares momentarily forgotten as I snapped to attention with each flutter of the treetops out of order. The warmth of the late afternoon sun, the tang of earth as the leaves begin to fall off and add to the cycle of life on the forest floor, the little chirps overhead, all conspired to let me relax and forget for a short time.

There were a few migrants that showed themselves from time to time. American Redstarts, fanning their tails and chasing about, Magnolia Warblers, a bit duller but still quite dashing, and the plaintive, persistent cry of the Phoebe.

Along about 5pm, as I meandered the acorn strewn trail back toward the small parking area, an old friend began calling just on the other side of a brackish pond along the trail. "Who cooks for you, who cooks for you all?" I've talked with this Barred Owl many times before, even had some face to face conversations on occasion. Today, it didn't want to call back to me. That fact brought me back to the reality of life, the one where communication is strained at the moment. Still, it was an appropriate reminder that, though communication is challenging, I still needed to be home, because, after all, I'm the one who cooks for all my folks.

I will make another appointment for escape soon. We all would do well to take Lynne's advice and escape to the present for a time as we sit in nature. Life will still be there when we return, and we can face it better when refreshed.

Sublime moments

2006-09-09T09:12:00.000-05:00

I was lucky to receive a scholarship this past summer to take part in a workshop offered by Trees For Tomorrow in Eagle River Wisconsin, "Birding by Habitat." For five days, we went out into various habitats of the Northwoods, refining our understanding of why one might encounter Northern Parula Warblers in old hemlock forests. It was a wonderful interlude. While not everyone attending the week was a fanatical birder, all had an interest in being out in nature and learning more about these feathered creatures that share our planet.

As I reviewed my photos taken during this week in June, I couldn't help but smile at this Bobolink. We visited an old field one warm afternoon, filled with daisies. As we spread out and walked slowly into the field, little sensory delights would appear. A butterfly. A burst of color from an out-of-place wildflower among the daisies. Then suddenly, flying up from the field, the bubbling song of the R2D2 bird, the Bobolink. Sometimes one would fly up in song, then drop back onto a stem. Others would simply descend back into the blanket of daisies. We watched as pairs would briefly chase, then alight on the weathered fence at the edge of the field. My roommate for the week, Ann, just lay down among the daisies and enjoyed. She said all we needed was a little girl in a prairie dress to run through the daisies.

Those Bobolinks have no doubt begun their journey to South America now, and the daisies are long since dried to seed. I still have the pleasant memories of that afternoon in the field in June. Like much of life, sometimes we have to grab these pleasant memories to pull us through as the days shift toward their inevitable darkness. Through those dark days, one can look back at these sublime moments, giving us hope they will return to our lives once again.

Returning to the nest....

2006-09-02T13:19:00.000-05:00

Early in July, I had the pleasure of watching this family of Flickers at close range. Choosing to nest inside this tall snag outside the door of the family cabin, they were easily watched. Morning was my best light, and I would simply park my lawn chair in a good location, camera in hand, and wait. Wait some more. Watch as the parents would oh so carefully approach the nest hole. They would not fly directly to the begging nestlings, but perch nearby, watching. Slowly they would move closer. Why they thought such stealth was needed was a bit mysterious, as the clamors of the two nestlings pretty much revealed their location, anyway. Instinctive protectiveness, a parental characteristic that crosses species lines, was the likely explanation.

I've not had many opportunities to watch birds in the past two months, nor the energy or interest to do so. My own parental instincts have reflected those of this Flicker, cautiously approaching and retreating, even though, much as with these near-fledgling birds, my ability to have an influence has largely been a creation of my own active imagination.

Lemonade is still going to be awfully sour around here for a long time, I'm afraid. Nestlings will clamor in a way that attracts unwanted attention, parents will wring hands in spite of themselves, and hopefully, as for these birds, life will eventually sort itself out. There may well be symbolism involved in the fact that the next phase in this saga coincides with the annual start of migration. Though I've little interest, or ability, to get out and enjoy this amazing phenomenon, I realize it will happen whether I'm out there or not. Perhaps once again, birding serves as a metaphor for the joys and anguish of the lives of those of us who enjoy it.

Sometimes lemons are just...lemons.

2006-08-02T18:41:00.000-05:00

Life has thrown our family some huge lemons of late, and though we've tried to do the old lemonade thing....it hasn't worked that way. These lemons get more sour by the day.

I need to direct my energy to other things. For this reason, I will not be adding to my blogs for an indefinite period of time. I want to thank my two or three loyal readers, and if and when the time comes that I can make lemonade, I may be back.

But for now....so long.

Birding abroad!

2006-07-29T15:55:00.000-05:00

Unlike birds, who can fly freely, I've recently returned from three weeks in the United Kingdom, traveling as I have the previous three summers overseas with a bunch of teenagers as a delegation leader for People to People. Unlike birds, because I had to remain onboard a grounded 737 for 5.25 hours at O'Hare, awaiting a shift in the wind direction.

I'd debated bringing along my binoculars. After all, this wasn't a birding trip but one designed to promote international understanding for American teenagers. Still, it was a huge temptation. I did bring along Peterson's Field Guide to Birds in Britain and Europe, and before long, my mantra became, "If only I'd brought my binoculars!" So much so that no fewer than three kids pointed out to me binoculars for sale in the gift shop at the top of Cairngorm in Scotland.

So, it wasn't possible for me to bird seriously, and I heard many more birds than I could hope to identify. This being my third trip to the United Kingdom, not all birds were new to me, but some were, like the Lapwings seen at the aforementioned Cairngorm, and a family of Great Crested Grebes at close range while whitewater rafting on the River Tay. Of the birds I enjoyed watching, I'd have to say that bird of nursery rhyme, the Jackdaw, besides being almost as ubiquitous as the gulls, was the most entertaining. Gathering in enormous flocks, their raucous cries echoing along the hillsides, they gave me hours of enjoyment as I spent my evenings supervising homesick students lined up at the streetside payphones in North Wales.

Though I wasn't able to be a serious "twitcher," it still added to my enjoyment and observation of new surroundings. Since I didn't know many bird songs and calls here, I could only sit back and enjoy the music, reminding me that I'm a stranger in this land, the music foreign to one who can bird by ear back on home soil.

The kids made fun of my little obsession, as teenagers are wont to do, until they watched a mother Black Duck and her duckling. The duckling did one of those fast leaps across the water to catch up, making everyone on our raft laugh in delight at the antics. As the giggles died down, I simply said, "See why I do this?"

Birds that I did manage to identify, the starred ones being Life Birds, were:

Grey Heron
Jackdaw
Magpie
Pied Wagtail
Herring Gull
Blackbird
*Bonaparte's Gull
Mute Swan
Black Duck
Woodpigeon
*Oystercatcher
*Lapwing
*Great Crested Grebe
Ring-Necked Pheasant
*Rook
*Capercaillie
Carrion Crow
*Common Sandpiper
*Whinchat
Lesser Black-Backed Gull
*Common Moorhen

Also seen on the ferry were some kittiwakes and shearwaters that I couldn't identify more specifically, simply marveling at birds that live at sea. Perhaps the lesson I learned by leaving the binocs behind was that enjoying what I could see has value far beyond that of some arbitrary list. Instead of worrying over "which warbler," I simply enjoyed the color and song of birds I knew simply as "English warblers in the mulberry at the Bishop's Palace."

Oh, and the mulberries, in spite of staining the heck out of our fingers? Absolutely divine! I give my thanks to the birds of England for leaving a few for us to relish!

Birding: Connecting one to all of creation

2006-06-26T09:05:00.000-05:00

Birders, like any subculture, are an odd lot to those not part of the tribe. What could possibly be so interesting about birds that people willingly get up at 3 AM to go out into the field, often in miserable weather, to see birds? You can sit in your porch and see birds, can't you? You can watch them in comfort and dry weather, so what's with all the binoculars, bug spray and multiple field guides, anyway?

As the commercial says, if you have to ask, you just don't understand. Each person out in the rain and cold with her binoculars trained to the heights of the tallest tree has her reasons, each as unique as the person gazing skyward. I'm guessing you'd be hard-pressed to find a person alive who doesn't find birds at least mildly interesting. They can fly, after all. They fly incredible distances over open ocean non-stop. That's impressive, anyone would have to acknowledge that.

For me, it goes beyond that universal degree of awe they inspire. Birds allow me to connect with all of creation, natural and man-made. I just spent a week taking a teacher workshop at Trees for Tomorrow in Eagle River Wisconsin. The workshop was "Birding by Habitat," and it was a wonderful way to earn a couple university credits. The goal of the workshop wasn't to see lots of birds, but to carefully study those we did see and make some connections as to why those were the birds seen. Why, for instance, were Northern Parulas common in the mature hemlock forests and not the burned areas? As I've sought to watch more closely, I've realized the need to better understand the plant communities and habitats in which various birds choose to nest and live. I need to watch the flowers growing along the trails as closely as the birds flying in the treetops. Otherwise, how would I have seen the incredible bog plants, such as sundew and grass pink?

Understanding the habitat leads me to question the alteration of habitats and the impact on birds and other members of a given habitat community. Like many naturalists, I'm concerned by the constant sprawl taking place around me. We notice fewer birds of certain species than in years past and need to look no further than the ripped up old fields making way for a new development or strip mall. It makes us angry, perhaps, but even more so, sad. Sad for what is lost, and then the anger over that loss impels me to activism. I contact a county board member to suggest there is no need to mow a vacant field used by nesting Dickcissels. I post links to entries on this blog to increase awareness of the wonder of birds and the places they live, hoping others will follow suit. It's like that story of the woman throwing back the starfish washed ashore. She can't possibly save them all, but it matters to the ones she saves.

Most of all, birding allows me to share my moments of joy and discovery, sending out into the universe my gratitude for all that has been shared with me. On my way home from my workshop up north, I traveled through the cranberry bogs of west central Wisconsin. As I rounded a curve in the county road between two cranberry operations, something caught my eye right at the edge of the road, moving slowly and almost prehistorically through the plants. I pulled around the corner and parked, watching first through the car window, then tentatively stepping outside my car. The eating was good; they stopped, looked, and decided I wasn't much of a threat. I share with you now, in gratitude for all I've learned from each of you, my latest moment of avian joy.

No slide tackles in this World Cup!

2006-06-24T06:55:00.000-05:00

Readers of this blog might have the mistaken impression that all I do is go out birding. In fact, more than once, birders who I finally meet IRL (in real life) comment to that effect. Not true! My appreciation of the game of soccer has been nurtured by years sitting in the stands watching my two sons play. This is football for REAL men, no pads and helmets here!

So I was delighted to see that Patrick Belardo of Hawk's Owl Nest used a World Cup theme for the current issue of I and the Bird. Go see who the contenders in this first, and possibly only, I and the Bird World Cup are. Go Phantom Photogs!

Tap your red shoes together three times and say, "There's no place like home!"

2006-06-17T16:15:00.000-05:00

Almost two weeks ago, I unwittingly spotted my 200th North American life bird. Since realizing I'd hit a landmark, I have wanted to try and get photos of the Dickcissel, Mr. #200, or at the very least, get a decent look at one.

This has proven to be difficult. First attempt was a week ago, when I joined another birder in the area to check out some fields where she'd seen some earlier in the week. It was a lovely afternoon, as reported elsewhere, but no Dickcissels for me that day.

A couple days ago, local birders reported seeing some very cooperative birds near a small beach close to the airport. Unfortunately, even yesterday, access to that road was cut off due to the impending Deke Slayton Airfest taking place as I type. Again, no Dickcissels.

People have mentioned that they are in the fields behind the Menards building in Onalaska, so before picking my son up at work last night, I gave that a try. I did hear Dickcissels--at least six--but because of the wind and just plain stubbornness, I'd say, none poked their heads above the grass. One of them had to be no more than six feet in front of me, singing away, but not so much as a wing flutter could I spot.

I'd pretty much decided to let this little goal go, as so often we must do with many things in life. Then....

My son's car has been in the shop, creating the situation neither of us loves, that harking back to when he had his permit and had to depend on Mom or Dad to get anywhere. I was driving him to work this morning, and as I passed a field in the industrial park across the street from us, I heard it. "Dick dick sizzle sizzle!"

After running Mom's Taxi Service for my sons for the afternoon, I gathered up my camera and binocs and walked the shoulder up the road from my house. Echoing off the vacant building, I could clearly hear one singing, but had to look up before I spotted it. Sure enough, a miniature Meadowlark was singing away on the line overlooking this patch of former farmland, still untouched by the corporate interests that have taken over our front porch view. For about an hour I sat on the hillside, watching and listening to at least two male Dickcissels trying establish territory, and noticing a female preening for her suitors.

I have never been happy with the development that has taken place in front of me. We bought this home 24 years ago and enjoyed rural views and a quiet street. In the last ten years, it has become as busy as any street in town, constantly noisy. Where once I could depend on watching Sandhill Cranes in the spring at sunset, reflected in the vernal ponds that would form in the unplowed fields, I now look at a building that was occupied for less time than it's been advertised as "will divide," and a growing number of other industrial sites. To say I'm not pleased with the powers that be would be an understatement. However, for the time being, I will enjoy this little gift in my front yard, hoping for better light and better photos.

Oh, and to ensure that perhaps they and all the other birds I enjoyed in that field can continue, I will write to my county board supervisor and ask that they consider saving some gas and labor costs and avoid mowing down there.

Will the circle be unbroken?

2006-06-15T23:45:00.000-05:00

Despite dire warnings to the contrary, for right now, here's photographic evidence proving that life will go on.

Aren't they cute? They were joined by at least three families of Mallards I saw in the LaCrosse River wetland yesterday, along with two baby woodchucks nibbling at trailside. Though I didn't see them, others reported seeing a Virginia Rail with at least two chicks in the same wetland.

As further testament to hope for the future, three Peregrine Falcon chicks hatched atop the US Bank building in downtown LaCrosse were banded today by Bob Anderson of the Raptor Resource Project. Two girls and a boy. You can read all about it here.

The world is not collapsing---at least not for now.

In the summer, my hair turns red!

2006-06-11T12:35:00.000-05:00

It's true, my Irish heritage reveals itself more clearly after time out in the sun. Not blazing red, of course, but red enough to once cause a snobby hairstyling instructor to lift up my locks for the class and proclaim, "She's henna-aad her hay-er," only to argue with me when I proclaimed no colorants had ever been in my tresses.

Not just my hair, however. I had a lovely afternoon yesterday, and it involved birding, not a beauty salon. At least not a salon of human creation. A woman had posted on the wisbird list that while checking her bluebird trail, she'd spotted some Dickcissels in a field in a rural area. As some regulars might know, the Dickcissel was my unwitting 200th bird last week, but I had nothing to show for it, having left the camera home. Heck, had the camera been with me, it still wouldn't have mattered. As it was, I couldn't ID the bird until a couple days later.

Since this woman lived in a town only 20 miles from here, I contacted her to see if she would share directions for me to find this field and bird a new area. She wrote back, telling me to just come on up and we'd go together. It would be easier to take me there than give me directions.

I headed up the road, crossing into nearby Jackson County and met her at her home. The first thing to greet me as I pulled into her driveway was a flashy Red-Headed Woodpecker on the power pole near her garage. Upon meeting my hostess herself, I stepped into a lovely backyard refuge, alive with birds. The Woodpeckers were nesting along the stream somewhere adjacent to their property and visited the feeders often.

We set off down the road, travelling onto curvy rural routes. I'm always struck by the fact that the landscape can change so much from my rocky blufflands to the sandy, more coniferous forests in a space of 20 miles. Much of our travels took us through Amish country, friendly greetings from two little boys and a little girl playing in the sandy dirt at roadside. We reached the field where the birds had been seen earlier, and it was pretty quiet. We saw little birds flitting into and out of the tall grasses, glimpsing something every so often on the fenceposts or power lines.
One little bird perched nicely in front of us, and Joan noticed white outer tail feathers. Checking the book and re-checking my snaps enlarged on the digital screen, we confirmed we'd seen a Vesper Sparrow. Neither of us had seen one before, at least that we knew.

A Northern Harrier cruised the field just before we left, giving us another great show. Moving on, we came to another fallow field, next to an area with grazing horses. The windows on the car rolled down, we heard, then spotted, Bobolinks in this field.

Returning after a couple hours spent watching and chatting, we pulled into the drive of my new birding friend, greeted once more by a Red-Head, this time with the sun reflected off his feathers.

One new bird + one new birding friend + one nice photo = one great afternoon well spent!

Unceremonius attaining of a Life List goal

2006-06-08T09:18:00.000-05:00

I had been but two birds away from meeting a goal of 200 North American birds. I'd asked a co-worker with rural farm contacts to ask them about possible Barn Owls. Barn Owl would be a great number 200 for this landmark, I thought. Endangered in the state, not to mention just a very cool bird. Awaiting her reports, I couldn't just sit around and do nothing, however. So I headed down the bike trail, wearing my binoculars with my nifty new Eagle Optics harness to keep them at the ready.

I haven't done much biking yet this spring, but as in every year before this, I went the distance, sore muscles be damned! I saw many of the expected birds along the way. It was fun to stop under the interstate bridge, where hundreds of Cliff Swallows have nests, watching all the comings and goings from their little mud hut village. Lots of American Redstarts, one particularly cooperative at eye level and close range, guarding his territory. Common Yellowthroats were equally abundant. I couldn't discern if the Eagles were nesting or not.

Then I stopped near some fallow fields to see what might be out there. Not easily spotted except in flight was a Solitary Sandpiper. It confirmed my id with its funny whistle call. Another bird could be heard singing waaaay out in the field. It took quite some time for me to locate it, perched atop a weedy stalk, singing away. Some kind of sparrow, I'd figured. Try as I might, I could not make out any field marks at that distance. The best I could hope to do was match its call with my sources for bird songs. Off I went.

I reached the trailhead and decided to continue on the next branch of the system. I'd always been curious to see where the City Trail branch went. For the most part, I was in industrial parkland, but there was an area of shrubby growth that was quite thick just south of the LaCrosse River. Listening here, I spotted quick flashes of an Empid. An Empid that sang! This Empid was an Alder Flycatcher. Cool. Number 199 on The List!

I returned home several hours later, some parts of my body burned, others tanned. I sat down with all the sparrow calls, reviewing every one to see what that bird in the field had been. Not a single one matched. Nothing could even come close to being some sort of variant. So that bird went unreported for lack of any ID.

A couple days later, one of the local birders posted on the wisbird list that he'd seen Dickcissels in a field near the Menards store. Preparing for my venture over there to capture bird Number 200, I reviewed the different versions of this bird's song. That's when it hit me.

The bird waaaay out in the field on Sunday? No wonder I couldn't match its song to any of the sparrows. It was a Dickcissel! I must here report that in a household with two teenage sons and one overgrown teenager passing as an adult--my husband--this is not the best bird to share in conversation regarding birding achievements. So be it. I grew up with brothers and boy cousins, I can take it!

Number 200 had been reached, and I didn't even know it at the time. I wonder how many of us who proclaim that listing isn't important, but do it anyway, have reached such landmarks without being aware of it at the time.

As a birder who tries to avoid chasing, especially if chasing involves unnecessary use of fossil fuels, I'm happy to report that 163 of these birds were seen right in my home county of LaCrosse. Most of the rest were seen within neighboring counties, or while on the road for other reasons, such as visits to family. I suspect that trying to attain a new landmark will be much harder. I have a standing offer from a birder friend on the Texas coast to give her 20 minutes to change the sheets and we're off. Might be time to take her up on that offer!

House Wren 1 House Sparrow 0

2006-06-03T16:48:00.000-05:00

With the slowing of the migration, I've been forced lately to face the state of my own nest. No clean socks, weedy flower beds, endless piles of ironing. What does all this mean? No birding for me this weekend?

Maybe, maybe not. It's a beautiful day out there, and the laundry can be hung on the line. Only problem with that? The House Wren.

House Wren, you say? Why would that be a problem? I have never had the honor of sharing living space with these feisty little birds before, and I find it endlessly fascinating. I've been hearing one sing, and sing, and sing, and....for about two weeks. I knew it was in a corner where the four lots touch, but never could spot it. Our corner has a stand of evergreens and shrubby stuff, great habitat, but hard to see anything.

Well, a friend told me you could play a House Wren call and they'd come right out, they're so territorial. Last weekend, I brought my wireless laptop out into the yard, went to the Cornell site and played that call. No sooner had it finished playing than this little brown dynamo came right out and perched in front of me! I watched its retreat, and discovered the neighbors had put up a little birdhouse. That's his spot. If today is any indication, it will remain his spot, too.

I'd taken out a second load of laundry to clip on the line, when I heard a major ruckus from the vicinity of Wren-ville. It took a moment to realize that much of that nasty scolding was actually the wren. Dropping my clothespins and grabbing my binocs, I moved into the evergreens, discovering two House Wrens, very agitated. A step or two closer revealed the problem. A pair of evil House Sparrows were checking out the real estate.

This is one feisty little House Wren!

The sparrows weren't dissuaded immediately, but those two wrens made it unequivocally clear this was their crib! They would position themselves, one on either side, scolding, then attacking, running the sparrows into the nearby lilacs. This little drama was replayed several times until the beleaugered couple finally moved on. I haven't heard anything more since then other than wrensong and occasional peeps emanating from that little birdhouse. I will have to keep a closer eye on it, not only to chase off sparrows, but perhaps to enjoy the maiden flight of the little ones.

I have had House Wrens, Cardinals, Baltimore Orioles, and evidence last night suggests Ruby Throated Hummingbirds, nesting nearby, along with the usual Robins, Chipping Sparrows and Grackles. Not bad for a small town lot and a day spent doing chores!

The beginning of the end?

2006-05-25T16:03:00.000-05:00

Yellow-Headed Blackbird stakes his claim

After the high of last weekend's Flyway Festival, it seemed almost anticlimatic to be out birding today. I met a new birding friend, courtesy of the festival, and we'd made arrangements to go out together for a little while this morning. Although she's had a cabin in the area for many years, she and her husband have only recently moved here permanently, and she wanted to find out more about the good birding spots. She wanted to get good looks at a Prothonotary Warbler. I knew just where to look.

Bright and early, we met at the flag pole at the entrance to Goose Island County Park. I'd intended to take her to a boat landing near a wet woodland where the warblers are always calling. Instead, I heard it calling--right there. After slogging through the dense honeysuckle, we were able to pinpoint it, singing away just above the wet spot, flitting about. In this morning's rain-threatened sky, that golden bird looked electric. Unfortunately, the rain-soaked ground led to huge hatches, with mosquitos, gnats and blackflies in abundance. Time to move on!

From there, we went onto the more open trails of the LaCrosse River Marsh near Myrick Park. I couldn't help but feel a bit wistful, knowing that the migration is nearly over. Save for one Nashville Warbler, any warblers seen were resident, singing and defending their territory. The families of Canada Geese have both shrunk in number and grown in size, not quite so cute and fuzzy now. Tree Swallows could be seen feeding young in their snagtop nests, and the Black Terns were there in abundance.

The spectacle of spring migration seems to have been low key this spring. All over Wisconsin, birders have been asking, "Where are the migrating songbirds?" They've been seen, but in small numbers. The big push never seemed to come, and now the birds have already settled down to family life, becoming quieter and scarcer to find.

Like the spring ephemerals that dot our forest floors before leaf out, the tiny songbirds passing through are a smattering of jewels, their flashy dress and persistent songs enjoyed for but a few weeks. Life will settle down for the birders as well. We've had our feast, savored for its scarcity and fleeting nature.

Though I'd love to enjoy the new life born here before its return trip south, I will respect the space needed by these migrants to rear their young. Some have conjectured that the tepid migration is the result of loss during the fall storm season in the Gulf of Mexico last fall. If so, that's all the more reason to give these families privacy and space. I may not tick off those last five birds needed to reach my landmark, but I'll have done my part to ensure that they have a successful year, returning once more to start the cycle all over.

Birding Comix

2006-05-25T06:57:00.000-05:00

Carel of Rigor Vitae has taken his turn hosting I and the Bird, and what a ride! The comics page of birding is ready and waiting for your attention. Enjoy!

Art of birding

2006-05-21T18:06:00.000-05:00

Often when I go out, I can be seen lugging my big Sigma zoom lens along with my binoculars strapped around my neck. I've become fairly adept at managing this behemoth in challenging terrain, as I did on Friday at Rush Creek Scientific and Natural Area. I've spent most of the past three days enjoying the company of like-minded souls during the Third Annual Mississippi Flyway Birding Festival, and Rush Creek was my Friday morning field trip. It's challenging enough for me to get anything resembling a decent photo when I bird alone and can take my time to sit and wait. Photography in groups is almost impossible, since I want to take advantage of the eyes, ears and experience of many in the group to learn. We enjoyed views of a number of birds, including nice looks at an Eastern Towhee, numerous Yellow Warblers, many singing Scarlet Tanagers, a flock of chasing Blue-Winged Warblers and a pair of Yellow-Throated Vireos that allowed everyone a very satisfying look at this bird that is more often heard than seen. But photos? Nope, not really. I've been learning to really appreciate the "artistic filters" in Photoshop to freeze a moment in time without appearing to be a total incompetent in the photography department.

There are times I wonder why in the world I even bother, those thoughts amplified when I wander to places like the Nature Photographers Forum, where the talent is immense, the images crisp, full of personality and wonderful detail. I'll remind myself I do this for myself, but still...

Friday afternoon, after our morning field trip, I attended Dan Jackson's seminar on digiscoping. I'm in the market to get a scope, and who knows, maybe I'd want to try that. As Dan shared some of his wonderful images, he stopped at one of an American Coot, and commented that "Photographing birds helps you to appreciate and take a new look at those 'common' birds."

Suddenly, I realized why I persist in spite of my constant frustration and disappointment with 99.9% of the shots I take and keep. I persist, because it lets me enjoy all the birds, forces me to slow down, watch, wait and observe...and .01% of the time, get a photo I love. I persist, because it helps me keep sight of my goal in birding, which isn't to see the most birds, but to see them well.

Thank you Dan for helping to define the art of birding, as seen through the photographer's eye.

A matter of perspective

2006-05-17T08:38:00.000-05:00

I visited a new area last night before sunset. It finally stopped raining, and that was reason enough to be out, even if it would be a short time only. Other times, we'd be crying for rain, but this spring, we have had enough for now. It's rained pretty much the last two weeks. The sun and shadow were but a distant memory, and the fact that the sun was finally visible brought many people out of hiding.

I'd gone to this area in search of a new bird. Ah yes, that elusive list again! Though I proclaim not to care much about lists, I care enough to have the landmark pin all set to go, as soon as I hit the magic number. After last night, I am but nine birds away from that number.

Why, when my goal is to enjoy whatever chooses to share my space, be it birds, calling frogs or simply the scent of new growth, do I persist in keeping that list? I avoid traveling beyond my range with rare exceptions, thus limiting my listing opportunities. Birders with Big Lists usually have traveled in pursuit of those lists. I return, again and again, to the same few habitats, watching the march of the seasons, listening for birds announcing loudly that "this space is MINE!" in the spring. I enjoy looking for the subtle differences, guessing at the story of a Northern Cardinal I heard singing last week with a slightly different accent. Was this one blown here from Alabama, perhaps, singing with a southern drawl?

I think I have discovered the answer to my own question; it's a matter of perspective. I've been reading a fascinating book by Richard Louv, The Last Child in the Woods. He has put forth the idea that many of society's ills today are a reflection of the hurt we've done to our planet, and the subsequent alienation from nature. In one chapter, he refers to the work of Howard Gardner, best known for his Theory of Multiple Intelligences. As a special educator, I'm well aware of the variety of "smarts" students possess, usually not the linguistic smarts that largely determine school success...which is often why these kids become my students. However, it seems I haven't kept up with the theory, as Gardner has put forth an eighth intelligence--"nature smart." He suggests this ability to notice and recognize small details in nature likely evolved as a survival mechanism and has been hijacked in the modern world by our ability to distinguish among cars or brand name jeans.

In other words, making a list is simply a human response to a form of intelligence, noticing different birds and their habits, storing them in gray matter to recognize them quickly upon next encounter. A matter of perspective. I've learned quickly to keep an open mind to possibilities that might present themselves, and this approach has often yielded rich results. I went last night in search of a Least Bittern. I realized upon leaving I probably wasn't even looking in the right area of this wetland meadow, but that was okay. I enjoyed the symphony of calling frogs all around me. I saw a tiny brown flash in the cattail stand that sang the scratchy song of the Sedge Wren. Not the "new" bird I'd come to see, but still one to add to The List.

I enjoyed a common but very cooperative Tree Swallow sitting just off the dike in front of me, taking the opportunity to shoot a few photos. As I watched the sun dropping, my perspective suddenly shifted to another place...and my willingness to be open to that shift resulted in a wonderful serendipity.

Aaaahh! Taking time to pursue The List and then to throw that list away to enjoy a very ordinary bird in new light, surrounded by a remnant of nature...this is a moment to savor.

I've been tagged! 10 Most Beautiful Birds

2006-05-12T19:41:00.000-05:00

Remember when you were a kid, playing tag after dinner in the neighborhood? Though I was an uncoordinated klutz (is there any other kind?), failing miserably at games like baseball, I could run like the wind, so tag was my game. I was feeling a bit like I'd run too fast lately, as I read all the 10 Most Beautiful Birds lists of my blogging friends, never being tagged myself. Or so I'd thought.

I just returned from three very wet hours birding after work. So many beautiful birds seen, even with all the rain; Rose Breasted Grosbeak, Scarlet Tanager, a flock of Baltimore Orioles and an ever-sublime Great Crested Flycatcher. Even with the images of all those lovely birds in my mind, it's not enough to warm me up, so curled up in a blanket with a computer in my lap, I visited Cindy's Woodsong, which linked me to John of DC Birding Blog and his list of people who were tagged "it." Catching up on blogfriends this way, I discovered that Duncan of Ben Cruachan Blog had tagged me. I get to play after all! The rules are to list your candidates for most beautiful birds, using parameters of your choosing, placing an asterisk by those you've seen in the wild, then tagging three more bloggers.

I loved Duncan's approach of connecting his birds to memories. I'd like to create my list by choosing my Beautiful Birds based on the stories they tell. Surprised? I didn't think you'd be.

1)*Barred Owl Just tonight, I heard a Barred Owl calling, and I wondered once again; why does he always ask me "Who cooks for you?" Does he have a favorite recipe to share with my personal chef? Perhaps he's discovered a new taste sensation in "Squirrel Seasoned with Wild Mint" he wants to share with me.

2)*Sora My guess is that the Sora loves to tell what storytellers call "noodlehead stories," those stories of foolish folks who do foolish things, like the townspeople of Chelm. Have you ever listened to them? That crazy laugh, punctuated by the whining call? They sound just like kids who hear me tell stories like "Lazy Jack!"

3)*Pileated Woodpecker Well, of course. They sit around telling really bad puns, which my friends all know I live to tell. How else to explain that maniacal laughter, followed by banging their heads against a tree upon hearing the groaner?

4)*White Throated Sparrow Stories of love lost. You think I'm kidding? Any bird that repeats mournfully "Poor Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody," has to be lamenting those heros, like Sidney Carton, who give up their true love for the greater good.

5)*Ruby Throated Hummingbird David and Goliath. Just watch them fight off all comers twice their size at a feeder or patch of jewelweed, chittering away. Need I say more?

6)*Common Loon Ghost stories. I'm absolutely certain of this. That eerie call, so often echoing across the northern lakes under a full moon, can be no other kind of story, can it?

7)*Kildeer They tell all those old hunting yarns. I've heard them all from the hunter that shares my home, but I don't hold this against the Kildeer. I still think it's a pretty neat bird, in spite of all those tales from deer camp.

8)*Warbling Vireo Urban legends, the real slasher stuff. Seriously. Any bird with the song mnemonic "as if saying to a caterpillar, 'When I see you I will squeeze you and I'll squeeze you till you squirt'" loves those stories that they heard from a friend of a friend that are 'absolutely true.'

9)*Eastern Bluebird I think these lovely passerines like telling those Chicken Soup stories, you know, heartwarming stories intended to inspire and tug at the heart. "Cheeree, cheeree."
I can say this, because I will be published in a forthcoming Chicken Soup book this July. I didn't think I had it in me, but I pulled one off!

10)*Red-Winged Blackbirds Gossip, gossip, gossip. Just listen to them yakking away constantly. Watch them in the fall, gathering in huge flocks, even associating with other birds, sharing that last juicy tidbit about that brazen Great Blue Heron one last time before heading south.

There you have it. Ten birds, chosen for the stories they like to tell, all of which I've not only seen, but have photographed and displayed on the pages of BirdBrainedStories. Since I'm coming in on the end of this meme, I'm hoping those I tag haven't already been "it." I'm tagging Jimmy, Amy, and Jim & Peg. You're it!

Question: When is a wren not a wren?

2006-05-11T12:28:00.000-05:00

Answer: When it's a Lincoln's Sparrow!

When I was out birding in the rain the other day, I happened upon this cute little wren-like bird along the trail. I knew it wasn't a wren, but I really wasn't sure what it actually was. I pulled my field guide from my pocket, but those sparrows are all so similar. The bird allowed me to edge ever closer, unconcerned, so I took a few shots for id purposes.

Returning home, I spent time comparing it to my field guides and guessed it could be a Lincoln's Sparrow. Posting to the Wisconsin Bird Network, several birders responded that it absolutely was a Lincoln's Sparrow, and a few added comments to the effect that it was a nice shot.

I looked back once more, and you know what? Even though it was just for identification purposes..it was a nice shot! Surprises are great! Correct id of an LBJ (little brown job), a life bird and a nice photo as well.

I'm birding in the rain! Happy again!

2006-05-09T22:22:00.000-05:00

You are seeing correctly, don't try messing with your computer's settings; it is indeed a Sora Rail. Granted, a blurry blade of grass has been photoshopped out with marginal success, but it is otherwise the real deal. What's more, along with this one was a second lurking, partially visible between hummocks of dried grasses. But wait! There's more! Earlier in the day, another Sora popped out for quite some time, leaving me speechless and temporarily incapacitated, forgetting I even had that heavy camera hanging around my neck.

The netting of a Sora in pixels was just the proverbial feather in my cap on an incredible day of solo birding...one in which I almost chose not to partake. I'd had grand plans to be up before dawn, heading off to a different wetland area in hopes of seeing a Least Bittern reported over the weekend. We'd had some pretty severe thunderstorms last night, I was tired and it was just rather bleak and drippy out today. No pretty light for photography, and I figured the birds would be hunkered down, anyway. So I went back to sleep, then woke with all good intentions of doing laundry and other such exciting tasks of home management.

Then I read my email. One of the members of my Audubon Club reported all kinds of new warblers in her wooded yard this morning, she figured fall out from the storms last night. I couldn't pass up a day like this, I've passed them up all too often due to work, weather or other commitments. I was out the door.

I decided to check out the LaCrosse River Marsh. If nothing else, I knew there'd be families of Canada Geese grazing at trailside, and sure enough, they were. My excitement started well before I even got on the trail, though. Stepping outside my car, I could see the trees were hopping with tiny little birds, high in the uppermost branches. Yellow-Rumped, Palm and Yellow Warblers were spotted right away. Bunches of them. Warbling Vireos were singing throughout the marsh. I knew I'd be out for the long haul today.

I was. It must have taken me two hours to get the short distance from trailhead to viewing platform. Baltimore Orioles, Northern Waterthrush, and oh my! White Crowned Sparrows, tons of them, feeding around the abundant goose droppings. I'd never actually seen them before, but recognized them for what they were from the hours spent poring over my field guides. Here they were, good sized flocks of them all over the place! In the trees, oh my again! Great looks at a Golden-Winged Warbler, assuring me of its id by singing its song that is no match for its flashy good looks.

At the end of this day, one that found me out there taking in periodic drizzles over seven hours, my final tally was 56 species, 13 warblers, all a solo effort, and all but about three id'ed visually as well as by ear. To think I was going to stay home and do laundry. You know what? That laundry is still here. It won't go away. Many of these warblers will.

Birding with a non-birding spouse; yes, it's possible!

2006-05-07T08:09:00.000-05:00

My husband doesn't share my passion for birding. He'll come to events, like the Festival of Owls, if food is involved. I've tried taking him when I hike in some of my favorite spots, but gregarious soul that he is, he just talks. And talks. Not easy to spot birds if your companion is yakking away! I think we have finally hit upon a solution. Fishing.

Yesterday was the opening weekend for inland waters fishing in Wisconsin. I used to fish, but I realized it wasn't catching--or even releasing--the fish I enjoyed, but being out there. So yesterday, when my husband set off for a favorite valley not far from home, I came along. He didn't talk, because you know, that scares the fish off. I didn't fish but wandered the valley in search of birds.

This valley is a particularly lovely example of the countryside in which we live--a coulee. Farmland filled the small gap between streamside and roadside, allowing for some habitat variety in close quarters.

As I climbed over the stile to the stream access, I immediately heard the plaintive singing of several Field Sparrows claiming their territory. It took much longer to finally see them, one perched high in a tangled old tree halfway up the side of the hill. Savannah Sparrows were singing in a much more open location, open enough that I hiked back to get my camera.

I enjoyed an entire morning of wandering up and down the streamside. I spotted birds I don't usually see in my more wooded forays, and spent quite a bit of the morning pursuing these bobbing birds with a whistling call I knew I recognized from my "Who Cooks for Sam Peabody?" CD. They were wary, and they blended right in with the unplowed fields or cow pies they sat upon. It wasn't until we were leaving that I spotted one right under the bridge. Stopping to look, it flew upstream just a short distance, and I slowly moved forward until I spotted it...sitting in some grass on an undercut in a bend in the stream. Slowly...a step at a time...I approached, taking pictures each time. I noticed it fluffing and bobbing more frequently, as if preparing to take wing once again. One more photo...and it was off. Though I've seen Solitary Sandpipers before, this is the first time I've been able to really watch them and enjoy their habits, instead of spotting them as we paddle just before they fly further downstream.

My husband caught some trout, I caught some birds. We both went home happy, enjoying a quiet morning out. Life is good!

Of migration, social birding and life lists

2006-05-04T16:50:00.000-05:00

There. I've used the "L" word right off the bat. I struggle with the "L" word as a birder concerned with not only seeing birds, but also as a person wanting to lessen her footprint on our planet. Yes, I have my little ABA 200 pin just waiting for me to add, as of this morning, 22 more species to the Life List. I can't wait to pin that cute little American Goldfinch onto my binoculars case!

I can't wait, but I will. I'll wait, because even more than seeing lots of different birds, I want to see them well. My usual approach to birding is to hike, or perhaps bike, cross country ski or even paddle a canoe, always looking and listening to see what's there. Except for the canoe scenario, this is almost always done alone. All day, or at least for a good portion of the day. I do make a few rare exceptions. Audubon Club field trips. The local birding festival field trips. That's about it. I know if I traveled to see birds, my list would grow sooner. But I don't. I want to conserve our resources in order to conserve habitat that gets destroyed by my use of them. Less habitat, less birding, as we daily discover when a favorite tangled bank is being flattened for yet another development.

I enjoy going back to a few favorite spots close to home year round. Goose Island. The LaCrosse River Marsh. Hixon Forest. Seven Bridges Road. In the winter months, I am truly alone most of the time, but as the temperatures have heated up, I'm finding lots of company alongside me. If that's the way it's going to be, might as well find company that understands the need to go slowly and quietly into the woods, and not pass me by, yelling and chasing a dog.

For that reason, I look forward to joining the spring bird walks led by Pat Wilson, a member of the Audubon Club to which I belong. I missed the first one the other day, but this morning, I knew I needed to be out there. My last couple weeks have been fraught with deadlines and commitments, and though I did manage a couple afternoons of after-work birding before heading home, it hasn't been enough.

Joining about eight others at 6:30am, we started the slow walk down the trails at Hixon Forest. This is the part of group birding for which I am so grateful. Though I'm officially 22 species short of wearing that 200 pin, I know I've seen and heard lots more birds. I just didn't know what they were. I've learned that no matter how many hours I spend listening to my birding by ear CDs, it seems that only when I come face to face--or syrinx to ear--in the field do I connect those calls with a breathing creature. That's where someone like Pat comes in. He knows them already, important as these little waves of migrating birds come through.

I've been pleading my job, busy always this time of year, as the cause of my lousy life list. I can't get out enough before they're off to the border! After this morning, I can add Blue-Winged, Golden-Winged, Nashville and Tennessee Warblers, along with Yellow-Throated Vireo and Grey-Cheeked Thrush to my list. It was worth it to drag myself out of bed and deal with bad hair the rest of the day at work!

Along with these new-to-me birds, many of the familiar favorites were present as well. An Eastern Phoebe could be heard singing as I headed into the trailhead, and one was seen later across the golf course at the edge of the trail. Had I been out on my own, I'd have been crawling in the brush, trying to get a good look at some of the ones we only heard, like the Yellow-Throated Vireo. But I know for sure how it sounds, and where I'm likely to hear it when I go back in a couple days.

Go back I will. As Pat said, "From all her posts, I think Gwyn birds Hixon more than anyone else around the area!"

That's the idea. Close to home. Nice long looks. Learn their patterns and yearly cycles.

And add them to The List when I find any that are new! I hope that though my List may not be large, I will know most of those birds on the list well.

While you're contemplating the nature of migration and listing, take a moment to check out the latest edition of "I and the Bird," hosted by Kristin of Homebird Notes. She has done a bit of research for us about the areas we bird. I learned mine is known for things like quality education, the Green Bay Packers and beer and bratwurst! Check it out and enjoy some wonderful bird-related essays.

May the bluebird of happiness......

2006-04-21T07:08:00.000-05:00

This is that time of year in the lives of birders that things become a bit frenetic. One can hardly keep up with the postings of new sightings on the various state lists, and jobs become an unwelcome annoyance when so much is happening out there. Luckily, my spring break as a teacher coincided with some perfectly lovely weather, so I was able to spend long, long stretches of time out in some of my favorite birding spots to see what I could see. It was sublime, but other than my Carolina Wren, nothing new was discovered. I spent some time after work earlier this week at a Mississippi River birding spot looking for migrating passerines. This is a great spot, one where I've spent hours since last fall, but which will quickly become a miserable location from the human standpoint. Lots of standing water equals lots of biting insects. That didn't seem to bother the many Yellow Rumped Warblers I enjoyed; in fact, they were thrilled. Following the rule that no camera means excellent views, these little charmers perched at eye level close to me, snatching bugs from the other side of upright branches, then darting back to their perch. Their contact calls were for the most part soft; with so many of them in close proximity, the louder harsher calls were hardly needed. Toward evening, a few began singing, so perhaps they are establishing territory right here.

White-Throated Sparrows and an Eastern Towhee also gave very close looks, though that Towhee would have been impossible to photograph, anyway. Lurking under brushy tangles, I'd catch nice looks for but a moment before he ducked into denser cover near the ground.

I made an attempt to see some new birds reported the other day, Bonapartes Gulls and Horned Grebes. I might even have seen them. Something white was bobbing up and down in the location reported. I need that scope!

Though I didn't add to the all-important list as a result of my lack in birding gear, it's really not important at all. What matters is that I go out into the woods, the shorelines, the wetlands, and spend time in the company of our wild feathered friends and other wild things. I stop and listen, look and see, enjoy learning more about each as it presents itself. There are more warblers on their way, many of which I've never seen, or at least didn't know I was seeing. Where some would call a day at the mall a perfect day, I call any time out in nature, removed from the noise and trappings of "civilization," a day well spent. Whether I add those new birds or not, time outdoors will reward me with time to contemplate my world, and unexpected moments of connection...perhaps even giving me, for just a moment, the Bluebird of Happiness!

Wake-up call

2006-04-14T23:00:00.000-05:00

I've been to a wetland meadow near my home before sunrise a couple times this past week, and it seems I've been witnessing the wake-up calls of a pair of Sandhill Cranes each time. I know where one spends the night, because I discovered its spot quite by accident. Getting a fairly close look through the heavy morning fog, it didn't fly at first glance.

Back in the meadow yesterday morning, the fog was even thicker. The Sandhill was in its same spot, preening and fluffing its feathers, occasionally stopping to look my way. From somewhere behind me in the fog, I heard that sonorous bugling, and watched as my friend stopped, looked, then straigthened its neck to call in response. This happened a couple more times, and I'd expected that before long, off this Crane would fly to join its mate and head into the fields for the day. It didn't.

Drastic Photoshop measures saved this image!

As the sun finally burned off the fog, I watched as the pair found each other and flew off, side by side. How much longer will this be the routine? How lucky have I been to watch at such close range this intimate morning wake-up call?

Zen Birdism

2006-04-13T11:08:00.000-05:00

Since it's my spring break, since the weather, until today, has been gorgeous, since I'm a birder...I've been out every day, even this morning, looking for birds. As I've done this, I'm reminded again of how birding can be a zen-like activity, if one allows that to happen. If one allows that to happen, the birding will likely improve, too.

Yesterday was a perfect example of Zen Birdism at work. I'd read a post on the mnbird list from Dedrick Benz about the continued sighting of a Carolina Wren on some trails in the bluffs of Winona. That would be a life bird for me, and even if it wasn't, it would still be cool to see. So off I went. Wherever I go, there I am!

I'd not hiked these trails before. More open than my customary woodland hiking in Hixon Forest, these trails are designated for mountain biking. There were bikers, but I actually experienced less traffic than I normally see in Hixon. The trails meandered all over the place, as did I.

I wasn't exactly sure I was following the right trail to the location of the wren, but I decided I really didn't care. I just went wherever I thought things looked interesting. Heading over a dry streambed, I heard loud calling between Tufted Titmice, and spotted them high in the trees overhead. Other sounds were heard as well; Ruby Crowned Kinglets were singing loudly, and wonder of wonder, I could actually see them. Nearby was a small flock of Golden Crowned Kinglets. These are birds that are usually heard, not seen, due to their tiny size, not much bigger than a hummingbird. Such a treat on this warm spring afternoon!

Wandering some more, I saw a flash of movement in the brush along the edges of the trail. The wren? No. Hermit Thrush! I hoped it would sing, but it was quiet today.

I wandered all over these trails, at one point questioning if I'd even found my way back to the proper trail. I enjoyed watching a Black-Capped Chickadee excavating a nest hole in a dead tree. I'd never seen one doing this before, so I stopped to watch for a time, pondering the truth of the statement, "Not all who wander are lost." I was thinking maybe today, that wasn't true. I was worrying about that fact even less. Even when lost, eventually I find my way out.

Climbing higher into the bluffs, I found a wren and watched it skulking about in the underbrush, never getting a good look at its face, but concluding it was probably a House Wren. No matter. I wandered some more, eventually heading back down.

At a hairpin turn on the downward hike, I saw a flash of movement across a draw in the bluffside. Climbing on deadfall, clearly wren-like in shape and movements, there! White eyestripe, large size (for a wren), rusty color! Without even trying to look, the Carolina Wren presented itself for me to watch in the golden afternoon sun. Hopping around the deadfall, I'd lose it every so often as it ducked underneath. Movement in the grass to one side caught my eye, but no! It was the Hermit Thrush again. Still refusing to sing.

Not the Carolina Wren. High up the bluffside now, its song rang out---loudly. The guide books all mention the loudness of the song, but they don't do justice to the intensity and volume. It didn't choose to sing for very long, but sing it did. Wandering aimlessly, thinking maybe I was lost, the "target" bird presented itself, loud and clear for me to enjoy. Along the way were other surprises and delights, none of which I looked to find. That's the zen of birding...just being there and ready to enjoy whatever flies into view. And knowing enough to appreciate the gift you've been given.

Adventures in Birding, Part III

2006-04-10T08:11:00.000-05:00

In a perfect world, instead of sitting here this morning typing, I'd have been somewhere in the Cache River Wildlife Refuge right now, working as part of the last search team of the season for Cornell's Ivory Bill search. The world is not perfect. For various reasons, I had to resign that spot on their team earlier this year, and some other lucky person is there in my stead. Since I had to set aside a once in a lifetime experience, I'm trying to console myself by creating another.

I know there are Pileated Woodpeckers in one of my favorite birding spots, the Hixon Forest. I've seen them. I hear them all the time. On rare occasions, I might be lucky enough to get a photo of them. Until this last stop on my birding adventure day, I'd been able to take a grand total of two photos of this elusive bird. In my entire life. I know, I know, some of you have them coming right into your yard, hanging on your feeders. No such luck here. With one rare exception reported earlier, I find them to be highly wary, soaring to the other side of a ridge at any approach. If the Ivory-Billed is anything like its more common cousin, I can understand the difficulty getting a definitive image of it. I wish "my" search team great good luck in doing so.

My consolation prize is simple, yet not simple at all. I'd like to find out where the Hixon Pileateds choose to nest, then return a few times to document their nesting season. It probably won't happen. No doubt they nest in adjacent forest, on private property. Still, it's a challenge that will occupy my time, instead of moping around, thinking all kinds of "if only" thoughts.

So as I entered the forest on this bright afternoon, I headed off to the trails where I've been most likely to spot these birds. Just as I started my ascent, I heard the familiar raucous laughter. Behind me. I'd spotted earlier woodpecker sign, a pile of chips on the ground below an excavated hole. I often see this sign, right along the forest edge near the start of the trail, and it's always fresh. I need to spend time in the early morning here, as I suspect that's when they're working this area.

As I stopped and listened for the call again, I realized they were over in another valley of the forest, and backtracked. Walking slowly, stopping every so often, I'd narrow my search. There were definitely two birds calling, and they were calling often. As I climbed a bit up the north slope of this part of the forest, I caught a flash of red. There!

They always seem to be so distant, alert to intruders into their kingdom, and a photo like this is about the best I can hope to take. Still, photos weren't the objective today. I tried to hunker down so I could creep ever closer, see where and what she was doing and......crash! Through the forest came a cluster of runners from the nearby college. Loud runners. Yelling to each other. Grumbling internally, I knew they had just as much right to be here, and hoped maybe their movement would actually chase the birds closer to me.

Not a chance. Even more maddening was the fact that several clusters of equally noisy runners came crashing through...and they didn't just move on, but circled the same trail two or three times! I kept telling myself, you're only jealous. You used to be a runner yourself, until an injury ended your distance running days (and added inches to my butt!) Still, I was mostly one of those who subscribed to the loneliness of the long distance runner, so I was a quiet runner.

I bided my time. I knew eventually they'd be gone, and hoped the birds would not wander too far. They didn't. I found a log I could park on, and watched and listened as they flew from one area to another. There was some drumming, but not a lot. It didn't appear they were excavating a nest hole just yet. I saw both a male and female, so she isn't on a nest yet. Pileateds tend to mate for life and remain together throughout the year. They will spend days excavating a new nest hole, then take turns incubating, the female by day, the male taking the night shift. So it appeared I still have some time.

What they were doing today was still interesting. I kept seeing them near the ground, sometimes at the base of trees; other times it wasn't obvious what they were doing. I'm used to seeing them hitch up a tree, then glide to another...usually on the other side of the trunk from me. Today I couldn't quite figure out what was up, until I got this view in a beam of sunlight.

They were ripping away dead bark on fallen trees and limbs, probably taking great delight in fresh carpenter ants, their preferred food. It was fascinating to watch as they'd tear away a strip of bark, then probe deep into the remains for ants. I spent nearly an hour on that log. This part of the forest seems to have a lot of these fallen logs, perhaps because of its damp, shady location. Someone else came through near the birds, barking dogs and chatting people, sending both birds sailing over the ridge out of sight.

I know where they like to go to eat now. I'll go back several times, checking my theories about their daily routines at different times of the day. I won't be helping to find an Ivory Billed Woodpecker, but maybe I'll succeed in finding a Pileated nest site. Even if I don't, as with the Ivory-Bill, I'll have a good time trying and get to know this elusive bird better.

Adventures in Birding, Part II

2006-04-07T20:25:00.000-05:00

Deciding that it was time for me to move on, I headed back up highway X52, stopping off in Lansing to check out a certain Yellow Bird Arts shop. Well, she does have bird-themed items throughout her utterly cool store. Having promised myself "no new fabric" until I finish my current project, I managed to get out of there with a mere Fat Quarter, cool thread for my current project, a magazine and a pattern. I just love that shop!

However, this is supposed to be a post about wild birds, not errant birders run wild in quilt shops. Having allowed myself just enough fun, I was back on the road, heading for the border of my natal state. Traveling along the riverside, my eyes caught movement--significant movement--in a small backwater just off the road a few miles north of Lansing. For those who are not from "around here," it might help to understand a bit about the Mississippi River as it appears here. Growing up as I did in Minneapolis, just a mile from the river, I thought I knew all about it. Ha! When I first moved here, just 150 miles downstream, I couldn't believe it was the same river. When I first saw a barge in the middle of the river, I couldn't imagine what that artificial floating island could be. By the time they'd locked up to St. Paul, they'd separated the barges, impossible as it was for them to be hooked together and lock through the narrowing channels.

Around here, it can be hard to say just where "the river" actually starts. It can be a mile across at points, that mile encompassing small estuaries, sloughs and small channels. Sometimes these are called "lakes," as in "Lawrence Lake." This place where the significant movement was spotted was one of these small ponds, with a slice of land separating it from the larger backwater channel. Pulling off the road, I realized I could jump the tracks--ah, brought me back to my youth!--and crawl around for a closer look. What had caught my attention was a raft of Northern Shovelers. A regular convention of them, flashy males all decked out like a bunch of Shriners in their fezes, accompanied by their better halves. In the sunlight that had returned, they made a striking picture indeed.

After crawling around and taking note of the various birds, I continued on. Not much further up the road, I could see drifts of white, HUGE drifts. Thinking I was looking at the swans that gather, I pulled off, only to see that instead, it must have been at least five hundred American White Pelicans. They were restless, paddling about, scooping up food, then flying off, always just a bit further north.

Pelicans just crack me up. Always have. They swim about, trying to achieve that same regal elegance usually credited to swans, but look at them! Perfectly designed to do what they do, scoop up fish from just below the surface, they strike me as comic strip birds. This little cluster was doing that circle thing, where they swim in tight little circles a few times before one of them gets an idea in its head and leads the rest of them on some indeterminate pathway.

Just a little further up the road, one could spot a Bald Eagle, standing watch over his mate on the nest. Hundreds of coots, dabbling ducks and some Canada Geese, along with the occasional Great Blue Heron, created a tableaux of nature before me. All the calling and singing filled the air, so long quiet through the cold months of winter, delighting me with its long-forgotten familiarity. It will soon become quiet again, as these birds move on, spread out or raise their young. I enjoyed the nature pageant before leaving the River Road, to head into the woods.

Adventures in Birding, Part 1

2006-04-06T07:53:00.000-05:00

The weather had promised sunshine, warm temps and light breezes. Add to that my day off from work, and you have the formula for a day filled with Adventures in Birding. So many, in fact, that it will take more than this one post to share them all.

Last week at our Coulee Audubon meeting, we were treated to the story of Peregrine Falcon recovery by Bob Anderson, who has worked in concert with WEnergies to place nest boxes on power plant stacks along the Mississippi River. I had a special interest in his story, because my father's engineering design company was named "Falcon Engineering." A task given to me by Dad, one I never completed to the satisfaction of either of us, was to create a logo for his company that incorporated a Peregrine Falcon forming the letter "F."

That, and they are just plain cool! Peregrine Falcons were at one point nearly extinct in North America, going the way of the Bald Eagle. When Bob first became involved with them, there were only a few pairs left at all, and much controversy surrounded the captive breeding program started. There were those who felt they should not be held captive, but allowed to pass into the annals of extirpation with dignity. Thankfully, that didn't happen.

Peregrine Falcons are cliff dwellers, making their eyries on rock walls facing open water. The Upper Mississippi Wildlife Refuge in which I live is prime habitat for these birds. Initially, and continuing to this day, they were choosing to nest on high buildings in urban areas or power plant smokestacks. They still do. However, in 1996, Bob designed a "rock box," a nest box that looked like a rock ledge on the inside, to encourage Peregrines to become cliff dwellers again. That box was placed high on a bluff overlooking the river at Effigy Mounds National Monument, and from that placement, a population of Peregrines has gone on to nest in bluff face locations on the river. Several of these locations are within an hour's drive of me. Yesterday, I headed out to one of those locations, Leo's Bluff between Harpers Ferry and Waukon Junction in Iowa.

I'd never ventured south of Lansing Iowa, one of my favorite river towns. Take X52 south from there, and you enter a place apart from others. The road winds along the river before climbing to higher agricultural land, then dropping down to hug the river once more. Along the way, a picturesque old dilapidated farmhouse, a hillside church with an old cemetary out front and boathouses along the river are part of the scene. Reaching Leo's Bluff, I pulled off after scaring away three Turkey Vultures who, knowing how ugly they are, just didn't want to stay around for photos!

Immediately looking up, I saw him--the male Peregrine Falcon, perched on an overhanging branch, surveying his kingdom. Not long after I arrived, Bob Anderson pulled up. He set up his scope, which gave me a really up close look at this magnificent bird. Bob was trying to read the band as well as locate the female. We heard her. We just couldn't see her. These birds successfully fledged chicks last year for the first time at this location.

Suddenly, the bird began to sound off. A Turkey Vulture was flying too close to the cliff face, and away he went! These are not large birds, about 16-20 inches long. Yet at speeds of 60mph, he attacked this eagle sized bird, successfully running it off his territory.

At one point, he flew off for no obvious reason that we could see. When I looked at my very crummy photos last night, it's apparent now. He grabbed a small bird from the air and likely cached it.

Try as we might, the female could not be located. Still, the male gave us plenty to appreciate, commanding his world from on high amid this rocky, inaccessible location. Giving pursuit to passing birds much larger than he, tearing apart a cached bird for lunch, feathers flying, calling a warning to any who thought to approach, I could only watch in awe. The weathermen had been wrong. The sun disappeared. Raindrops began to fall, slowly at first, then with more persistence. I watched the Peregrine, threatened species, ruling his world for about an hour before moving on. I'll watch him again soon. I've seen the Peregrines on the smokestacks and the tall buildings, but seeing them in their original wild environment is something special. A real adventure in birding.

At home in his bluffside (eating on the far right)

A glorious good lucky day!

2006-04-01T19:28:00.000-06:00

Sometimes we get lucky. Sometimes. My day off this past week was Tuesday, a glorious blue-sky early spring day, one in which everyone seemed to enjoy peeling off that outer layer of sweatshirt or jacket. Not having wandered the south trail at Goose Island in some weeks, I wanted to take a little hike to see what I could see.

Clearly, things are warming up. When last I went down this trail, I was valiantly trying to pull off some late season cross-country skiing. Not a spot of snow now, not even in the shade. The riverbottom forest was alive with woodpeckers drumming. I gave up even trying to count the Downies, but they had company; Hairies were also around, a Red-Bellied was heard and Pileateds, as usual, were not seen but clearly at work.

As I walked along, I heard a new sound. Was it a Tufted Titmouse? No, not quite right, and too many of them. When I localized the call, I realized there were multiple callers, all centered on a low, swampy area. Spring peepers! Tentative to be sure, but warming up, joined by a few hardy chorus frogs!

Out in the sloughs, I watched ten lazy Tundra Swans, mostly with their heads tucked under a wing. Just above the treeline, a Rough-Legged Hawk entertained me for a time as it hovered and dove, only to repeat this sequence several times. At last, it dove, then disappeared into the trees, probably to enjoy lunch.

Then I heard an unmistakeable, yet not identified, song. There! Near the open water, in some shrubby growth! I know that song. What is it? It's been months, I can't remember!
"Maids, maids put on your tea kettle-ettle-ettle!"

That's right! Song Sparrow! I enjoyed hearing this music again, creeping ever closer for photos until he gave me this backward glance before darting down to cover near the ground. I can't wait to go out again to see and hear who has returned from points south.

I also can't wait to really sit and enjoy the latest installment of I and the Bird, hosted by Nuthatch of "Bootstrap Analysis." Lots and lots of new blogs are gathered here, and just for the record, she did not solicit my submission! Enjoy some of the best in recent bird blogging.

The Gull of her dreams

2006-03-26T07:43:00.000-06:00

It was Saturday. No obligations. Time to go get that Glaucous-Winged Gull! Since it had been sighted most consistently over the lunch hour at the same spot on Richmond Bay, that is where and when I would look. Heading down to the boat landing, my friend from Sauk City was again there. He'd been there for three hours, with no luck. This wasn't promising. Not promising at all. Lots of Herring and Ringed Billed, what my grandfather would call "flying rats," but no Glaucous-Winged.

To help non-birding readers understand the nature of this current obsession, it's not even listed in my Audubon Field Guide to Birds, Eastern Region. For a description, I have to bring out my National Geographic Field Guide to North American Birds. Every birder has several field guides. At the moment, I own four, and three specialized guides for my area. Its breeding area is shown to be the northwest coastal area of Canada and the Aleutians. Basically, one could take the map of North America and a colored magic marker, outline the west coast, and that would match the range map in my guide. I live in Wisconsin, so this is a bird way out of its range.

To pick it out of the crowd of around 500 Herring and Ring-Billeds, I needed to find a bird about the same size as the larger Herrings, but without any black wing-tips. Other birders who had been checking the other area gull flocks shortly joined us and one commented that he'd sure seen a lot of gull butts the past few days! Indeed!

Like this one, they were almost certain to be Ring-Billed or Herring Gull butts. I was beginning to accept that I probably will not see this rare gull, so I might as well relax and enjoy the birding. As if granting my wish, at that moment I looked up through the tree branches overhead and behind us, to see a huge kettle of Bald Eagles, about 50 of them, coursing toward the main channel of the Black River. Swirling and gliding overhead, catching thermals, it was a sight to inspire awe even among us Mississippi Flyway birders who see Eagles in multiples daily.

After that incredible show, Dan Jackson, the one who'd originally spotted the Glaucous-Winged and all the other unusual gulls, spotted a Thayers. I'd seen one about a week ago, but had to take his word for it, as it had already settled on the ice. Today I was able to follow it in flight, watch it settle, then confirm through a scope that I'd looked at the right bird. Yes!

After about an hour, I headed to look at another flock on the other side of the bridge. Nothing unusual there, but in keeping with my "enjoy the ride" mindset, I had fun taking photos of a few Ring-Billeds that were hanging about.

Three young men from out of the area had joined us at the boat landing, asking where Pettibone Park is located. They'd been told by some guy, not a birder, that there were "5000 gulls" down there. Really? Dan hadn't checked there at all. He was leaving to head home to family, but I guessed he'd take the long way home via Pettibone. After taking my fill of photos, I would, too.

Driving over the river and into the sanctuary, I was doubtful of the report we'd heard, until I saw a sheet of fluttering white swirl up from the lagoon. The size of the flock was probably exaggerated five-fold, but the ability to look closely was more than consolation. With the park activity, they were constantly swirling, which made for a fascinating show.

Other birds made use of the small area of open water in this small slough, including a lonely and confused Hooded Merganser, displaying in hopes of attracting attention, then rushing over to a female Mallard. He was run off quickly by several drakes whose mission was to discourage inter-species courtship. Though the day did not bring me the gull of my dreams, I did enjoy the spectacle of nature; one I hope will still be available for the birders of the last part of this century.

In which Gwyn learns to appreciate gulls

2006-03-25T06:56:00.000-06:00

I've never paid that much attention to gulls. Of course I know they are more than "just gulls," but they are so difficult to identify. Essays and chapters in birding memoirs bemoan the difficulty of gull ID, and I'm still dealing with the difference between say a Cooper's Hawk and Sharp-Shinned. Don't complicate matters with white birds that eat dead fish!

The last couple weeks have slowly worked to change my mind. For one thing, watching gulls has already netted me two new life birds, a Thayer's Gull and the Lesser Black-Backed Gull. I've been spending time hoping to catch a couple more, including one that is only the fifth recorded sighting in Wisconsin, the Glaucous-Winged Gull; the one that has brought people from other states to a little bay in our little river town.

I've already mentioned the coincidental sighting of a human Nuthatch while looking for gulls about a week ago. This past Tuesday evening, Dan Jackson's sighting of the Glaucous-Winged Gull came across the listserv, along with decent photos to document his finding and add his name to the state records. By the time I'd read email, it was dark.

Wednesday Dan called from Richmond Bay to tell me what he was seeing. I had to go to church! Even on the way there, my husband asked me, "Aren't you going to try and see that bird?" I knew that by the time I'd get there, the light would be failing. Failing light is not a great way to try and pick out one white bird from several hundred others.

Thursday. I was hoping, but a meeting after school went on far too long. Yesterday I took the long way home, by way of Richmond Bay. I wasn't really dressed for birding, coming as I had from work. Friday is usually Jeans Day, but because I had two parent meetings, I had to dress "nice." Still, I was going to do my best.

Not long after I arrived, a fellow came down the hill to the boat landing carrying a scope. He had come over from Sauk City, about 1.5 hours from here, hoping to spot the Glaucous Winged. We chatted for a bit as we searched the flocks. There's something almost comical about watching gulls. For one thing, when you have such large concentrations of them, the noise is incredible. They really do sound as if they're crying "Mine, Mine, Mine!" like the gulls in Finding Nemo. Then there's the whining calls. Every so often, one of the numerous Bald Eagles will swoop over, setting them all to holler and swirl up from the ice, then settle back down, returning to fighting over the various dead fish delicacies the winter fish kill has been thoughtful enough to leave on the ice.

The fellow from Sauk City told me he'd taken to gull watching and grew to really dislike the Bald Eagles for their harrassment of them. It does make methodical flock searching a challenge, but it's also a bit amusing to watch the Eagles, our majestic national symbol, dining on dead fish among the gull flock.

The fellow with the scope picked out the Lesser Black-Backed, just about the time Fred Lesher came down the hill. Fred has seen the Glaucous-Winged, but he was checking again anyway. As I've been told, you never know what you might see here during ice-out.

About an hour's worth of looking yielded nothing new in the way of gulls. Fred was heading out as well, and he was even dressed better for the circumstances. I was starving, telling him, "I need to get going and go eat Friday fish."

Fred made one pointed observation.

"I don't know if I'd want to eat fish after standing here and watching them eat fish!"

He had a point. My husband and I later went out for Chinese instead. Spending time looking for these gulls has cemented in my mind one other point; I need a scope. Fred says I need a scope.
Dan Jackson says I need a scope. The fellow from Sauk City says I need a scope. I never thought I did, since my birding tends to be more active, but for times like this, when one is trying to pick out that life bird from a flock of a thousand similar looking birds....I need a scope!

Nuthatch sighting!

2006-03-16T09:17:00.000-06:00

If you're a regular reader of my ramblings, you might be wondering, given all the previous photos of White-Breasted Nuthatches, why I'm excited about yet another sighting. If you're really curious and want to know why, you'll have to read on.

In the current issue of Wild Bird Magazine, Pete Dunne lists "Twenty Important Catalysts." I saw that title and was eager to read what his list included. I recently read Kenn Kaufman's Kingbird Highway, and he shares right away that the year when he did his big birding trip was a year on the cusp of big changes in the pastime. He was birding in more "innocent" times, when person-to-person networks and hard work, along with knowing your birds, would make or break Big Years. As he says, we're now in the age where anyone with unlimited money and time can make a good stab at these records.

One of the reasons this is true is change number 7 on Pete Dunne's list--the internet. Instead of waiting for the monthly or quarterly listings of interesting sightings in the various organizational newsletters, anyone signed on to a state or regional birding listserv can learn almost immediately where to go to see the cool birds others are seeing.

I'm certainly not immune from the lure of the internet. In fact, it was an internet posting by Dan Jackson, who's already gifted me with two life birds, that led me to Richmond Bay after work. The day before, Dan had spotted an Iceland Gull hanging out with about 500 Herring and Ring-Billed Gulls on the ice. I couldn't take advantage of his news, trapped as I was at school on parent-teacher conference night. At work the next day, peeking again at the wisbirdn-list, Dan was reporting a new sighting of an adult Lesser-Black Backed Gull, along with a Glaucous Gull! I'd brought my binoculars and camera to work in anticipation of looking for the Iceland on my way home.

Off I went, driving right through LaCrosse rush hour traffic, rather than my preferred rural route over the bluffs. Any time one of these internet posts appears, I can just about guarantee that whenever I'm able to arrive, there will be other birders there. Today was no exception. In fact, I've done this sort of thing enough times now that I don't even need to ask people who pull off if they're looking for the birds. I can just tell, and the conversation gets right down to business!

So it was that I stood at the edge of the bay, peering through my binoculars as I watched about a million Bald Eagles amusing themselves by chasing after twice as many gulls hanging about on the ice. Try as I might, I couldn't seem to make any of those gulls into one of the three I sought. As I tried to will black primaries into white, a couple pulled into Bob's Bait and Tackle and walked over. Not even asking if they were birders, I simply said, "I'm not seeing anything." We chatted a bit more, then the woman asked me "Are you Gwyn?" I guess the little photo in my sidebar is probably a big clue, but I still am momentarily astonished when someone I've never met seems to know my name.

I told her I was, and she said, "I'm Nuthatch."

I had to think for a quick moment. Nuthatch? Of Bootstrap Analysis? Didn't she live in Michigan? Surely she hadn't traveled THIS far for three gulls!

She hadn't. They were in the area for other reasons, but had checked the internet listings and came to see if they could find the gulls. In a world without the internet, this would truly have been a first meeting for us. However, this is the world with internet, and both of us have been active bloggers in the nature blogosphere. We've shared space on various editions of I and the Bird. We "know" several other bloggers in common and consider some of the same people, like Cindy of Woodsong, as friends. Now we can say we've met in the real world as well. The internet can be a bane or a boon, depending on how it's used. I'm glad that my use has been mostly of the latter sort; that use allowed me to turn a day without any life sightings into one with the sighting of a very unique species of Nuthatch!

Nuthatch, if you're reading this, it was a treat to meet you beyond the computer screen. I hope your travels were safe and that we meet again some day.

I and the Bird #19 for your reading pleasure!

2006-03-16T07:39:00.000-06:00

Bora of Science and Politics has pulled together an incredible number of blog entries for your reading pleasure, including a couple of Editor's Choices. Take some time to scroll through the entries and click away some time living vicariously through the blogs of birders world-wide!

Next edition will be hosted by Nuthatch of Bootstrap Analysis--about whom I will have a bit more to share in my next entry! Get your submissions to her by March 28.

It's starting!

2006-03-11T21:13:00.000-06:00

Change has been in the air the last few days. Sure, there was the small matter of that snowstorm last week, and the threat of more tomorrow. So what? Last week's snow is completely gone already, and the air is warm now, warm enough to roll down the window on the car.

I had high hopes of an early start to my morning, pretending to be the Ivory Bill searcher I was to have been in April by trying to stake out where the Hixon Forest Pileateds might be nesting. No such luck. Arriving at the trailhead by 7am or so, I was met with signs--"Trails closed due to bad conditions." I noticed there were a few people ignoring the signs, but the trails were indeed in signficantly mushy shape. I didn't want to contribute to potholes in which I might twist an ankle later in the spring, so instead I birded the perimeter of the parking area. Several Tufted Titmouse were present, singing away and treating me to close looks a few times.

Overhear, a pair of Red-Tailed Hawks were doing their courtship ritual; circling, then diving fast, only to reappear moments later over the canopy to repeat the sequence again.

Since woodland hikes were out of the question, I headed over to the wetland instead. Though there were still large areas of thin ice, the Canada Geese were present in uncounted numbers, their honking almost deafening at times. Watching them as they swam through the ice, then broke through to paddle across to join the party, I simultaneously laughed at their antics while cheering their recent return.

Almost everywhere I hiked, they were present. I traveled further along the Wood Duck Trail that skirts the southern edge of the marsh, and stood in place several times, enjoying those avian songs silenced these last months of winter birding. Cardinal, Goldfinches, Brown Creepers, Dark-Eyed Juncos singing and chasing each other through the underbrush. With my early start, no other hikers or joggers were present to interrupt the chorus.

Looking out to the cattail beds, it was clear who was in charge this morning. Red-Winged Blackbirds sat atop the highest perch in their corner of the marsh, pumping out a song to declare that this spot was theirs. It made me laugh, since I'd spent quite a bit of time in January playing RWBB calls to practice imitating them for my original porquoi tale. How could I have forgotten that unforgettable sound? Here it was, in all its raucous glory, surrounding me on this morning that was becoming increasingly warm.

I wandered all my trails through the marsh, including the deer paths that criss-cross the sedge meadows. Mallards, Hooded Mergansers and even a few Wood Ducks joined the cast of thousands of geese. Kildeer could be heard, maybe even a Snipe or Woodcock. My coat had to come off, tied around my waist, the weather now early spring balmy.

The quintessential harbinger of spring made his presence evident with frequent song, punctuated by the whinny call. One of its representatives stopped in his morning routine to look at me as if to say, "WHAT? You thought I'd stay down in that tropical heat all summer? You crazy?"

Though the calendar says there are a few more days, the birds are beginning to tell me that spring is here.

Spring is bursting out on other blogs, too. Check out--
Cindy Mead's Sandhill sighting in Michigan
Mike McDowell in the Madison area
EarthHomeGarden
Endment
Thomasburg Walks

So, I cheated a bit....

2006-03-05T15:26:00.000-06:00

This weekend was the Festival of Owls in Houston, Minnesota. Nothing else like it anywhere. My husband and I went last year and thoroughly enjoyed it, so we were looking forward to it this year.

Friday night was banquet night. Dining with fellow birders is always fun. Like any obsession, most of the "outside world" just doesn't get it, but kindred spirits do. Partway through dinner, Greg Munson of the Quarry Hill Nature Center came in, having checked a banding station he'd set up not too far away. He'd netted a Saw-Whet Owl. Already I was wishing I'd brought my camera with me, but I'd thought, 'photos of people eating, big whoop.' Big mistake.

Greg asked for a couple kids to help him be extra hands and better eyes to read band information. Two teenage girls stepped up to help. As the little bird was weighed and measured, everyone there enjoyed the close looks at him. As Greg prepared to band the owl, he gasped, saying "Karla--he's banded!" The two girls peered in as they helped read off the numbers on the leg band, with the owl peering out coyly in my direction. A Kodak moment, and where was my camera? What's worse, later on when telling friends my sad story, someone commented, "That would be a time when a camera phone would be nice." Oh no! We had ours with us the whole time! It was still fun to be present and witness this whole little drama, which even made our local paper this morning.

This morning. Yes, where the cheating comes in. I'd sent in my registration for the Photographer's Brunch. I'd been looking forward to this chance to photograph several owls in a natural setting, courtesy of Marge Gibson and her education birds from the Raptor Education Group, along with Alice, the ambassador of the Houston County Nature Center. I'd chosen the 9am time for the best light.

Ha. It had started to snow early this morning. Lightly at first, but snow is snow, and that means overcast skies. The snow actually enhanced the photos, as you'll see. I stepped out of my car to discover I was way outclassed as far as my set-up. The other three photographers had mongo professional lenses with great tripods and Wimberley heads. Some had even brought perches they created from tree branches and the like. Auxiliary flash. Wow. I travel light. High end amateur digital camera, 100-400mm secondary manufacturer's lens. Well, the lens does have image stabilization. Though the set-up I use doesn't have the power of the others', it's actually my preference. I stalk my subjects, or hope for happy coincidences while biking, canoeing or cross country skiing. My set-up is an amateur set-up because, well...I'm an amateur!

My first subject was Malcom, who has an injured wing and could not be released into the wild. He is an excellent foster father to chicks that come to the Raptor Center, and was for the most part a calm subject this morning as well. He wanted to check out all the chickadees and woodpeckers active overhead, but posed for the camera, a lovely Barred Owl.

Next was Wookie, so named because he looks like one! He's a Red Phase Eastern Screech Owl, about 8 months old and now almost fully feathered in adult plumage. He'd suffered liver poisoning as a chick, and even now, his eyes have a slight greenish tinge remaining. His handler told me they kept expecting to find him dead each morning, but he's a fighter and is doing very well. After a bit of consternation being placed on his perch, he was quite calm and seemed to enjoy the snow.

Next up was the celebrity owl Alice. Alice is a Great Horned Owl who'd fallen out of her nest as a chick, broken her wing and was nursed to health by Marge Gibson. From day one, she was not fearful of humans, and Marge realized she would be a wonderful education bird. Karla Kinstler, naturalist at the Houston County Nature Center, became Alice's keeper and Alice has joined Karla's household, commuting daily to the center with Karla. Alice has the singular distinction of having appeared at a hearing in the Minnesota State Capitol when the issue of protecting Great Horned Owls was up for discussion.

Today she was perched on a branch with Money Creek as backdrop, and though I took some nice shots of her showing those surroundings, this one is my favorite. She looks for all the world like she's hoping to catch a snowflake as it falls from the sky.

My last subject was Little Bit, a Northern SawWhet Owl like the one that made an appearance at the Friday banquet. Little Bit was having "issues" this morning. He'd heard Alice chirping and Malcom flapping his wings. Those larger owls would have Little Bit for lunch in the wild, and he wasn't too keen to be in the same vicinity, even though the handlers had made good arrangements to keep them all out of sight from one another. Little Bit just knew.

Fortunately, he has a stump in which he can hide during his appearances, and once he'd been given that option, he was quite willing to peek out and see what's up.

Once I'd finished my turn with each of the birds, I headed into Money Haven for the brunch part of the morning. I enjoyed dining with a local fellow and Laura Erickson. We had a grand time discussing the worsening weather, the Cubs, birding experiences and the trials of raising teenagers. I am not ashamed to say I cheated on these photos. Part of my cost goes to various conservation programs that benefit owls. Perhaps my "cheating" this morning will help maintain habitat for wildlife, so that I may one day have true wild photo encounters with owls. I'm thankful to the Festival of Owls for giving me this wonderful morning, but even more thankful that they are doing the work of educating and raising awareness of these beautiful predators.

Back to the Future, I and the Bird #18

2006-03-02T08:59:00.000-06:00

Time to go back to the future, as Rob at The Birdchaser presents the best of bird blogging, looking back from the year 2036 at 2006 by way of blog posts. Though the birding is much easier in his future, there are less birds, so a backward look at those times when a birder had to rely on skill and luck provides perspective.

Check it out at I and the Bird!

Life is good!

2006-03-01T07:21:00.000-06:00

My weekend promised to be wonderful. Husband out of town, kids busy with work or other activities, time to myself. On top of that, the weather was predicted to be nice. Perhaps just a little too nice for some desired activities, but perfection is a goal, not a given, right? Time for....intensive birding!

Word was out that some Short-Eared Owls were roosting at Beaver Creek Wildlife Management Area in far southern Minnesota. These owls are not forest hunters, but hover low over wet meadows or fields, plunging down to grab their prey. They will maintain winter roosts in dense vegetation near such areas. They take up the night shift after the Northern Harriers retire for the day. Reports were coming in of wonderful late afternoon shows by up to six owls. Checking various routes on Mapquest, it looked to be about an 80 mile drive one-way. I have this "rule" that I travel no more than 30 miles to go birding. Where I live in the heart of the Upper Mississippi Wildlife Refuge is a birding mecca for others. Between the river, floodplain forests and varied bluff and upland habitat, there are so many birds to see right near home. The big picture reason for my rule is sustainability. To get to these distant places requires gas. More gas. Dependence on fossil fuels has a significant impact on the environment, and this is one way I can lessen my impact on it. Sonetimes, maybe twice a year, I'll make an exception to my rule. This would be one of those times.

So Saturday afternoon, I headed west. Watching for birds along the way, I saw Bald Eagles of course, as well as Kestrels, Red-Tailed Hawks and the ever present Crows. I suppose it's possible that some of the hawks I saw may have been Harriers or Rough-Legged. My raptor id skills on sight are not stellar.

I've traveled most of this route before, but the last leg of the trip, into Harmony Minnesota, was new to me. There is a large Amish community in the area. The road itself is signed as "Amish Byway." I was surprised that even into the late hours of the day, a couple of buggies were still making their way home, waving as we passed each other. Harmony itself presents itself to westbound travelers as an American icon. Old-fashioned water tower, grain silos, feed mills all line up like a 40s style small town picture postcard. Part of me wanted to just stop here and capture the image in the sunset. That wasn't my plan, so I kept on driving.

Following the directions to the stand of spruce trees along the small management area, I laughed inwardly to see several vehicles, and people with big scopes or binoculars around their neck already in the area. A blind with enormous glass was parked right in front of a group of trees. There was never any movement at all from it. Thinking that perhaps this person had done some homework, I stayed near this area.

Another birder wandered over and we talked bird. It always amuses me that birders love to talk while waiting for birds. I know there are things we could be hearing if quiet, but it's satisfying to meet others who are equally crazy and can relate to one's obsession. Reports had said the birds were flying out of the roost around 5pm, and it was well after that without any sign of activity. It was very quiet overall out here. Turning to scan the fields to the west, the sun was becoming its wonderfully dramatic self. Driving all this way, I felt I needed some photos to show for my gas consumption.

Shortly after 6pm, I saw it. Movement beyond the trees, on the other side of the field. Binoculars up, it was the beautiful sight of a Short-Eared Owl, almost ghost-like in the fading light with its light coloration, sailing low over the field, then plunging down. It lifted up and then flew with a purpose below the ridge. Other birders watched similar shows of three owls on the other side of the road. There was a second owl repeating the hunt on our side. My new birding friend and I went out into the field some distance to see if we could spot where the owl had gone to eat, but to no avail. Since it was getting dark, we had to look down on our way out, and rodents were literally criss-crossing in front of our every footfall! No wonder the owls had found this spot to their liking.

All birders congregated. We watched the blind come apart, then someone said, "Time to go home." It was. Darkness had covered the field, though we could hear a Great Horned Owl somewhere off in the distance, proclaiming its territory. Knowing my two teenagers would be home within a couple hours, I reluctantly headed back. It was a good day birding, even if lousy for photos. Not everyone had been unlucky over the weekend. Ron Green, who posts to the mnbird listserv, had spent time over the weekend here as well. In fact, in a small flurry of email conversation, we deduced that it was he who was leaving just as I arrived there. He had no luck on Saturday either, but shared that Friday and Sunday, the owls were putting on the grand show many have experienced. He was able to get a wonderful photo, which you can see at his site. If one looks through the wonderful images he has made, you'll find a similar sunset shot to the one I made. He told me he was getting bored and needed to shoot something. How well I understood!

I was not lucky like Ron. I may just break my 25 mile rule one more time to see if I can have a little better look at these gorgeous owls. Even though my trip was in vain photographically, I enjoyed the peace and quiet of a back road, the company of other birders, and the sight of owls immediately successful in their hunt. Life is good!

The Conquering Birder!

2006-02-21T19:11:00.000-06:00

After an incredibly irritating weekend of backyard birding, in which none of the cool birds showed up for the Great Backyard Bird Count--until today!--I was happy to be out again, hiking the trails in Hixon Forest. I'd thought momentarily about cross country skiing, but chose instead to move slowly through the woods. Just as well. Most of the people skiing today must have been prepping for the American Birkebeiner. You can just tell---all dressed in the skiier's equivalent of NASCAR gear, spandex bodysuits with all kinds of brand names all over them, ski-skating by at Mach 3. I'd have simply been a hindrance to their training.

Instead, I chose to move slowly through the new snow, taking in the sights and sounds. Almost immediately, I heard new sounds. Training my binoculars toward movement, I spotted a Red-Breasted Nuthatch. Louder than that one was a pair of Tufted Titmice--singing! The percussion section--the Downys, Hairys and Red-Bellieds--were in full force as well. It was great to be outdoors in the sun, listening to nature's symphony. While these members of the percussion family were playing snare drum, my quarry was the tympani. The Pileated Woodpecker, my perennial jinx bird.

The feeder station was active as usual, and a seed bell had been added. It was the source of much enjoyment, as the Tufted Titmice would hang on while it spun in circles under their weight. They spotted me and the scolding I received was nothing like the sweet clear music they'd been singing earlier. It's hard to believe the same bird can make such different sounds, but it does.

While it's fun to watch the antics at the feeders, I was intent. That bird was out here somewhere. I'd seen the signs. More trees with bark chips at the base. In fact, when I'd been listening to discern the source of the Red Breasted Nuthatch calls, just beyond my awareness I'd heard louder drumming. Too bad I didn't practice a bit of mindfulness right then, because when I went just a short distance down the trail, I saw fresh bark and the characteristic holes. It had been right there! This is why this bird is my jinx bird!

It didn't matter. Nothing could ruin my day. Having been forced inside due to record cold temps, I was basking in the 30 degree heat. Brown Creepers were tinkling in the trees above, the Chickadees playing everywhere. Climbing up the snow covered bluff, I decided to stay on the Hickory Trail, where I've had the most luck spotting my friend. I hadn't heard the laughter at all. Hmm. Playing the stealth game with me? We'll see about that.

Rounding a turn down into a valley, then past a gully and back up, I saw a brilliant flash of soaring white overhead against the blue sky. Red-Tailed Hawks, a pair, almost as white from below as the snow, save for the blush of tail feathers. Watching them soar away, I almost missed the prehistoric flight of a large black bird overhead. Almost.

Watching through the brush, I spotted the brilliant red crest. A female Pileated it was, quiet and working her way up the side of a tree. I watched as she hitched the entire length of the tree, then crested the top branch. Hoping she'd fly back my way, instead she sailed to the next large tree. I couldn't take any chances. Distant though she might be, the light was nice. Very nice. Waiting, watching, I had one single shot.

A little Photoshop magic courtesy of the amazing Cindy Mead makes it better!

Though it's cropped to within an inch of its life, I got another photo of my jinx bird, my second ever, before she took off once more, flying into the brush. Though I saw the area she landed, she was just impossible to find, even with that scarlet topknot.

My meeting with my jinx bird today was nothing like my encounter in northern Minnesota last month at close range. Still, anytime I am allowed to share space with one of nature's creatures I consider to be a gift. Anytime I can be out in the natural world, alone with my thoughts and the music of the birds, is a gift. It's a gift I hope I never take for granted, knowing how quickly the bulldozers could take another corner of wildness away.

Come to this exclusive birding festival!

2006-02-16T10:07:00.000-06:00

Amy of "Wild Bird on the Fly" invites us all to join her at this exclusive birding festival for "I and the Bird #17."

Next edition will be hosted by Rob of 'Birdchaser." Get your nominations to him or Mike before February 28.

A time and place for one's thoughts

2006-02-11T17:03:00.000-06:00

It had snowed here at last. Putting my cross country skis in the car and driving in anticipation of finally enjoying the trails again, I was disheartened to discover that snowfall on the trails was minimal. Disappointed but undaunted, I shifted gears and instead headed into the trails of the forest in search of my jinx bird, along with any other enjoyable sights of nature that might present themselves.

I spent hours. Hours. Yes, I did spot my friend the jinx bird, but only briefly. It haunted me my whole afternoon, laughing in a mocking sort of way. Too bad for him! I just trained my camera onto more willing subjects. Like this one.....

Or perhaps this one...

Maybe even this perky little fellow...

In various spots throughout the forest, a veritable symphony of woodpecker drumming could be heard. A small suet feeder hangs in a clearing near the confluence of several trails, and much free entertainment could be had watching all these birds jockey for position. Those waiting nearby proclaimed their stake with drumming, and hearing anywhere from 30-40 Downy, Hairy and Red-Bellied Woodpeckers drumming at once is an experience not to be missed!

My time in the woods was spent in the company of such as these, along with several white-tail deer, but as I headed reluctantly back to civilization, the sky opened up and presented a show better than anything that might have been streaming online or broadcast late afternoon.

I can't help but think that if those people who tear up our landscape in the name of "progress" would spend some time away from that progress, an appreciation for what is being lost might develop. One cannot spend time walking deliberately through the forest, alone with your thoughts and the creatures who make it their home, and not see its value. Where some see "increased tax base," I see only "less wild places." Somehow, I much prefer my sunset framed by trees and grasslands instead of skyscrapers and McMansions.

Tag! You're it!

2006-02-06T07:01:00.000-06:00

Cindy at Woodsong had a "tag" post. I read it, so I guess I was "tagged."

Here are the rules:

1. Go into your archives.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Post the fifth sentence (or closest to it).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same thing

"My husband wanted to soak a couple barrels to get the wood to expand, and the best way to do this is to dump them in a lake." It doesn't sound like a sentence from a birding blog, but trust me, it is. The post was titled "Meow! There's no place like home!" and it told about birding at the lake within walking distance of our home, featuring a photo of a young Catbird.

So consider yourself tagged now! Tag! You're it!

Drama at the feeders!

2006-01-29T20:24:00.000-06:00

Perhaps the weatherman was right this time. The small birds that frequent my feeders--Juncos, House Finches, Chickadees and the like--had been gorging themselves frantically. I'd never seen so many feathers all at once at my busy feeders. They must know this ongoing drizzle really will turn to snow, eating in frenzied fashion before needing to roost out of the gale.

I turned my back to warm up my coffee and when I returned to the window, not a single bird could be seen...anywhere. Not in the branches to which they retreat when the bullies come, not even in the bramble of the hedge. They'd simply vanished from sight. What could be happening?

Walking over to another window on the side of the house, I saw a distinctive, fast moving form cut across the gray sky, perching in a very upright fashion tall in the branches above a neighbor's house. This is why the birds scattered!

It watched me for a few moments, then swooped away, searching to fill its belly before the storm hit.

If it ever does. I'm still waiting for some of the white stuff.

My jinx bird

2006-01-28T09:35:00.000-06:00

We all have one, don't we? Most people have a bird that deserves its place as a jinx bird... Spruce Grouse are well-hidden in their habitat, Black-Billed Cuckoos are reclusive in the tangled brush they prefer, giving perhaps only a flash of their distinctive tail before retreating further. My jinx bird is one that judging from photos posted by many is often lured to backyard feeders...the Pileated Woodpecker. I can't really say I've never seen one. I have. I even got a photo of a female once at our cabin in northern Wisconsin. I was lucky that day and moved fast before she glided, pterodactyl-like, into the depths of the tall evergreens. One distant shot, enlarged to that artful pontillism appearance, used many times in my art.

Still, my efforts to get a really good look at one of these magnificent birds have been marked by following the distinctive laugh-like calls and drumming through brush and burs, only to see but a flash of crow-sized wing with white markings disappear to the other side of the ridge. I have made it one of my birding goals this year to really learn how to find them. After all, I'd been accepted as a search team member for the IBWO project, so I needed the practice.

I headed out to areas where they are heard often and known to live in some numbers. Hixon Forest in LaCrosse. LaRiviere City Park in Prairie du Chien. Each time, clear evidence of their immediate presence was found.

Such as fresh chips and exposed bark on dead trees, like this...

Other times, I'd spot recently excavated rectangular holes, a clear indicator that Pileateds were at work, like this...

Befitting its status as my jinx bird, in every instance, I'd hear plenty of calling or drumming and if I was really lucky, a flash of a shadow across the draw in the coulee. That was it.

My luck changed last weekend. I was in northern Minnesota, staying with six other storytellers in a cabin in the woods for a storytelling retreat. I'd gone out in search of boreal birds whenever I could, but the forest was amazingly quiet, save for Black-Capped Chickadees, which I have in abundance at my feeders. Sunday, snow began to fall in big, lovely flakes, and the birds appeared. Gray Jays. A lifer for me, and I was surprised at their size. They entertained me for a while, but weren't cooperative photo models. A Pine Grosbeak, another lifer, but similarly camera shy. A Raven called nearby. Then I heard drumming. Not sure of the instigator, my hopes led to Black-Backed, which would be another lifer. It moved about in a low area filled with dead trees, and I searched for a pathway in. Following a deer trail, I came upon a dead tree with the piles of fresh bark at its base, and heard that laugh-like call. It was getting closer. Closer. There! Not 15 feet in front of me, a flash of brilliant red crest appeared, more brilliant against the snowy background. A male Pileated, gorgeous against the white, worked the side of a tree, apparently unconcerned with my presence. I tried to capture him in pixels, but the timing was miserable. His head would hit the tree and disappear from view as I pressed the shutter, leaving me with a stump on my screen. Fumbling with the erase function, I kept my eye on this beauty and saw him hitch around to the other side, giving me a full body view. Focus, breathe. Compose, breathe. Click. No click! What's wrong? Looking briefly at my screen, I'm told my battery has died!

The woodpecker hopped from the side up onto a dead branch, an uncharacteristic view of this tree hugger. He cocked his head, watched me as I watched him, then glided off into the tangles, laughing the whole way.

Somehow, this story seems symbolic to me. I have no image other than my words to paint the picture of what I saw. Dead batteries left me without a pictorial image of the jinx bird. I could easily imagine myself having the same experience with its much rarer cousin, the Ivory Billed Woodpecker. It wouldn't happen. A few days earlier, I'd made the difficult decision to resign my search team position for the IBWO project due to family issues.

Still, I think my friend the Pileated had a bigger lesson for me, one that transcends shattered birding dreams. One can make beautiful photos, and I wish I had, but the dead battery allowed me to relax and truly appreciate the gift that Woodpecker shared with me, the gift of his close presence for a quarter of an hour... the falling snow, a Pileated Woodpecker and me...nothing else mattered in that golden moment.

For something completely different, check out Aydin's "Blonde on Blonde" inspired "I and the Bird." I'm impressed! Next edition is hosted by the Dharma Bums; get your submissions to them or Mike at "I and the Bird" by February 2.

I and the Bird #14--Lake Birdbegon Days

2006-01-04T19:53:00.000-06:00

Along with being an erstwhile birder and blogger, I spin yarns of a different sort as a professional storyteller. Now, I give credit to good genes and family upbringing, growing up as I did before cable tv and the internet, but I must also give a nod to one of my native Minnesota's favorite sons, Garrison Keillor of "Prairie Home Companion" fame. Mr. Keillor actually hails from the same county I do, and I listened to PHC from its infancy. I can claim to have been a member of the live audience at Northrup Auditorium for his first-ever national broadcast. Heck, I can remember lining up outside what is now called the Fitzgerald Theater and paying three bucks to be part of the audience. So, when faced with the task of presenting readers with the best of bird blogging, I turned with apologies to none other than my fellow native born Anoka Countyian, offering you the 14th Edition of I and the Bird---with "Lake Birdbegon Days."

Well, it's been a quiet week in Lake Birdbegon. That's to be expected, of course, given that winter has set in and the snowbirds have flown south till spring, abandoning those who adore and search for them to perch in tropical Mexican forests or forage on Caribbean beaches. Add in the post-Christmas doldrums, and it's enough to make one grow downright reflective. It's one of those hallmarks of winter to turn inward even as the days again grow longer, as Victor at "The Clog Almanac" does, musing on the perceptions of birds and the strange perching of Black-bellied Whistling Ducks on a power line. Similarly, Rob of "Birdchaser" also muses upon hope for the future if you'll only believe.

It's a time when birders all over North America engage in that annual ritual, the Christmas Bird Count, heading out in the darkness of the winter morning to count every single bird seen or heard. Members of the Birdbegon Audubon Club met in the church basement, led by club president Pastor Lindquist, displaying the deadly sin called "envy" while they discussed their own paltry count against those such as a b's of "Birding Is Not A Crime." Vesper sparrrows? In northern Illinois? Or Pamela of "Thomasburg Walks," who saw bluebirds, robins and northern shrikes on hers.

Folks down at the TurkeyTrack Tap were discussing the situation, pondering the whole existential "Bird Problem of Winter." Some took the tack that birds are just smarter than we are, and know enough to get out while the getting's good. They must have been out-of-towners, passing through on their way to their ski week at Lutsen, because as we know, all residents of Lake Birdbegon are upstanding and responsible, and can't just go flying off to Barbados anytime they want. One such local, Gwyn of "BirdBrained Stories"--who is not so coincidentally the scribe of this missive--demonstrated this responsible side as she told the locals that it isn't just how many birds she sees, but how well she knows them. Still, a part of her longed to just once, just this once, achieve some small level of fame in the birding world. Maybe she could hope to see more exotic birds, as Duncan of "Ben Cruachan Blog" shares in his stories of Catcher of the Fly, waxing about birds in a green gully with names like "Rufous Fantail," "Golden Whistler," and "Leaden Flycatcher." Curses on responsibility! It's the week after Christmas! She's a teacher, for crying out loud! What's to keep her tied down during that interlude known as "winter break?"

All pretense of responsiblity to laundry and cooking abandoned, she set off in earnest to search out the wild and exotic for herself. Her first stop was with Rob of "The City Birder," who managed to outbird her Christmas Bird Count circle while searching Floyd Bennett Field, Dead Horse Bay and Four Sparrow Marsh--in Brooklyn New York, no less. The shame! That a New Yorker could outbird her circle's measly count this winter. Perhaps "Birdbegon" was aptly named after all.

Dejected but not yet deflated, she set off for points south, much in the manner of the flighty warblers she'd watched the previous summer. Okay, so insects are a bit scarce in Lake Birdbegon in the winter, but what else could be drawing the birds? She discovered that Tom and Shari, of "Bisbee Border Birder Blog," are pretty funny folks, sharing a story of confusion over bird names shared in the United States and the United Kingdom. Maybe the birds just liked that open-minded approach to humor, where a person could laugh out loud, instead of the proper midwestern nose snort. As the kids are wont to say, "Whatever."

Well, this was not the way she'd hoped things would go. Instead of Birding Fame finding her, she was finding the birding fame bestowed upon others, others who were able to visit more exotic locales than the local dump, looking for bears on a Saturday night. Locales such as New Mexico, where Janet, the Freakin' Plover Freak of "Plover Warden Diaries" had a wonderful flashback of early techno-geekness, resulting in of all things, a life bird sighting of a Loggerhead Shrike on one of the antennas at the Very Large Array. My God! A Loggerhead Shrike at the Very Large Array? The shame of it all, to set off from the good town of Lake Birdbegon on some misbegotten search for fame and fortune, only to come upon such an incredible life sighting, from someone whose birding lists include Antarctica? Another birder with some impressive new life birds this year is John, of "A DC Birding Blog," whose new life birds included a Red Knot and King Rail! She could not even begin to think of returning home without pressing on, for fear that the humiliation would be so deep that even a request for a Powdermilk biscuit would be returned with scorn--along with the biscuit, of course, the scorn being of the silent but still polite type.

Quietly, she crossed the border into the great state of Texas, where she'd heard the birding was mighty great, just like the state itself. While here, she encountered Ro Wauer, whom Tony of "Milkriver Blog," pointed out, waxing eloquent about the charms of Ruby Crowned Kinglets. Well! Charming they are indeed, and she gained small satisfaction in knowing that at least where she was from, she could also see the Golden Crowneds! Small satisfaction, however, is not quite on the same level of grandiosity as great fame. Great fame which continued to elude our Lake Birdbegon friend. None of her friends from the TurkeyTrackTap would be out gallivanting about, looking for anything as elusive as Birding Fame, much less Ruby Crowned Kinglets. Nosiree, that's not what life should be about, they'd told her.

It sounded like a challenge, something her sturdy Scandinavian upbringing taught her never to avoid. It was off again, hoping against hope to make one tiny discovery that would be the Next Big Thing in the avian world. Massive Dodo graves, maybe? Nope, someone else already found those. Well, how about new species for a country? Nope again, she was distressed to learn, as Menotti of "Birding Italy" reports the discovery of two new species of Parrotbills settling in Italy. Oh for the love of Pete, anyway. This was growing more and more challenging by the day! Not one new species, but two? Clearly, she was running with the big dogs, and she had no hope of keeping up, being but a young pup from the heartlands of Minnesota. Ooofda, as they said back home at the church lutefisk dinner.

Still, winter break was not yet over. Perhaps that fleeting discovery was just around the corner. Perhaps...or perhaps not, as she encountered Charlie, of "Charlie's Bird Blog," returned from a dream birding trip to Mauritius-the very location of the aforementioned Dodo graves, no less! Who in the world did this bird brained storyteller think she was, anyway, with a pathetic excuse of a year list, trying to chase the brass ring of birding fame in the face of such amazing experiences? Pathetic didn't begin to describe her sense of gloom, matched only by that one incident way back in high school during Luther League. The shame of it all, indeed!

In fact, the lessons learned in those Sunday meetings of Luther League, the ones about "responsibility" and "honor your elders" were starting to loom larger and larger in Gwyn's conscious. They sort of chastised her, in that subtle Minnesota manner, to "think about those chores you have to finish at home." The rebel in her--the part that went Presbyterian--said, "Darn those chores! I have fame to seek!" and she pressed ever onward. Her peripatetic travel brought her face to face with Bora of "Circadiana," with a fascinating post on the possible effects of global warming on the circadian rhythms responsible for migration. Oh my, not only was this heady stuff, but so well presented that perhaps senators responsible for legislation affecting the tide of global warming could possibly understand it. This...this was not simply birding fame staring her in the eyeballs, it was possibly turning the tide of the so-called advance of civilization and its wanton effects on nature. The rebel was just about to hop the next Great Northwestern back to Lake Birdbegon and throw it all in. The rebel just couldn't quite make that jump onto the tracks, not as in youth. So off she went again, ever more determined.

Too many hours on the road made for irrational decisions, as any road warrior who has settled down can tell you. Bad coffee, worse blue plate specials and you just don't think right after a while. That was obvious, as Gwyn jumped from Africa, to the eastern US, and now clear around the globe to New Zealand. Clare pointed her there, and she was drawn to the quiet observations of responsibility, as Pete of "pohanginapete" studies the nearby birds going about their daily routines.

More bad coffee, that frou-four latte instead of the real heavy-weight stuff, and she was impelled beyond reason this time to Alaska, where Dave of " Bird TLC" shared a story of a popsicle fueled Great Horned Owl rescue. Racing without thought to an itinerary that was decent and in order, she visited Julian of "Oeygardenbirds," who while not a Norwegian bachelor farmer, was a birder in Norway, enjoying views of birds with poetic names like Fieldfare and Ruddy Turnstone. From here, she ricocheted back across the ocean to visit Beth of "Firefly Forest," only to be taunted by a cousin of her old nemesis, an Anna's Hummingbird. Then it was off to visit Eric of "Feather Weather," with a visit home and the story of the Peabody Ducks, who are not really wild anymore, but almost as funny as Beth's angry hummingbird. Crisscrossing to Long Island, she met Danielle of "This Is Danielle's Den," hearing about her weekend visit with thousands and thousands of scoters. Thousands? Thousands?

One more cup of the worst coffee ever, and Gwyn was ready to head back to Lake Birdbegon, ready to simply take her lumps as well she deserved them. Trudging her way back to Minnesota, she ran into Sharon of "Birdchick," who had made a worthy birding goal for the year of seeing a wild raptor a day. Is this like vitamins? She wasn't sure. She just knew she'd be glad to see any birds yet today. A day like the one enjoyed by David of "Search and Serendipity," in which he'd seen many birds in his Feather Bowl, or that of Jason of "Beakspeak," who saw a sunrise Prairie Falcon and a mystery goose in his visit home to Nebraska, were only the stuff of dreams to her. Heck, she could have simply crossed the river to visit Mike of "Bird Digiscoping" and had a nice look at some backyard birds in living color, or visited the other Mike of "10000 Birds" to see the birds visiting his mother-in-law's feeders. Feeder birds are nice. They are dependable, like those biscuits of her home town. They may not be flashy, but they're honest, a quality after which she'd do well to seek.

What was that? Something flashed in the leftover seedheads of last summer's wildflowers. A lone Tree Sparrow, balanced precariously on the stems, just as she was between her quest for birding fame and a return of the prodigal to the fold. Whatever had she been thinking? What need was there to jet-set about, seeking bird fame? She suddenly remembered--the holiday season just past might not have been at all, if not for Raven who saved Christmas; at least, that's how Laura of "Birderblog" tells it.

She thought of all those times she'd ignored the birds around her, looking only in exotic places, ignoring the everyday, unlike Cindy of "Woodsong," who witnesses the amazing as she shares her prayer to the birds.

She promised herself that even facing the polite scorn of her friends at the TurkeyTrack Tap, she would always keep in mind what she learned from even the humblest of birds, so eloquently stated by Grrlscientist of "Living the Scientific Life." Steeling herself with inherent midwestern stoicism, she entered the darkened quarters of the neighborhood gathering spot, only to see this announcement posted over the bar:

Mike, Charlie and the rest of the Birding Gear Big Board gang are giving away a couple of copies of the "Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill" DVD. Do you have it in you to cast an invasive avian species in a positive light? If you can say something nice about a nonnative species using words or pictures, you might get yourself a copy of this acclaimed documentary. Check for details on the Birding Gear Big Board.

She could do this! Fame in the birding world was within reach! House Sparrows! Certainly she could write something nice about them, couldn't she? After all, in the immortal words of her childhood hero, Thumper's mother in Bambi, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."

And that's the news this week from Lake Birdbegon, where all the hens are strong, the roosters good-looking and the chicks are way above average.

Next time, this show will be brought to you by the good folks at Snail's Tales. Get your submissions in to Mike or Aydin by January 17.

The Bird in the Winter

2005-12-26T22:40:00.000-06:00

Winter, as I've said many times, has wonderful advantages of visibility that a birder just doesn't have in the full green leaf of summer. Along with that clear view, another problem is obvious....not as many birds! Apparently, warblers and such are not much for skiing and they leave. They could have stayed this year. With the unseasonably warm weather, the wonderful snow cover is quickly receding, leaving us with the sorry landscape usually seen in March, that cruel month. It has made me almost crabby, visions of extended days of excellent cross country skiing during my break dashed by a warm southerly weather pattern. If I wanted warm winters, I'd live in Texas, not Wisconsin!

Still, I've gone out sans skis a couple times recently, last week in search of the Northern Shrike. He has been reliable along my much-loved Rails to Trails bike trail, and I caught only a quick glimpse of him. The fine fellow pictured here is one I captured late last winter, in that mostly cruel month of March. Though my glimpse was quick, I had much longer looks at two Bald Eagles soaring over the open marshland beyond the trail. Beyond that, I could see the edge of the local mall parking lot, the day before Christmas Eve. As I silently watched those eagles soar for no other reason than the fact that they can, I paused to think of all the last-minute shoppers just beyond...with no idea of this gift that was there for the taking.

Today, my husband and I headed off to the county park where I had my last owl encounter. It was eerily silent today. Even just before dusk, there were only a scant few Chickadees chittering about, and they were making their soft chirping calls, rather than their usual brassy ones. A Belted Kingfisher was seen through the trees, and a couple Downies and White Breasted Nuthatches entertained us, but for the most part, the birds were strangely absent. Trying to call my friend the owl, I had one very distant response. My husband heard it too, but calling yet again, we heard nothing more. Had I been alone, I could have stood and waited for it to find me if it chose, but I was not alone. Though the birding was scarce, time in the woods was abundant, and the sunset over the Mississippi spectacular, so spectacular that despite having a camera in hand, we instead drank in its splendor.

Tomorrow is another day. Perhaps it will be the day I actually get out of bed and try to do some owling. Perhaps not.

Now for this commercial interruption....send along your nominations for "I and the Bird #14,"already being set in type. Make sure you get the chance to be in this edition which, though it will not be the "Weekly World News," should be lots of fun, in a midwestern sort of way! The deadline is January 3 and they can be sent to Mike at 10000 Birds or me.

Greetings of the season

2005-12-23T12:52:00.000-06:00

My vacation started today, one of the many perks of a teaching career. Unfortunately, one of the many perks of living in this part of the country, the changeable weather, was today not seen as such. Instead of sleeping in, I planned to be out in the early morning hours of our lengthening day, trying to call in Eastern Screech Owls that others had been successful calling last weekend. When my clock told me it was time to get up, the weather report was saying the roads were slick with ice, and the few schools scheduled to have classes today were calling it quits. I decided slipping and sliding the back roads, even to see a cute little owl, just wasn't in my best interest. Tomorrow promises to be better, though the warming trend has dashed my immediate hopes of longer and more frequent cross country ski outings. It's nothing but wet sloppy slush, quickly dropping in its depth.

However, even without leaving the house--yet---my day has not been completely uneventful from a birding standpoint. This morning, in addition to battling the squirrels, I attempted to retrieve one of my suet feeders from the neighbor's Golden Retriever! Tigger slipped the leash, batted down the cage and unlike the squirrels, who scram momentarily at my approach, Tigger picked it up and trotted off into his yard. It would seem he has also stashed it somewhere, because we can't find it. On which list would this event be placed?

Listing----that boon/bane of the birder's life. I just today finished reading Kenn Kaufman's Kingbird Highway. Aside from telling a great story, I could relate to his experience, having been 19 at the same time in history, looking grungy myself, as was the style, and very occasionally thumbing for a ride when bike or beater failed me. It is the final chapter of his story that rings most clearly, though. He realized as his Big Year was drawing to a close that the list simply helped him see birds, and though his feat was impressive, he really didn't know the birds he was seeing. Older and wiser now, I realize that expensive travel to list birds is out of the question, both financially and ethically, as the use of fossil fuels is counterproductive to maintaining a healthy habitat for the birds, animals and ultimately, humans. My list is pathetic, anyway. As this year draws to a close, I resolve that though I will list out birds I see---as a birder, it's a compulsion!---my goal is not to see them all, but to see them well. This fits with my usual manner of birding, which is to watch, stop and enjoy in the midst of other activities; biking, hiking, canoeing or skiing, all done with binoculars within reach, and many times, the camera as well.

As you ponder your past year in this big beautiful world of possibilities, may the light of the season shine on you and your loved ones.

And....don't forget to send your nominations for the 14th edition of "I and the Bird" to Mike of 10000 Birds or me.

Over The River to "I and the Bird!"

2005-12-22T17:54:00.000-06:00

Though Cindy Mead of Woodsong drew the unlucky number 13 for her edition of "I and the Bird," she didn't allow that to intimidate her. She takes us all on a caroling party as we go from one blog to the next, reading about Monk Parrots in the Bronx at one hand, then off to experience winter birding at Pheasant Branch Conservatory right here in my home state of Wisconsin, as described by Mike McDowell.

Enjoy the songs of the season, interpreted through the posts of the best bird blogs on the net...then send me your nominations for "I and the Bird #14," due to Mike at 10,000 Birds or me by January 3.

From the largest........

2005-12-18T14:06:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was our Audubon Club's annual Christmas Bird Count. Feeling more competent, I told the organizer I could fly solo this year, helping to maximize coverage. When I encountered an unknown raptor that I simply could not identify clearly, I was feeling less competent, but all in all, it was still a grand day. Starting very early, I tried for owls. Not very successful, I moved along, thinking I'd make up for that lack in waterfowl, given that my area was both sides of the Mississippi River.

No such luck. Any waterfowl with half a brain has flown for open water. With only a few small open spots, they were far and few between. The Bald Eagles, however, were having huge parties. I counted 25, both adults and younguns, like this one. This one has to be a teenager; look at the calculated sloppiness in plumage and the untucked overall gangly appearance! They gifted me with very close looks and fly bys, allowing me to truly appreciate their size and grandeur. They were the largest of the birds I counted yesterday.

..to the smallest.

2005-12-18T14:03:00.000-06:00

On to other locales, I was assigned to a cemetary in the city, one that has been good in past years for Red Breasted Nuthatches, White Winged Crossbills and Robins. The Robins where there, but in spite of learning the family name of everyone ever buried there, I failed to find the other two. That lack was more than made up when several Brown Creepers delighted me with close looks and a few photos. They were the smallest of the birds I counted this year.

At the group potluck last night, we came up with a total of 53 species observed. I had Belted Kingfishers, seen by only one or two other observers, but none of the birds I saw were ones not on the printed area winter list. No matter. It was still wonderful to take part in this annual citizen science project, and I'm determined to discover the identity of my mystery bird. Best bets so far seem to be a young Merlin...truly a sign of just how magical the world of birds can be.

Conversation with an owl

2005-12-12T19:58:00.000-06:00

A slightly fuzzy looking Barred Owl

Silently flying through the woods, a Barred Owl crossed my path today, setting the stage for what would come later---a moment of connection.

In what seems to be my winter pattern on my treasured "day off," I ran a few errands, then set off on the trails for some silent bliss in the snow; cross country skiing. My skis followed a little loop I've hiked often in Goose Island County Park. We haven't had much new snow, so the trails were not that wonderful deep fluff, but rather a rut akin to those left on the Oregon Trail. No matter. I was all alone, save for the company of the birds. Every so often, I'd stop and listen. Tapping was a common sound, with many woodpeckers at work. The occasional White Breasted Nuthatch helped the Downys, Hairys and Red-Bellies search the trees. If I stopped and listened long enough, I'd hear that comical wacka-wacka call as two met on a tree trunk.

I explored off the main trails, something I seem to do no matter what the season. It's a compulsion for me. I don't know if it's because I fell asleep under a photo poster with that "road less traveled" poem my entire freshman year in college or not, but if there is any small indication of such a "road," it pulls me. This appeared to be perhaps one made by an ice fisherman, sled tracks alongside boots. I followed it to the edge of what I knew to be a backwater. A flash of movement caught my eye right along that edge. Stopping and waiting, I finally was treated to the foraging of a tiny Winter Wren. We enjoyed each other's company for a time, and then I turned around and headed back to my car, to begin the second phase of my winter day off ritual.

Exchanging my ski poles for my binocs and camera, I walked back alongside the ski trail. It was just as I started back that the owl crossed my path, very close in front of me, so close that I was breathless at the encounter. It perched for a moment high in a tree behind me, then, like me, continued on in its journey. I went on to enjoy a large mixed flock of Black-Capped Chickadees, Juncos and Tree Sparrows as they worked some remaining seed heads, jumping into the snow to retrieve any that had fallen. Meandering along the trails, I spotted a Tufted Titmouse. Watching and "pishing," I got good looks at its behavior, as it was joined by two others, poking into the twigs near the treetops.

I'd enjoyed my small feathered friends, but I knew that big one was somewhere about. I'd called Barred Owls in once before, last spring. It was completely still. I hooted---and waited. From far off, I could barely hear a response. I moved forward a bit, calling again, twice. Once more, I heard another distant response. Calling once more, I heard nothing this time, and continued on.

As I was almost back to my car, I decided to head back toward that "road less traveled" I'd skiied a couple hours earlier. As I made my way over fallen trees, something of size and silence passed before me again. I stopped. It always amazes, delights and frustrates me that a bird so large can be so difficult to visualize once alighted. I stepped closer, and it watched me. Not wishing to go too close, I stopped at a point perhaps 50-75 yards away. Looking into the eyes of an owl, you experience an almost mystical connection, one that explains the high regard owls are given in many cultures. I took photos, fighting again with the fogging and focus problems of winter. Then I stepped further back, the owl and I silently appraising each other. After perhaps a half hour like this, the owl decided to move along. It was approaching sundown, and maybe she wanted to head to her hunting grounds for the night. Today I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

What do you take for granted?

2005-12-10T08:58:00.000-06:00

This Red-Bellied Woodpecker is a bird I can count on seeing almost anytime I go out birding. They even show up in my small town backyard. A look at the range map suggests that any of you living in the eastern plains states to the east coast can find him, too. The National Geographic Field Guide to Birds says "common in open woodlands, suburbs, parks. Are extending breeding range northward." Any bird that allows me to enjoy it at close range, whether it's a common one like this woodpecker, chickadee or Bald Eagle is a treat. Bald Eagle, you say? Yes, where I live and bird, in the heart of the Upper Mississippi River Wildlife Refuge, Bald Eagles have become a common sight. My commute takes me on county roads through farmland and blufftops. The past two days, a Baldie was perched in a tree overhanging the road. A birder from Minnesota reported on the mnbird list the other day counting "loosely 150" hanging out along the river bluffs at one spot. Birders are not so foolish to say we can take the gift of our Bald Eagles for granted. Most of us in my age group can remember a time when we had never seen a Bald Eagle. Though we don't take them for granted, we do take them as a common sight on our local bird outings. However, there was quite a bit of excitement late last summer in the state when a couple people were seeing Green Violet Eared Hummingbirds at their feeders. If you're reading this from the Hill Country of Texas, you might be thinking, "So?"
Which is my point exactly.

Birders are also naturalists. To enjoy and appreciate what we see, learning about the different species, their behaviors and habitats happens naturally. So intellectually, we know that some birds are common in some places and not others. Still, when I was reading the B and B blog account of a trip to see the Whooping Cranes at the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, I was taken aback by the comment Peter made that he also saw Sandhill Cranes for the first time ever. That's another wonderful sight that is very common here starting in spring into late fall. It got me thinking--always a dangerous thing!--about which birds I see so often that I long for something new, that might be a lifer for birders elsewhere. Living in the northern tier of the US, there are some species that I enjoy throughout the winter that those of you in the year-round warmth won't see unless there's some freakish movement of nature. Great Grey Owls, Northern Hawk Owls, Common Redpolls all move into the area from north of the border, treating me on my outings, or sometimes even while cross-country skiing up north, with their presence. The call of the Common Loon is common at the family cabin. In my part of the country, if I keep my eyes tuned for them, I get to see the warblers for a window of about four months, but those four months are when the males are looking like a "sharp-dressed man" and singing opera for the ladies! By the time they hit the beaches, they are wearing their winter couch potato sweats.

All of this makes me wonder....what life birds would you want to see when you travel outside your local area? I have yet to see a California Quail, though I make annual trips to visit friends in Napa Valley. I'd like to see any hummingbirds besides a Ruby Throat, though I was treated to a female Anna's in Napa last spring. Puffins have long been on my must-see list. What birds are on your "must-see" list?

Amusingly punny--I and the Bird #12--"Canterbirdy Tales!"

2005-12-08T18:38:00.000-06:00

David Ringer is the host for the latest edition of "I and the Bird," the best bird blog carnival on the net. He sets the standard for creativity high, as his bard tells the tales of whooping crane encounters in Texas, while others in the northern reaches tell of cardinals in the snow, along with many other tales of travelers both avian and human. Cindy Mead of Woodsong will be hosting the next edition of I and the Bird, with some birdbrain storyteller or other hosting the one after that.

If you do nothing else today, be sure to check out Canterbirdy Tales.

Joy and frustration while birding in the winter...and NEW binoculars!

2005-12-04T08:51:00.000-06:00

A belted kingfisher...relative of the kookaburra, laughing over the river. He taunted me continuously as I hiked the marsh wetlands. I'd been out for a joyous first ski through the woods in Hixon Forest, accompanied by Downy, Hairy and Red-Bellied Woodpeckers, along with the expected Chickadees, Juncos and White-Breasted Nuthatches for companionship as I enjoyed the solitude on the trails. I was tired and sore, as I knew I would be, but the day was too perfect to head back home to the confines of my closed up house. I hadn't been out birding in almost two weeks, and I had brand new binoculars.

My husband and I went out for dinner a few days after I received the acceptance notice from Cornell. I'd been debating the purchase of an iPod, mainly for birding, and the only place around that still had the iPod mini I wanted was the Evil Empire, known outside our household as Walmart. In general, I don't like to shop big box and chain stores anyway, but that's another topic. To help me get over my mixed feelings, my husband pointed out that showing up at the Cache House in Arkansas with that 20-something binocular from Kmart would not be a good thing. I hate to admit it, but my non-birding husband was right!

So, I went shopping. I probably should have waited until I could get someplace like Eagle Optics in Middleton to really comparison shop, but I wanted instant gratification. Also, I was concerned that the non-birding husband might change his opinion before I could drop the bucks on a decent choice. I visited the local Wild Birds Unlimited store, where the woman who helped me treated me like some goddess because of the Ivory Billed thing, and even gave me a bag of free birdseed! I like that! Bird Goddess! Now, if I could just get a deep discount on the seed I buy. I chose the Audubon 10 x 42 Equinox binocular.

My trek into the frozen wetland was my first real field experience with them. Wow! Viva la difference! I still need to work out the fine tuning for my eyes, but it's minor. The fact that I even need to fine tune binoculars is a novel one. I was amazed by the clarity I obtained and the magnification power.

I was not, however, finding many birds. Well, I kind of expected that. I kept reflecting on the complete transformation. In spring and summer, the place teems with waterfowl, waders, blackbirds and any number of perching birds, but today I was seeing very little. Still, what I was seeing was clear. Puffed up Mourning Doves not inclined to flush. Ever present Cardinals and Chickadees. In the bottomland off the bridge away from the trails, I had great looks at Brown Creepers. The Brown Creeper is to my mind an amazing practicioner of camoflauge. Their high thin squeaks can be heard, and localized, but until a piece of "bark" begins to move up the tree trunk, they are invisible.

2005-12-04T08:44:00.000-06:00

Satisfied with a long, slowly paced period of watching these guys, along with fun glimpses of a mink playing in the snow across the river, I began to follow the Belted Kingfisher whose rattles enticed me, the leafless forest allowing much better looks through the glass than in summer.

He'd flown downriver a bit, on the other side of the bridge, and I walked toward the riverbank, hoping for a closer approach. I watched his patterns, his preferred perches. I waited. I crouched in the snow. I waited some more. I could hear his laugh-like call just around the bend. I nearly fell over when a deer, probably drinking below the bank, came up and then startled, and ran along the bank away from me, toward the location of the kingfisher's call.

Along with the chill and cold, the very advantage of winter birding, the open habitat, became my disadvantage as well. Not easy to hide. As I took my various shots, the cold combined with my gloves created new equipment challenges. The autofocus was shaky in the cold, and my gloved hands kept moving the exposure dial. Manual focus was tough, as I fought the fogging in my viewfinder.

So, maybe my photos are substandard. Not maybe, they are substandard. Very much so. They still get a place in the blog, as reminder of both the joys and the frustrations ahead in this magical season we call "winter."

Postscript: In the interest of avoiding the appearance of endorsement or exclusion of other retailers, I wanted to point out that Binoculars.com and Eagle Optics are excellent online sources for those wishing to shop online. Both companies have birding experts on board to advise and recommend; Binoculars.com has Laura Erickson's expertise, while Eagle Optics can count on Mike McDowell and Sharon Stiteler, better known as "Birdchick," to help befuddled birders in making the choice that's best for them. Both companies provide excellent educational resources to help the customer research and make the best choice. Both companies lend their support at birding festivals, as well as partnering in conservation efforts. I learned that Wild Birds Unlimited gets their in-store stock from Eagle Optics. I do think that all three birding optics experts would agree that trying out different binoculars is the best way to make one's choice. Given my need for instant gratification, that left me shopping the Wild Birds store. I can be patient only so long, and I guess I save that patience for my family, my students and my birding!

Dreams of boreal species.....

2005-11-26T18:55:00.000-06:00

Dashed! Spending a few days in far northern Wisconsin to eat turkey and visit with in-laws, I had visions of Boreal Chickadees, Grey Jays, Redpolls, Crossbills, Bohemian Waxwings and any northern owls dancing in my head. What did I find? Let's see. A bunch of Black-Capped Chickadees and four Mourning Doves. That's it! I seem to have better luck staying right where I am, like I did before we left for the great white north.

Early this week, reports were trickling in about a Snowy Owl being seen in the industrial park in far north LaCrosse. It must be that "north" thing at work, eh? On Tuesday after work, I made the trek, circling several times. No luck. Wednesday morning, I called one of the businesses to see if the bird had been spotted yet. Nope, she had not. Circled the area numerous times slowly anyway. No luck. Ran my errand, came back, circled again several times. Ah well, I thought.

Once home, I began to pack, but within a half hour, my phone was ringing. Dan Jackson, who has in the past alerted me to the presence of cool birds in the area, was on the phone. Looking right at her. Where I'd just been! I was in the car right away.

Sure enough, there she sat. I slowly approached, but she barely opened her eyes. A few other birders came and left. A fellow from the diesel shop where she was sitting offered to open the gates for me to approach closer, but I declined. I didn't want to disturb her, and there might be other birders on their way.

I watched in the gathering storm that would vex our travels north later that night. It is still a source of amazement to me that something so out of its element can provide such beauty. I hope this beauty survives the coming winter and can return to her breeding grounds near the Arctic Circle, perhaps returning again.

On another note, Clare of The House and Other Arctic Musings (appropriately enough!) is the host for I and the Bird #11, "Where in the World?"

How do you spell "speechless?" IBWO

2005-11-17T19:47:00.000-06:00

The first line of an email I received yesterday read--

"Congratulations on being selected as a volunteer for the Ivory-billed Woodpecker Project..."

I opened that email at work, during my lunch break amidst reading ordinary emails I generally receive---sightings from the mnbird and wisbird lists, emails from the storytell listserv and other semi-personal notes from here and there. I had to look again to make sure I'd read correctly.

I had.

My next step was to jump up and down in my room, much like some of the kindergarteners I'd just finished supervising in the lunchroom. Who to tell? I raced into another room where I knew a couple colleagues were working at their desk. One, an avid outdoorsperson herself, totally understood my excitement. The other said, "Well, I'll just pretend it's a letter that tells you you got tickets to a Broadway play in NYC, and then I'll get it!"

When I learned earlier this fall that Cornell would accept applications for the next search season from the public, I thought, "No way." I remembered next what my parents always told me; "The worst they can do is say no." Looking at the two week slots available, only one could really work with my teaching schedule, the final two weeks. They coincided with our spring break, but they also coincided with the Northlands Storytelling Network spring conference. Not only is that event a high point of my year, I'm on the board of directors. I emailed the board, who all told me to pursue my dream.

Then I filled out my application. It wasn't as if I had anything of significance to offer, other than the fact I enjoy the outdoors and birding, have paddling experience and don't shrink from rough conditions.

Apparently that was enough. A day later, I'm still scratching my head in wonderment. Take, for instance this statement in my letter detailing the logistics.

"Given the high caliber of applicants we expect to have some of the most competent birders/field biologists in the country assisting with our research. We are pleased that we can include you in this group."

Most competent birder? Me? A decent birder. Even competent. But "most competent?" I imagine after spending two weeks doing field research like this with Cornell Lab that I will move much closer to being a most competent birder, and for that alone, I will be forever grateful.

Certainly, an opportunity to see this grail bird, larger cousin of the pictured Pileated shown above, would be the high point of such an experience for any birder, but I'm not so unrealistic as to head into this thinking that will be a certain occurence. Thousands of hours have already been logged, with but a few tantalizing glimpses and maddeningly fewer bits of lasting evidence. I can only imagine that upon seeing one, people are so stunned that they don't react quickly enough to get the camera lens aimed. Of course, like anyone else who will be involved in this search, I'd love to entertain the fantasy that my photo will be the definitive one. Dreams are a good thing. I held this dream over 30 years ago, when I wrote a piece of lousy fiction for a friend, my one and only academic transgression.

I'll be happy to enjoy this unique habitat, to be part of this piece of environmental history, to be in the company of other birders who "get it" for two weeks. An unexpected bonus is learning that we'll have the weekend off, and there is an Important Bird Area not too far away where we can look for Red-Cockaded Woodpeckers, another life bird for me. A trip to nearby Brinkley is likely as well, where I can visit Gene's BBQ for an "Ivory Bill Burger" after spending my first week in the swamp. Pity my poor teaching colleagues who'll be spending their spring break doing such ordinary things as sitting on Mexican beaches or skiing in Vail. If you don't understand my giddy excitement of this spring break of a lifetime, take a cue from my fellow teacher. Pretend I have tickets to the original cast production of "Wicked" in NYC!

I just love these guys!

2005-11-11T20:34:00.000-06:00

So, the choice was the Trempealeau National Wildlife Refuge, where the waterfowl were viewed facing into the sun and the small birds were plentiful but evasive. Three new birds for the year----Cackling Goose, Northern Shoveler and Brown Creeper. Tantalizing but all too quick views of several Red-Headed Woodpeckers. And these Nuthatches, they just make me smile!

There were other varieties of nuts on the Refuge as well, bird nuts, as it were. Heading off the Pine Creek Dike trail, I just couldn't help but notice a group of birders who'd gathered on the viewing deck. Birders are easy to spot from a distance. Huddled groups, all with binoculars in hand, peering in one direction as directed by the Most Knowledgeable Birder (or the one with the best eyes/ears) pointing off in the distance. The presence of a minimum of two big spotting scopes is usually the key field mark. Sure enough, these folks were here from the Horicon bird club, doing a little birding before hitting the Rivers and Bluffs Birding Festival in Lansing Iowa tomorrow. I introduced them to my non-birding husband, who of course, being a non-birder, was not with me.

It appears he will be a birder at least for tomorrow, though. He's agreed to come along to the Festival with me, enticed, I do believe, by the prospect of blues music tomorrow night, provided by Joe and Vicki Price. Maybe I'll even add a few non-Coulee Audubon birders to my life list in the process.

Although the outing was not all that productive from the standpoint of avian photography, I managed to get a shot of a charming little woodland creature, frozen in the leaf litter at close range. Owl bait, I'm afraid, but at least he's been immortalized here.

2005-11-11T20:30:00.000-06:00

Birding on(the)line

2005-11-10T20:44:00.000-06:00

Who would have thought that on November 11 in Wisconsin, one could consider going out in the field with nothing warmer than a sweatshirt? One that can be removed as the day warms up, even? That's just what I'm considering, though. Will it be the Hixon Trails, or perhaps a run over to the Trempealeau National Wildlife Refuge? Only time will tell.

In the meantime, Pamela Martin has braved storms and power outages to get "I and the Bird #10 " up for your reading pleasure. Take time to peruse her "What, Who, Where" presentation of excellent birding blogs. I'll be hosting Edition #14, the first for the year 2006. I had this wonderful framework in mind, but doggone Birdchick already went and did it! Once more, my secret dream of being a Weekly World News writer has been dashed. No worries, though, I think I have another schtick I can try.

So if you, like me, are sitting here online instead of in the field, make good use of that time in pursuit of birds and check out "I and the Bird."

Seasons change

2005-11-06T21:09:00.000-06:00

It seems not so long ago that I walked these trails and had trouble spotting movement among all the leaf cover. It seems not so long ago I walked these trails and stared Great Blue Herons down from 15 yards--at every turn. It wasn't so long ago, perhaps just a couple weeks. The leaves are almost all down, and the seasons are changing in the marsh once more.

Walking to the trailhead, it struck me with the same blunt force as the cold autumn wind blowing across the open marshland. The marsh, before barely visible through the brush, is now easy to see. Birds, however, still have a way of staying hidden, even in plain view. I heard small chirps and peeps almost as soon as I stepped to marsh's edge, but it required my vigilance to finally see what I'd been hearing--a Downy Woodpecker. This one was more accomodating than some I've tried to shoot, and the resulting image shows just why they earned the name "Downy."

It was surprisingly quiet as I walked throughout. A few chickadees, about 30 Canada geese with a few mallards mixed in and the occasional Cardinal. That was really about it. It was still nice to be out and enjoying the brisk fall afternoon, and I was musing on that when my eye strayed to the top of a dead tree out in the marshland. It was one of the trees that often allowed a heron or egret a perch during the summer, but they were all gone now. Binoculars up, I realized that the big hawk I thought I was seeing was an Osprey!

At that moment, I was glad I had a good command of all the deer paths throughout the marsh, because I headed for the one leading away from the big cottonwood tree and into the deadfall's hollow to get a closer look. Slowly, I followed the path, watching in amazement as the Osprey kept working over whatever it was having for dinner. Occasionally, it would open its wings, but I'd freeze and it would relax again. I could hear its chatter, a sound unlike anything one would expect from so majestic and powerful a bird. It sounded like nothing so much as a rubber duck and a chatty one at that.

I continued my slow approach, the whole time wishing it was just an hour later in the day for nicer light--always the photographer's dream. Still, I was able to capture an image before it lifted its huge wings, took its fish in its talons and began a low circling of the marshlands, two times before settling in on a tree further afield. These are the moments for which birders live.

2005-11-06T21:05:00.000-06:00

The moment was savored in the breeze of the waning day. So many people out on these trails today, walking, biking, talking on their cellphones, and I wondered if anyone else had even noticed it gracing us with its presence. I've seen Osprey before, but never so closely and in such intimate detail. Grateful that I'd been allowed into this space, I finally moved on, returning to my mundane tasks of the day, but buoyed up by this close encounter.

Of sublime moments and aching knees

2005-11-03T20:25:00.000-06:00

I have a career. It's teaching, special education to be more precise. It helps pay the bills and I feel lucky to have a job where I can play with little kids and tell them stories and call that "work." Like any job, it has its less desirable aspects as well; late nights for parent-teacher conferences, lunch duty, and way too much paperwork. I rewarded myself today for getting all my end of the quarter paperwork finished on time by granting myself a road trip to enjoy this unseasonably gorgeous fall. Part-time teachers can do this and post about it on the internet, because we get days off and don't have to pretend we're sick.

I'd heard reports of Townsend's Solitaires being seen in Devil's Lake State Park, and what the heck, if I saw them or not, it would still be a great way to spend a day. I headed on down the road and arrived at the nearly empty park, ready to take it all in.

This was not my first trip to this park. My last was in, let's see, 1978. I was a graduate student and came down with two fellow students to escape studying for a day to try our hands at rock climbing. I made a couple ascents and one rapel and remember it as a lovely, if a bit misty, day.

It's still a lovely place. My knees, however, have born the slings and arrows of chondromalacia, torn ligaments and other nasty things, mostly from marathon running days, but also from having two children. I tend to forget this until I'm coming down a trail, however, which is a good thing, because I still get out. Like today.

Climbing up the Balanced Rock Trail, I was given to moments of reflection regarding just how phobic I am about edges. This trail would do that even to those without such phobias, but I reminded myself I've climbed all kinds of things and survived to tell the tale.

Partway up, such thoughts were deflected when I saw a flash in the tops of some pines. Was that my target? I aimed my binoculars and saw that yes, off in the distance was the bird I sought! He flew off into some other trees I couldn't see, and burst into full song. Glad for light breezes, I enjoyed the serenade until....a train was bold enough to come through on the tracks running below me at ground level. My bird took wing, and I heard the "theep" calls, my eyes following. I decided I'd sit where I was, waiting to see what might happen. My back against a huge rock wall, I enjoyed the scenery, when suddenly, movement caught my eye. There it was! No more than 20 feet in front of me! I took a couple lousy photos, due to the lighting, then made a decision. I could try to move slowly into better light for a better photo, or sit and enjoy the bird. I enjoyed the bird. He preened, surveyed the fall colors, relaxed, then tired of this spot after about 10 minutes and flew off.

I didn't see him again, but I made my ascent to the top, following the East Bluff Trail, clambering goat-like down to the Devil's Door, then back up and along the rim, skirting the rock face I'd climbed all those years ago. Traversing the rock strewn trail down to lake level, I enjoyed the company of Golden Crowned Kinglets, various woodpeckers and nuthatches and the playful Black Capped Chickadees.

Tomorrow it will be back to school, another story to tell my students, more paperwork to finish and the weekend ahead. I'll carry the images of the day, including the music of the Solitaire with me into the last hours of wakefulness..and perhaps beyond. My knees, however, will remember the trek for at least a week, by which time they'll have stopped hurting, I'll forget, and perhaps head out for another challenging hike.

2005-11-03T19:02:00.000-06:00

Cutest feeder bird?

2005-10-27T10:38:00.000-05:00

The weather has turned and the feeders are fast becoming THE place to be, at least for our year-round birds. Black-capped chickadees, house finches, goldfinches, downy woodpecker, cardinal, blue jays, juncos and my personal favorite---the White Breasted Nuthatch.

Granted, the photo isn't as sharp as I'd like. No matter. I was shooting through heavy fog this morning, my butt parked on a frosty wrought iron deck chair. I do believe that the fog is what allowed me to get my shot at all. Unlike their usual "snatch and fly" habit, this one sat and watched the large, sentient being from a distance, judging the threat to its newly snatched millet seed.

I realized that the calls the nuthatch was making were soft contact calls, and after getting some photos, unstuck myself from the chair and investigated. Sure enough, just around the corner of the house were three nuthatches, chatting away and working the trunk of a tree.

I'm not sure just what it is about nuthatches; is it their "mini-penguin" appearance, the jaunty angle at which they observe us or the entertainment they provide as they crawl headfirst, like avian daredevils, down the trunk of a tree? Whatever it is, I hope they will grace my birdfeeder tables throughout this winter to come.

Yes, this is the bird it appears to be, and yes, this photo was taken today!

2005-10-23T15:29:00.000-05:00

This is indeed a Dark-Eyed Junco, one of several enjoying a little spa treatment in my uneven driveway this morning. Old-timers around here call them "snowbirds," so you know what that means. This snowbird will be happy only if their appearance includes sufficient snowfall this winter to make for plenty of happy cross country ski outings.

Along with the juncos, the Black-Capped Chickadees seem to be appearing in greater number as well. I keep hoping for a Carolina among the bunch--fat chance this time of year!--or even a Boreal. We do have a little pine grove for them. Is that boreal enough?

The goldfinches have shed their bright yellow coats for drab winter duds as well, and a post the other day on the wisbird listserv mentioned the presence of the Tundra Swans at the Trempealeau National Wildlife Refuge. I'm not quite ready to be a snowbird yet, but the southern movement of northern species, combined with fallen leaves, could make for some fun birding outings in the near future. Wonder if my Northern Shrike friend from last year will return to his post in the LaCrosse River Marsh?

Time is my enemy, or why I haven't blogged here lately

2005-09-25T17:47:00.000-05:00

Back to work. Back to soccer. BIG storytelling commitments, detailed on my other blog. The start of a new People to People travel season. Crummy, crummy weather when none of these others are demanding my attention. I have not been out birding in so long, it hurts.

I've watched as the goldfinches in my yard lose their bright yellow feathers, gorging themselves on the Echinacea seed heads left standing. The chickadees are more numerous in the yard. Blue Jays and crows seem to have moved in of late, overpowering the persistent chirps of the chipping sparrows and resident cardinals. That's pretty much been it for me, except...

...we had a near full moon not too long again. As the moon was waxing and a nasty storm had just moved through, I was sitting near an open window about 8pm when I heard it...a distinctive bird call not like the usual night birds I hear. I stepped out onto my deck, and though the still cloudy conditions prevented visual confirmation, I knew the skies overhead were filled with migrating birds. I sat out in the ozone charged air post storm, reveling in the nearly continuous calling of birds on all sides of me. Others on the wisbird list with clearer skies later reported little bird silhouettes against the moon. I knew it to be true, just from the delightful soft travel songs they sang, like feathered voyageuers, keeping the rhythm of their travels. To think all these many years, I was unaware of such wonders! I stayed out for nearly an hour, and it never ceased. Finally, knowing that my old enemy, time, was calling me in, I took one quick look at the nexrad site to see what our "liftoff" had been. An incredible 35dbz.

There is so much wonder out there to be found. We only need to take the time to look. Now, if some of those Chestnut-sided, Tennessees and a Magnolia or two would please stop here for a few days? Our black walnuts are loaded with tasty insects we'd be glad to share with y'all before heading further south!

Only FIVE warblers? How lame is THAT?

2005-09-05T17:51:00.000-05:00

I don't want to see more goldfinches, chickadees, herons or cardinals. Or catbirds. It's not that I have anything against these birds. Not at all. Actually, they're among my favorite avian species. It's just that....well, it seems they are all I've been seeing lately.

I went out on Saturday morning, hopeful of a warbler migrant fallout. I missed a lot of these flying gems in the spring, so hoped to pick them up on their trip to the beach for the winter. Hmmph. While others reporting on the Wisconsin and Minnesota bird listservs talk of 10-20 species on their outings, I could find, oh, maybe five. Let's count them. Yellow Warbler. Big deal, they're all over the place. Common Yellowthroat, same thing, though a bit more difficult to actually spot sometimes. American Redstart. Ditto. Prothonotary Warbler, always a delightful sight, but I've been seeing them all along, too. Aha! Is that a Black and White Warbler flitting through the treetops? Yes! One new bird for the year. So there's my grand total of five warblers. I should have my American Birding Association membership revoked!

Still, it was a nice day to be out, large warbler counts or not. The Great Egrets and Great Blue Herons are numerous, chasing each other away from fishing grounds, and being uncharacteristically tolerant of that human with the big camera lens. Green Herons are hanging about as well, and though unseen, the Sora was laughing from the cattails. Noteably absent were Red Winged Blackbirds, usually among the most common of the marsh birds. Are they already gathering to migrate south?

To add insult to injury, I have to teach tomorrow. Now mind you, I'm not complaining about my job, I enjoy it a lot. Problem is, my job is interfering with an awesome opportunity. You seen, several birds not usually seen anywhere near here have been blown north from the Gulf coast, and some area birders are making the trek to a lake near Iowa City to see a Magnificent Frigatebird that's hanging about. It's just a wee bit too early in the school year to be running off with personal days. Besides, I need them to go to the National Storytelling Festival in Tennessee next month.

Let's hope that when I go, I pick up a few of those birds as they make their way south!

And in another little bit of news, I'm humbled to have had my previous blog entry about the Whooping Cranes included in the current edition of "I and the Bird." Check it out. John, who writes A DC Birding Blog, did a wonderful job of gathering great examples of bird blogging and presenting this edition like a schedule from a birding conference. Thanks John for putting me in such fine company!

The Comeback Cranes

2005-08-25T18:27:00.000-05:00

Yesterday morning, after arising at the surreal hour of 4am, I was privileged to see a bird that at one point numbered 15 in the world. The experience is one about which I've dreamed, to the point it made my list of 43 things to do. Yesterday, I got to watch the flight training of juvenile Whooping Cranes.

The Whooping Crane is North America's tallest bird. A wild flock exists already, having been brought back from almost certain extinction numbers of 15 through intense conservation and wildlife management efforts. These birds summer in Alberta Canada and winter at the Aransas Wildlife Refuge in Texas. An online birding friend of mine, Ural Donohue, lives in Texas and once shared with me that she saw Whoopers in her back yard, probably en route during migration! I have been jealous of Ural ever since, but after yesterday, my green-eyed monster has been sufficiently fed.

I'm lucky to live about an hour's drive from the Necedah National Wildlife Refuge, where a second flock of cranes has been reared and trained to migrate to Florida, thereby establishing an eastern flock. This is the fifth year of this program, in which chicks are reared and then trained to follow an ultralight to the wintering grounds. All the previous birds have migrated independently after their first year. Though some have rather independent ideas of where to spend their summers, most return to central Wisconsin. These efforts are supported by Operation Migration, and a visit to their site will let you follow the progress of the birds. I learned that a few days each year, special tours are available to view the flight training. I couldn't wait to sign up.

Only problem was, the tours were all filled by 10am of the first sign-up day, when I was out of the country. I am very grateful to Bobbie Hjelmgren, Education Specialist for the refuge, for arranging three more tours this year. She had to get up early, too! For this kind of experience, along with the important work the Fish and Wildlife Service does, I have no problem paying my taxes.

Arriving right on time, we loaded up the van in the early morning dusk and headed past one of those gates that are locked and say "no public access." I already felt the thrill of the rare and forbidden! We were taken through an oak savannah restoration area that was loaded with Red-Headed Woodpeckers. I've heard one all year. One. To travel through here, one would think they're as common as, well, Common Grackles. We reached a swell in the landscape, into which was built a large viewing blind. Shuffling in, we found our spots.

Mark Nipper, one of the handlers, stopped in to answer questions before heading to the wet pen where the juveniles are housed. He was in his special suit, designed to shield the birds from human contact, and we all got a first hand look at the crane puppets they use to help the birds imprint on a crane likeness. The treat for the day was to be red grapes, fed from the puppet's mouth.

Mark headed down to the pen, and as the day brightened, two large white birds flew in on our right. A pair of adults has been creating problems daily at this training site. They have no desire to practice flying. They've learned that trick already. They're just there to see what kinds of treats they can score! Their presence must be a headache to the handlers, but it made for some entertaining moments as we watched Mark play "dominant crane" to chase them off!

2005-08-25T18:23:00.000-05:00

The specially designed ultralight came in, and all the birds, the youngest fliers of this year, lifted off gracefully, following behind. A couple more practice runs were made, the chicks rewarded, and after some comedy involving adults trying to head into the pen, they were done for the day.

From there, we went to the observation tower to watch for another cohort with more hours of flight time logged. We were rewarded with the sound of calling Whooping Cranes piercing the quiet of the early morning, then a close fly over. Some of the birds blended into the top of the ultralight, creating the illusion of being painted onto the canvas. Bobbie told us this is not desirable behavior, making the pilots more than a bit nervous. No one wants to be responsible for the death of an endangered Whooping Crane, and that close flying puts the birds at greater risk.

2005-08-25T18:21:00.000-05:00

Following this flight viewing, we got a tour through more parts of the refuge that are "off limits" any other time. The sun was trying to peek out behind the bank of clouds, and it picked the most opportune moment to do just that. Slowly, Bobbie took us past a pond with a pair of Sandhill Cranes, a roosting Great Blue Heron, and just behind him....that pesky pair of Whooping Cranes, foraging and preening. Even though it had to be captured through a glass window, this image is one I'll treasure for the sheer beauty of this amazing bird, rising, as it were, from the ashes of near-extinction.

The Never Ending Story

2005-08-13T19:21:00.000-05:00

At least for me, this seems to be a never-ending story. For the first time in over 15 years, I'm seeing hummingbirds in my yard several times a day. Most of them seem to be the boys, getting fat and sassy before heading down to Mexico to drink tequila-spiked flowers on the beach this winter. Others are reporting an increase in feeder activity this week as well.

Now, if you link over to my still-incomplete list of 43 Things, you'll see that one pines to take a really good photo of a hummingbird. One year, I got a grand total of two photos, period. Last year, as detailed elsewhere on this blog, I managed to snag a pretty nice one, but still not quite what I'd hoped. I figured today is as good a day as any to try and cross that item off my list. I know there are at least four individuals visiting my feeder. Two adult males--I saw them both on the feeder together this morning, unbelievably enough. One female. And at least one immature male.

I started out by sitting on my deck and trying to capture the little beasts. Then I remembered a purchase made last winter--an Outhouse Pack-In Blind, bought by my husband for turkey hunting, with the carrot held out to me that "you could use this for your bird stuff, too."

Not one to sit in a blind, I'd forgotten about it completely, but somewhere in the back of my brain--the part that was procrastinating completing the sermon I have to give tomorrow--the blind reminded me of its existence. Pulling it out, I set it up right in front of the feeders, armed with my enormous lens.

Do you have any idea how many bees can fool you into thinking a hummingbird is moving in? Do you have any idea how hummingbirds, flying into the space in front of your lens and hovering inquisitively, only three feet from your face, can be as frightening as Carrot Top on a bad hair day? One of them did that. Instead of eating, it scoped me out. I thought it was going to fly right into the blind with me. That pointed little beak moving in on a bird flying 60mph can strike fear in me much in the same way as skydiving might. I watched in horror as it came ever closer, camera in hand...and never clicked the shutter!

Once my heart rate had returned to a non-threatening speed, I waited once more. He came. He perched. On the other side of the feeder, peering over the top at me. Ack! Hoping he'd check out all the feeder ports, as they so often do, I waited for him to make that move. Instead, chirping madly, he zipped off into the bushes on the property line, perched, then headed off somewhere to torment someone else for a while.

2005-08-13T19:20:00.000-05:00

That's okay. What I lack in speed, I can make up in procrastination. I'll just sit in this hot thing and wait for one of them to return. They have to return, it's at least a month until they head out for those beaches, and they're only barely pudged out right now. I don't wait too long. He heads in to the side and...

...at least his body can be seen now, if not his whole bill. Wait and try again. And again. In this hot blind. Which blows open the flap anytime I try to create some cross ventilation. The sacrifices we make for art, right?

2005-08-13T19:19:00.001-05:00

I go into the house and finish the sermon, figuring that I'll be rewarded for doing God's work by being provided a perfect view of one of God's jewels. Yeah, right. In my dreams (which happens to be the theme of tomorrow's sermon, as a matter of fact).

Indeed, this time one of the adult males is moving in, perching on the line, then moving in to just the right spot, full frontal view in the sun light and... so close, and he moves behind the hanging post!

2005-08-13T19:19:00.000-05:00

Finally, I decide this is the best I'm getting today. Besides, cloud cover has moved in, resulting in a more comfortable blind, but minimal light reflectivity. That's my excuse, anyway. They'll be back tomorrow...after church, at which time I won't be distracted by the need to ponder the correct order of service and whether I'll mess up completely at some point along the way.

Isn't he a cutie?

Lonely little Kildeer

2005-08-10T15:55:00.000-05:00

The river is NOT high.

2005-08-10T15:47:00.000-05:00

My younger son has started Drivers Ed, the classroom portion. What does this mean for me? For the next three weeks, I have to drive him to LaCrosse, where he is in class for two hours. Trying to be a good steward of the earth---no one from town with whom he can carpool--I've tried to entertain myself for those two hours, rather than driving back and forth. Today I went to the library. On Monday, I enjoyed coffee at Ajay's Java Joint. Yesterday, however, I went birding.

I headed into the marsh trails from a different direction this time, parking at Red Cloud Park on LaCrosse's north side and wandering down. I chose to bird in an area that was different, just on the north side of the trail bridge, and to the east. Mosquito city!

I keep hoping to spot a Barred Owl in these riverine bottomlands, but it hasn't happened yet. Yesterday there was a lot of woodpecker action, the Downies, Hairies and Red Bellieds all tapping away, making those "yacka yacka" contact calls that always make me smile. A cuckoo was spotted briefly, its long striped tail unmistakeable, but refusing to sing or show its face.

The marsh is drying significantly, in some places reduced to only muck. Just off the viewing platforms, one lone Kildeer and I communed for some time. Every time I moved, I marveled at how well it blends in, even out in the open. All in all, it was a hot and quiet morning on the marsh, or what's left of it.

Accomodating American Avocet Ambles Aimiably

2005-08-04T20:32:00.000-05:00

Praise the birding gods! I have a new bird on my life list!

2005-08-04T20:21:00.000-05:00

It had been one of those achingly ordinary days, one filled with hanging laundry, picking up the house and sitting around pretending to be retired, the joy of all with a teaching contract this time of year. Then the phone rang.

"Hi, Gwyn, this is Dan Jackson." It took me a moment to realize who was calling. Dan is another avid birder from the area, one who had commiserated with me on the lack of birding outings due to parenting teenagers.

"There's an American Avocet on the Black River Beach, on Fisherman's Road."

He didn't have to say anymore. I was out the door with my gear, leaving my husband in the dust. Well, lest you think I totally ignored him, I did not. I asked if he wanted to come along, but he had just started changing the oil on the van. So off I went, heading off on the interstate in hopes of not only a year bird, but a lifer.

I pulled up to the small, unguarded beach, where there were a couple boats and a few families with kids enjoying the day. Dan had left by the time I arrived, but I recognized another avid birder, Fred Lesher, lining something up in his camera lens. Knowing he would prefer not to be distracted, I waited, looking across the channel for the bird. When he was finished, I walked over, and he pointed it out for me. It was right in front of us, wading along with the kids and the boats!

Oh boy! I spent the next hour watching it. It took flight a couple times when a dog came running out, but then came back to the shore, wading once more. I snapped away, finally culling my images down to around 30. Don't worry, I'll cull even more. Although the only thing that might have made it better would have been breeding plumage instead of eclipsed, it was still pretty darn cool.

Oh, and while talking with Fred before he packed up and left, we had an Osprey fly over. So, two birds in one day, and one a lifer. It doesn't get any better than this!

I have chosen...it's the Great Blue Heron

2005-08-01T17:31:00.000-05:00

So, I was actually out birding....

2005-07-30T18:18:00.000-05:00

I made good on my promise to myself and got out of bed and into the wetlands to do some birding this morning. I honestly believe that it may have been the first time I went there early in the morning all alone. Other times, I've been there early on bird walks, in company of other birders. Today, I arrived in anticipation of once more finding those Yellow Headed Blackbirds, that glut of Kildeer, with camera in hand.

How wrong I was!

When I first started down the trail, it seemed like all sign of avian life had gone. No ducks! No egrets. Not even a lousy Red-Winged Blackbird! For this, I got up early?

Yes, for this. As I slowed my pace even more, I realized that like me, the marsh was simply waking up slowly. I realized it when I walked down to one of the viewing platforms, startled to see about six Canada Geese, one leg tucked and heads under wing, still asleep. The graceful silhouette of one, then two, then three Great Egrets flew down from treetops, where I'd not noticed them before.

I didn't bother to count and catalog, but chose instead, like the birds around me, to simply allow the sun to warm me and illuminate the world in front of me. The Kildeer were absolutely not present. The recent rains had filled the area where I last saw them, perhaps making it too wet for their tastes, in spite of the overall green sheen of the water. The Red Wings began to awake, as did the Rough-Winged Swallows, and before long, I was following bird songs in pursuit of the birds singing them.

Along the way, families with dogs and little kids were waking, too. Little boys, reminiscent of mine in years past, delighting in dropping rocks from the bridge. Runners everywhere, also reminscent of myself in days before chondromalicia overtook my running years, trying to beat the forecast high temps.

Common Yellowthroats were calling all over, but seemed to enjoy doing so from the wrong side of the trail, at least as far as the photographic lighting was concerned. Yet I still found one foolish enough to come into view, not quite where I'd have liked, but close enough and in good light.

Amazingly, a Great Blue Heron just off the trail looked right at me---and continued on about his business. Unbelievable. Approach quietly within half a football field and they're off, but not this one. I crawled into a blind of tall grass off the trail and watched him fish for at least a half hour. He watched me, too, but didn't seem concerned in the least. I actually had the luxury of waiting for the perfect sun to break from the clouds, creating that beautiful morning backlight we all crave in our photos.

Further on, a brood of new-from-the-box Wood Ducks sat on a deadfall, with Mama Duck roosting on one end. Watching--and shooting---they eventually grew impatient, as children will, and one, then the others, darted into the water in defiance of Mama. It would seem that the young of birds and the young of humans are really not so very different in that.

So, what photos from today's bonanza can I share? Rarely do I get one decent photo, much less many of three different birds. I'm not really superstitious, but....isn't it nearly impossible to ignore such good fortune as perhaps a good omen? I would like to think so. Even if it's nothing more than dumb luck, it is luck enough to encourage me to get up and wake up with the world more often.