11 January 2015. Fallsview, Dundas ON. I took part in a Snow Bunting survey today; we didn’t see any but did manage to spot a small flock of Horned Larks that flew to the top of a nearby ridge in a field of corn stalks. They were excruciatingly difficult to make out strutting and scurrying between dried leaves and stalks at about the limit of our binocular-aided vision. We felt pretty pleased with ourselves for having spotted them at all especially in the knuckle-pinching wind, I was pleased enough to consider them my Bird of the Day.

Other than the time spent squinting at the Horned Larks, we spent an enjoyable hour crawling slowly along snow-dusted country roads, scanning fields for Snow Buntings and generally irritating other car-drivers who had more sense of urgency.

There were plenty of hungry raptors around. Not far off the road, we spotted a hunting Northern Harrier, flying low, barely a metre above ground level and subsisting I’m sure on the occasional rat, mouse or vole. I twice spotted a Rough-legged Hawk, really too far away to enjoy, at first it was sitting at the top of a bare oak and later, patrolling low and fast over some low-lying fields.

The Snow Buntings survey is interesting. A young friend in pursuit of a master’s degree is studying the correlation, if any, between the amount of snow cover and the apparent abundance of buntings. For this she needs an army of volunteer observers to conduct regular surveys during January and February. ( If you’d like to help, or at least learn more, follow this link.) The ideal three-kilometre long survey route crosses open, windswept landscapes; the last place you might want to be on an icy January day, but just the sort of habitat that Snow Buntings find desirable at this time of year.

Taking part in studies like this is exactly the sort of birding I enjoy most, so it is with some regret (just a little) that I will be away for much of the study period. I’m not going to be much use, but today I helped another birder establish a suitable route and conduct her first survey. Our route cut across open farmland punctuated by old barns and new country dream homes. The flanking fields are either tidily plowed or still hold the remnants of summer’s alfalfa, corn (maize) or soybeans.

It’s very hard to just spot Snow Buntings wandering around in these winter fields; they are small and exactly the colour of tired, snow-streaked fields. The best opportunities, the ones that make you stop the car and get out, are when flocks of hundreds take flight and roll across the landscape like a snow squall. These flocks sometimes include a handful of Lapland Longspurs and Horned Larks and together they’ll eventually settle again to forage for summer’s dropped seeds, and become invisible once again.

4 January 2015. Hamilton ON. I suppose it depends on your definition of drama, but many of my encounters with birds, particularly those that find their way into these postings, involve some element of a mini-drama. I would include today’s encounters with a Snowy Owl as being a minor mini-drama; many wouldn’t, but as I said, it depends on your definition of a drama.

I left the house this morning intending to go to our local library, but being Sunday it wasn’t open until after lunch. What now? I wondered. There were a couple of easy options and I took the ‘go-birding’ one. There’s a spell of bad weather on its way; strong winds to begin with and then it’s supposed to turn much, much colder by nightfall. Knowing that birds somehow anticipate threatening changes in the weather, I headed to the downwind end of our large harbour; there’s always something going on there, especially at this time of year. Winter birding is more about the naked elements, hardship and eat-or-be-eaten dramatics than summer birding. Those same factors are assuredly present in summer, they just suit our ideas of charm and prettiness better.

 

My first drama queen was a female Peregrine Falcon spotted on some cables high overhead. While my back was turned for a few minutes she left, probably in search of a meal, an event that would be no fun at all for the meal but explosive theatrics to an interested observer.

I scanned the shores and harbour edges and noted several loafing Great Black Backed Gulls (highly capable slayers of unwary ducks) and, riding the swells, hundreds of Long-tailed Ducks and Lesser Scaup who don’t frighten anyone except maybe mollusks like Zebra Mussels, which I sincerely doubt experience the emotion of fear.

As the waves started capping white, I moved further around the edge of the harbour, spotting first a distant Snowy Owl and then another right above the road. Being a fair-weather birder, I pulled well over, flipped the emergency flashers on, and angled so that I could watch and photograph from within the dry warmth of my cocoon. The bird was atop a streetlight that seemed to offer it little to grip, I could see that the blustery wind was making life difficult, so anticipating that it might very soon fly off, I took several shots and readied the camera just in case there would be an in-flight moment. It worked and I pressed the shutter not an instant too soon. (All of the Snowy Owl pictures are in galleries visible only on the website, not if you’re reading this as an email.)

The snowy moved a hundred metres or so to another roadside streetlight and I was able to get a few more shots before it had had enough of me and a couple of photographers who’d stopped to see what the fuss was all about. I regretted, just a little, having drawn this extra attention to it; it seems voyeuristic somehow that this minding-its-own-business-and-trying-to-survive bird of open tundra should attract the pointed attention of camera lenses; or am I being too sensitive?

January 1 2015. Burlington ON.  This New year’s Day was not supposed to be a birding day, I had more pressing matters to deal with.  But then things started happening and well…..

Top priority was fixing, or at very least investigating, a domestic plumbing problem that had caused considerable alarm. The details don’t matter, it’s just that I’d set aside the day to get to the root of the problem and either fix it if I could, or accept that it would probably be an expensive start to the year.

I was in the basement experimenting with various shut-off valves when the phone rang. It was the Owl Foundation asking me if I could drop what I was doing and ferry an injured owl to the TOF’s owl hospital some 60 Km distant. Well, what would you do?

Evidently New Year’s night was quiet enough that a provincial police officer found time to rescue this poor owl from the roadside and take it to our city’s animal control building. Animal Control duly called the Owl Foundation and the Owl Foundation then called me. Plumbing could wait, I collected and delivered the owl and briefly stayed to help and watch.

Removed from the covered cage, we found a two or three year old male Snowy Owl (in plumage rather like the one below). He looked more than a bit battered, his tail feathers and wing edges were quite ragged as if he’d dragged himself around for quite a while. The vet tech checked him over gently; collisions with cars or trucks often cause mortal damage to the head or wing-bone fractures. There were slight traces of blood in one ear but otherwise the head seemed okay. It was his left wing that shocked us. A large area of his primary and secondary flight feathers were badly burned away, leaving a huge semi-circular gap in his wing-spread, enough that rendered flightless he probably crash landed.

How this happened is anyone’s guess. But this is a heavily urbanized area and it seems plausible to me that he flew too low over a flame of some kind; perhaps the waste-gas flare that goes with sewage treatment plants or the chimney of some processing industry. Whatever the source, it’s more than a little alarming to think that what appears to be open skies is in fact dotted with such hideous traps.

We had full control of him as he was examined, given some rehydration and a bit of de-lousing. With heavily gloved hands, I held his densely feathered feet, each large, padded digit, or toe, was perhaps two centimeters long and armed with a thick black claw made for quick piercing kills.

I have examined many birds in the hand, I find all of them are unfailingly fascinating. This Snowy Owl was in some ways just another closely scrutinized bird, but if I have one lasting impression (actually I have too many to recount ) it would be his magnificently luminous eyes: framed within the pure white facial disk, each about a centimeter in diameter with intense chrome yellow irises around deep ink-black pupils.

If ever a small relatively unheralded organisation needed support it would be the Owl Foundation.  Read more about it here and don’t feel embarrassed about sending it a financial donation.

Unless we missed other injuries or damage, his chances of a full recovery are fairly good. He could be released once new flight feathers grow in, this won’t be until summer starts to wane so he will be a captive bird for longer than anyone would wish. But when that time comes, a chain of volunteers will transport him as far north as possible and he’ll be set free with a reminder to watch out for chimneys next time.

And the plumbing problem? It turned out to be relatively benign, but dealing with it took up the rest of the day.

Just in case you were wondering whether I would, I have wasted considerable time this past two weeks deliberating over which, of some 160 birds, was my Bird of the Year in 2014. Could it be: two cute Screech Owls; returning Upland Sandpipers; a Brown Thrasher in full song; Scorching red Scarlet Tanagers; or any one of those exquisite American Bitterns? It was none of them; click this link to find out which.

 

There are lots of photos with this post, all of them in galleries which you can only see if you’re  on the website, not if you’re reading this as an email. And… if you really like bird  pictures, you can see lots more of my Florida shots in their original full size on my Smugmug site, click this link. (You’ll see quite an improvement in detail since they always lose definition in the process of posting them in Bird of the Day)

18 December 2014. Estero Beach, Lee County, Florida.  We set out to walk the length of Estero Beach hoping for some wintering Snowy Plovers. This wave-lapped beach stretches for miles in both directions, it seems to suit people and birds equally well with its seashell littered shoreline, wide expanse of sand-dunes and shallow, back-water lagoons. Along our way we came across several wonderful sightings: A Reddish Egret  with its back turned to a White Ibis and stoically overseeing the comings and goings of wanderers like us; Groups of loitering Wilson’s Plovers and little platoons of Sanderlings wandering around and picking through the white sand.

Best sighting, and truly a wow moment, was a pair of placid Roseate Spoonbills. While I have seen the European Spoonbill in Holland and had some idea of what to expect, it doesn’t compare to this, its American cousin. The European Spoonbill with its spatulate bill is something of a head-turner, but it’s really just another large, white, heron-like thing standing in the water. Since a picture’s worth a thousand words, I hardly need describe the Roseate Spoonbill. What made these birds special was not only our surprise at finding them, but also the gift of a setting with the dark mangrove background framing these blushing birds. I spent a long time on my knees in the foreground sludge watching and clicking.   Here are a couple of my best shots.

As I worked, a couple of Dunlin came and settled beside me, it took a bit of effort to tear myself away to get some shots of them too. Any other time, Dunlins would be warmly welcomed, but they had stiff competition. Still, here they are.

As for the Snowy Plovers, we eventually made our way to where a large group of them were whiling away the winter resting in the soft, white, sun-soaked sands of Florida. Spending their winter days like this they may just be the original Snowbirds, a term now used to describe northerners like us who pay a lot of money for that pleasure.