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Thursday, January 22, 2015

What Birds Do When We're Not Looking Carefully(#2)


What do birds do when we aren't looking (carefully)?

2. They engage in wild eagle-chases.




Here is a Red-tailed Hawk, apparently not giving a f...eather that the Golden Eagle it is banishing from its territory is approximately three or four times more massive and also a FREAKING GOLDEN EAGLE. Sparkle sparkle.  From the archives of Chiccadee's Unpublished Birdiness. Riley Wilderness Park. 



10 minutes later. Holy crap, this guy's serious. 




-chiccadee



See a barfing kingbird here in the first episode of  What Birds Do When We're Not Looking Carefully



Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Bendire's Thrasher

Lifer Journal #2: Bendire's Thrasher 

A beautiful Pyrrhuloxia. I can only imagine how its name came to take place. The guy who discovered this species probably told the guy who was recording the name, "OK, I'll name my self-discovered bird a.... P- errrrrrr HACK HACK COUGH VOMIT HACK COUGH-choke" and thus the name was born. 

When one imagines southeastern Arizona birding, one does not imagine a sandy field strewn with dollops of cow poop.

The Thrasher Spot in Arizona is a buff-breasted-flycatcher-colored, uneventful piece of land that is, every winter, graced by the presence of some of the rarer thrashers in North America, and with them loads of insane birders.Its presence is marked by absolutely nothing but a fallen, stingy barbed wire fence  with a weathered sign expressing the four dreaded words no birder wants to see, ever, at a good birding hotspot: Keep Out. Private Property.**  On this particular day, I'd made up my mind to go check out what all the fuss is about.

My snarky brother piped up. 

"You might get shot if you go on that land. Arizona people will do stuff like that." ***

"This paper is by the Audubon society. It says it's right here and that it's government land that's ignored or something" There's me, ignoring the state-ist (statist? arizonaist?) comment.

"I'm staying the car."

As it turns out, I did get shot, with the horrid stench of cow patties. The scenery was essentially a large sagebrush plain, a smattering of green plants, and massive heaps of plastic trash, everywhere. It was worth it. In the first five minutes I spent prowling in there, a Bendire's Thrasher shot its tail up and sprinted into cover like an Arizona landowner was firing at it with an AK47.  




Curve-billed Thrashers are delightfully plain. Note: this photo was not taken at the thrasher spot. 


The first words I hear when I return to the safety of our car are:

"There were a bunch of thrashers that came here when you left. Can you identify them?"

Fine. I'll try my best."Describe them."

"Let's see. They were brown."

"And?"

"Had curved bills."

Groan. 


Arizona Woodpeckers cannot be seen in the Thrasher Spot, but they're a hecka cool bird anyway. Here's one that showed up after a failed search for Montezuma Quail. Maybe it will make up for the disappointment caused by the lack of any Bendire's Thrasher photos on a post dedicated especially for them.



-chiccadee






*I guess I'm qualified to be one of them, given the fact that I just identified a piece of land as "buff-breasted-flycatcher-colored."

**It's not actually private property, anymore, not by any sources I can find. The sign looked like it was 10298 years old. Before Roger Tory Peterson was born, anyway.


***Joke. Cough, cough, birdhurt people.



Monday, January 19, 2015

Lifer Journal 1: Franklin's Gull

Franklin's Gull: The Heartwarming Story of Frankie the Gull, who Traveled Thousands of Miles Through Deadly Storms, Devastating Hurricanes, and Worst of All, Kansas, to Finally Arrive at his Cruddy Winter Home at a Concrete Pond in Orange County

California, for birders, is essentially a gazillion mile long, eighth-a-gazillion mile wide mushy pot hole of vagrants.

In winter? No sinter (nothing else rhymed). Rare birds? You bet. No sweat (HAHA GET IT BECAUSE IT'S WINTER)!

 In summer? No bummer!

Spring?  Time for a bird fling.

Fall? It's a goddang bird mall.

Here is a Song Sparrow, for absolutely no good reason whatsoever. 

Which is all nice if you're a compulsive lister, a normal birder, or a birder looking to compose absolutely atrocious poems, but for the average, middle-aged Susan John birder with a job, it's kind of a pain in the binoculars to have to browse slowly and agonizingly through pages of finicky reports with photo-contest winning shots of some arrogant Rustic Bunting or annoying Roseate Spoonbill or punch-in-the-face Bronzed Cowbird that's only a couple hours away and could be accessed if it wasn't for some little painful thing. And this goes on for all the seasons. A heap of rare bird reports the size of all the swimming pools in Beverly Hills. It can turn any wannabe twitcher more insane then they already are, which is an accomplishment. 

Of course, this is all just a small pimple on the face of California birders. California is, after all, the place where you can take a leisurely drop in at a concrete lake with 2 potted bonsai trees and stale water filled with dead koi and get in-your-face looks at an Eurasian Wigeon, or two. Or a Falcated Teal.



Eurasian Wigeons may be considered as a tad rare here, but I still don't think much of their sanitary habits. 

This poopy (literally) pond was also a home to a Glaucous Gull and an Aleutian Cackling Goose last winter. 

On this particular day, I was strolling along at some hole-in-the-ground lake that was chock full of pooping coots and domestic mutt Mallards.  And then, there, sitting on the crap-carpeted fence, was a Franklin's Gull making the most hideous "waffle, waffle" racket I have ever heard from a gull, and that means it's bad. I scrutinized its rather ubiquitous plumage from 10 feet away. It didn't budge a Gony's spot.* The first thing I thought was "Shoot, I forgot this darn thing was even here. Of all places." The next was "Crap," because that's what I had leaned on without realizing it.**

A heartbeat later, some cool biker dude zoomed right past the gull. Almost being barreled into by a cool biker dude was apparently too much for the gull, which took off over the concrete coot-filled lake, never to be seen again (or for the next hour or so) by the next two birders who came a second too late. 

Cheers to the best kind of bird lifer there is.

*The Gony's spot is a part of a gull's bill. On Western,  Herring, etc. gulls, it's the thing that looks like a miniature Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer nose. On other species of gulls it can be a lot less noticeable.


**And because I forgot my binos and cam. This time, it was a known continuing bird, so I just enjoyed the view. But imagine being unarmed with Weapon of Vagrant Proof (camera) while being in the same park as a House Finch or European Starling. Yikes. I can imagine the eBird confirmation emails already. 

You can see the humongous Gony's Spot quite clearly on this Western Gull. Apparently the owner of this bag of chips did not. 



Wednesday, January 14, 2015

First Pelagic Trip: Expectations vs. Reality

Here's the text generator I used to make the title. cooltext.com Does this text ruin the majestic clean power of the pelican photo combined with the alluring effect of the deep blue glowing text? Yes? I'll try and make it smaller and smaller and smaller now you can't read it haha



Expectations vs. Reality



Expectation: You will see a Code 7 on your trip. But if you don't, you'll probably see a bunch of Code 2s, anyway. 

Reality:

If you're going on a pelagic trip in Southern California, you'll see Black-vented Shearwaters which are from some unfathomable, inexplicable reason listed as Code 2s on the ABA list, right next to Olive-backed Pipit, a bird that has only been recorded in the lower 48 4 freaking times.The Ivory-billed Woodpecker has been recorded a couple more hundred times than that. Alaska, you're so unfair.


Guess what? Black-vented Shearwater butt. 



Also, you can see Black-vented Shearwaters from shore.

Pelagic trips are like Russian Roulette. Don't expect to get anything 100%, unless you're in Southern California in the winter. Then you can expect Black-vented Shearwaters. LOTS.

Somehow, I missed seeing any jaegers, fulmars, or albatrosses on my first pelagic trip. Someone thought they spotted a fulmar near an oil rig, but from the views I had with 8X binoculars it could have been a magical pink flying bigfoot (That line "it could have been bigfoot for all I know" is way too cliche in the birding world. I had to stir it up a bit).


Expectation: There are many birds out in the ocean. 

Reality: There are lots of gulls in the ocean, and Black-vented Shearwaters if you're in the right place in winter. That's if you chum (toss out food for birds). As soon as you run out of buttered popcorn and stale bread to give gulls diarrhea with, the number of birds goes down faster than a pelagic ship in a storm. Of course, on the pelagic trip I went on we ran out of chum right before a Little Gull showed up.
Have you seen enough pictures of Black-vented Shearwaters yet? 

Expectation: You will see many lifers, if it's your first time.

Reality: You will see more than many lifers. You will see enough lifers to make yourself feel like a beginner for the rest of the month. Like I said though, pelagic trips are games of Russian Roulette. The predictability of getting a large set of expected birds is similar to the probability that the ABA checklists coding and taxonomy will one day be fixed to make sense (I could go on and on...).



Poop-pocalypse 2015? No, just a whole lot of chumming.




One year there could be thousands of Ancient Murrelets moving down the coast. The next year Ancient Murrelets down in Southern California would be a myth unheard of by most birders except those legendary old-timers that went on the previous year's pelagic trip.


You know shiz's gone down when you can see Ancient Murrelets swimming ten feet from the harbor. Keep in mind that this is a species I tried to scope out five miles from shore in Central CA, while this dandy cute fellow was swimming ten feet from dry land back in Southern CA. Argh. 


Expectation: Shearwaters are big and cool.

Reality: If gulls are the buff guys that work out at the gym, shearwaters are the little skinny nerd birds (see what I did there??) that everyone makes fun of for being undersized.


Expectation: There will be alcids. 

I thought that was a loose feather at first, but no, that little bump is the horn of a Rhinoceros Auklet.

If birds had to pass a flight safety test and get a license, murrelets and auklets would be forever stuck in the water. They provide the number one entertainment for slightly sleepy bird-starved pelagic birders. Watch their attempts to lift off closely.

None other than the famous Common Murre, which are considerably better-looking than most other murres but are trashed upon because of their name. 

Scripp's Murrelet, which may or may not exist depending on how old your field guide is.



Expectation: It's easy to take photos of flying shearwaters.

Reality: Good luck on that one.



Expectations: Identification is a pain! 

Reality: Your trip leaders identify every single bird before you even see them, so identification is one of the least of your problems. Identification improvement? Definitely harder. Me? I'm still trying to differentiate between distant Northern Fulmars and magical pink flying bigfoots.

At least I can identify Brown Boobies.



Here is an oversharpened Brown Booby. Revel in its oil-rig-lantern glory. 

Adult Brown Boobies are much more attractive, but have poor aesthetic choices when it comes to perching places.


There was nowhere else to post this Red Phalarope, so I inserted it here. 




Expectations: You might get your  my nemesis Red-necked Grebe.

Reality: Red-necked Grebe manages to be reported in the relatively isolated-from-ocean harbor hours before we go there and then, it suddenly disappears.




Happy Pelagic Birding (and a very late new year!)

Chiccadee






Saturday, December 20, 2014

Can't Think Of A Creative Title (East Asia #4)


Black Drooooooooooooooooooooongos get first prize for Most Dramatic Bird Name. Despite the glamorous title, Black Drongos are rather stodgy, common birds that munch on mosquitos and sit by the roadside, which is disappointingly un-splendid. 



Here's a dramatic photo of one. "NO!!! I dropped my insect!"


Just when you thought birds couldn't get more un-glamorous. Eurasian Tree-sparrow here. EUTS think it's funny to go CHIRPITY CHIRPITY CHIRPITY CHIRP AT 3 IN THE MORNING.


Plain Prinia, the only prinia out of the three in Taiwan that is impossible to miss seeing, unless you're blind, or worse, a non-birder. And it's impossible to photograph, too. It took me a full five minutes to procure this crappy photo. 

As if Nutmeg Mannikins and Pin-tailed Whydahs weren't enough, Japanese White-eyes have been introduced and established in Orange County now. Soon we'll have the whole goddarn Eurasia of birds in Southern California. 


Rest assured, this photo was taken in Taiwan where Japanese White-eyes are native and thriving. 


Red Turtle-dove. Remember the one that was standing in the space-gravity vortex? It got sucked in and teleported on the tree branch you see in this photo. It will now attempt to brainwash you with the Magic of Purple Dove. 

This adorable Brown Shrike grabbed an insect carcass from its thorny larder lair, tore and ripped it from head to limb, and regurgitated (or was that just its call?) chunks of it to its fuzzy chicks in a nearby death bush.



Chirp, chirp.

-chiccadee








What Birds Do When We Aren't Looking (Carefully)

What do birds do when we aren't looking (carefully)?

1. They barf.


In my backyard is a little evergreen tree. This tree would be of no distinction whatsoever if not for the fact that it's a favorite barfing spot for our local kingbirds.  Kingbirds are unable to process the hard exoskeletons of the insects they eat. What better way to get rid of the crusty bug bones than vomit? 



"OK, good...Mrs. Kingbird isn't looking."




"Ready in 3...2...1..."




"HUAAAAAAC..."




"...tu!"


"Thaar it goes!"

You just saw a series of pictures showing a barfing kingbird. Your life is now complete.



Happy Holidays! 
-Chiccadee





Saturday, December 13, 2014

HIBERNATING Birds?!

Birds migrate. Bears hibernate. Everyone knows this, even relatively uneducated toddlers. Hence the multitudes of kiddish jokes about it.

At some point in the long, cheesy realm of childhood, I would pick up a joke book containing the question "Why do birds fly south for the winter?" The predictable answer would be, of course, "Because it's too far to walk."

This joke, which is already annoyingly stupid, adds to its lowly status by being a very scientifically inaccurate joke. Odd specificity of structures in bird's legs  make a good portion of migrating birds restricted to hopping pogo-stick movements instead of a robin-like stroll.  This really bothers no one except birders (It's as bad as calling an egret a *gasp* crane, which means automatic death by binocular clubbing for the poor soul who utters those words in the birding community).

Yellow-rumped Warblers are migratory. They do not walk. They hop. Gosh, get it right, joke books.

Why do birds fly south for the winter?

Because it's too far to hop.

But this post is not about how far off the mark our favorite childhood jokes are from scientific truth. It is about the amazing abilities of birds.

Birdwatchers entering the initiation into becoming a birder will have to possess the knowledge of which birds are migratory and which are residents to pass the test. Those crucial pieces of information should be modified to include which birds are migratory, residents, and...wait for it... hibernators.

Quick quiz: which of these colored birds are very migratory, which are partially migratory,and which are residents? No looking at the field guide. This should be an easy one for you birders. Answer in the comments!


A true ornithologist would, at this point, exclaim, "Hibernators? There's only one widely known one. You don't know what you're talking about."

Let me explain hibernation in birds a bit, at risk of boring the reader to sleep. It's difficult to pin an exact definition of hibernation, but the general gist of it is that hibernation is an extended period when an extremely deep "sleep" (torpor is considered a scientifically "incorrect" description) is the overwhelmingly dominant way the animal spends its time.

Many birds, including hummingbirds, undergo torpor sparingly or during the night only. The Common Poorwill is the most widely known bird to shut down, hide in a crack, and dream the majority of the winter away. Mostly in the desert, mind you. In the desert. The Common Poorwill is no bear of the bird world.


Hummingbirds are rather famous for their awesome torpor abilities.

Almost nada birds have been regularly and definitely recorded to hibernate in areas where snow is expected every winter. The reason why is pretty reasonable: Most birds other than poorwills' bodies are not efficient enough to undergo a long period of torpor in such chilly conditions and be able to arise weeks or months later ready to eat its fill, or go around singing, or whatever birds would do when awakening from torpor.

That is, no regular and definite records.

Ornithologists tend to be slight humbuggers when it comes to accepting records and making conclusions. Any birder who has had an annoying email escalade with a local eBird reviewer or doubtful Listserv addict will know this all too well.

Is there sufficient evidence to suggest, that, in times of dire circumstance, birds besides the Common Poorwill could enter hibernation--and make it out alive?

Of course, there's been the occasional swift or dove found limp, cold, and torpid out during the winter.  Is this enough to suggest that birds are, shrouded from human observation, having bouts of hibernation (is that even possible? Bouts of hibernation? That sounds so unscientific. Hell, this entire blog post is. I shouldn't have put in that stupid joke. It ruined the entire thing).

You would think that the most likely candidates for hibernation ability would be the relatives of the Common Poorwill. Not so. In fact, it seems that most of the contenders in the hibernation game are doves or small birds. Columbidae (the family that includes the lowly Mourning Dove and Rock Pigeon/Dove/Whatever-it-was) frequently fall into long periods of torpor triggered by lack of food. That's technically not hibernation, but before all you ornithologists jump all over this post, it's close enough when you consider most other birds simply just fly, or hop, south for the winter instead of dealing with a lack of food that could be brought on by Christmas chills.

Many other birds also come exhilaratingly close (well, exhilarating to aspiring ornithologists anyway) to cutting the dove-pigeon standard. Sustainable large drops in metabolism leading to brief torpor in relation to temperature seems to be a pattern in various small birds. This list is mainly comprised of tits. A night of torpor is probably the closest most  passerines will ever come to cutting it to hibernation.


All in all, the Common Poorwill may be the only definite bird to have a sort of light hibernation. Okay, fine, ornithologists, you can come at me now for saying "hibernators," instead of "hibernator."


Stay warm for the CBC (No, that does not stand for Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, you hockey fan, eh)

-chiccadee


A fine specimen of a crane.