Category: Uncategorized

4 Sept 2014. Casares, Andalusia, Spain. With barely 24 hours of Spain to my credit, I’m in no position to paint any sort of picture but I have, this morning, seen something of the dry craggy peaks and withdrawn, green valleys of rural Andalusia; a world removed from the nearby Costa del Sol and its tracts of beach umbrellas.
We’re staying in a small guest house which sits perched on the west slope of a rugged valley that tumbles away towards the south. From here, it’s a long sweep down to the Mediterranean and I’m told you can see the distant hills of North Africa on a clear day.
I’m here for the birding experience but my son James has joined me from Stockholm so his presence has changed the emphasis a little. Still he’s happy to go his way while I go mine, so this morning my host, John, took me to a couple of places that he knows well and which could be bird-productive. The first stop was a shaded and gravelly riverside; water can be counted on for bird life and here we found some old finch familiars: Chaffinches, Goldfinches and Greenfinch as well as a couple of new-to-me finch allies: Serin and Cirl Bunting. A gloriously iridescent blue Kingfisher sat obligingly on a branch for a while and I spotted a couple of Crested Tits working through some overhead pine branches as gathering processions of Honey Buzzards streamed overhead.

While I’m not the type to go chasing rarities, there are a few species that I long to see, Bee Eater is one of them. The post-breeding migration of Bee Eaters (it would hardly seem right to call it an autumn migration) starts in early August and is now winding down. I was pleased to have a few wandering flocks pointed out to me so that, if nothing else, I could say I’d seen them; but that’s not the point, I need to experience the bird and that’s something quite different. Late in the morning, John and I stopped along the sun-bleached side of a gravelly farm track to search a shallow, thorny gully for the chance of seeing a reported Rufous Bush Chat, a notable rarity which, it turned out, seemed to have left for this year.

But I was not in the slightest bit disappointed because anything we might see was likely to be new or at the very least novel, to me. Accordingly pairs of Sardinian Warblers, Short-toed Eagles and a handful of Crested Larks were rewarding enough. Then as we were about to leave, a small chattering flock of Bee Eaters arrived and lined up on overhead wires and a fence for my appreciation and enjoyment. They are as engaging in their social behaviour as they are beautiful to look at and several of them settled close enough for some decent photos. In flight they swoop and soar on slim pointed wings while gossiping in fluting voices amongst themselves. Despite many other thoroughly satisfying morning sightings they were my Birds of the Day, if only because I’ve be waiting far too many decades to see them.

27 August 2014. Wainfleet, ON. Late summer is when Arctic-breeding shorebirds leave their fly-bitten, mosquito-infested and windswept breeding grounds and head south to over-winter around tropical beaches, estuaries and lakes. It puts a new spin on birding as a pastime to watch for and identify them. Identification can be tricky and is complicated by a handful of factors: There are many lookalikes that are really hard to tell apart, more so when examined from a distance; The young of the year are often somewhat different from adults, usually their plumage is brighter and crisper. And we only have a short window of opportunity in which to study them, generally four or five weeks.

Today I stopped to investigate an abandoned and partially flooded quarry that is nominally a conservation area but which is, in fact, much the worse for wear from littering and general neglect. A pity since this old quarry has potential, with careful management it could be a wonderful asset, a veritable silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Still, the stop was worthwhile, initially because I could hear a Northern Mockingbird singing nearby and later when I spotted a trio of small shorebirds, (the smaller shorebirds are often referred to as peeps,) feeding along the silty waters-edge about a hundred metres away.

I moved slowly towards the peeps, pausing every now and then to get a for-the-record photograph because frankly I wasn’t at all sure what they were. There are many look-alikes remember and as is the case with the transient warblers of spring, we only see the peeps for a very few weeks each year and it’s easy to forget the lessons of earlier years. Young shorebirds of the Arctic almost certainly have no experiences to guide their response to an approaching person, so I was not entirely surprised that they paid little attention to my slow approach. Eventually I found myself within ten metres of them and sat down slowly to watch. By now I thought I knew what they were, Stilt Sandpipers. My clues: a long bill, bold white eyebrow line, greenish legs and  a probing sewing machine feeding action.

Now, I must admit that I wasn’t by any means certain of my i.d. There were other candidates, Short-billed Dowitcher being the most likely, but really I wanted them to be Stilt Sandpipers because I hadn’t, until then, been anywhere close to a Stilt Sandpiper, certainly not as eye-poppingly close as to these three, they’d always been a distant sighting whose identification was confidently proclaimed by others.

So I drank deeply of this close encounter, absorbing detail and pleased to be capturing dozens of shots for later analysis. I was a little unsettled by a patch of rufous blush evident on their necks and sides, a wash of which is clearly evident on adult Short-billed Dowitchers. (As this May 2012 picture at left shows) Maybe I was looking at juvenile dowitchers, although I felt that size militated against dowitchers and everything else seemed to fit for Stilt Sandpipers.

Satisfied eventually with what I’d seen and with a camera full of photos and a sun-scorched neck, I made a slow retreat to consult my in-car field guide, and that’s when doubts about Stilt Sandpipers overtook me. The differences between stilts and dowitchers are there and reasonably clear once you get past first impressions, prejudices and many persuasive similarities. Back home, with access to more and deeper reference materials, I had to concede that I had in fact spent quality time in the presence of three juvenile Short-billed Dowitchers; at least I think so. But no complaints, still very nice Birds of the Day.

22 August 2014. Hamilton, ON. What impressed me about today’s Bird of the Day, a young Green Heron, was the necessary smallness of its world, an algae-draped corner in a broad and shallow pond. A corner of a pond, which, in turn, is a backwater in a large, natural harbour, itself an afterthought of Lake Ontario. It might be intriguing to find the heron by using a film-maker’s zoom-in technique, starting at the International Space Station and plunging through layer upon layer and eventually slowing to a landscape of increasing familiarity. Finding the heron would not be nearly the end of the story. It’s the fish that matter to the heron and little wriggly invertebrates that matter to the fish, and on down the food chain; just a link in a chain.

As I said, I found this young Green Heron in an algae-draped clutter of discarded branches and other debris. It was motionless, as if modeling for an Athenian sculptor, frozen in mid-lunge. I watched it hold the most improbable, apparently unbalanced, positions for many minutes at a time: mid stride, mid strike, eyes fixed and waiting. Several times I saw the tension build, a touch more forward tilt and then, as if a tight-coiled spring released, it plunged with wings spread. Successfully it drew back holding a small, utterly baffled fish, its mouth agape, eyes wide and tail flicking hopelessly. I’ve added a few pictures, but you can see many more by following this link.

 

20 August 2014. Glen Morris, ON. Not too far from home, there is a marshy and bog-rimmed lake which rose to fame a few years ago when a pair of Sandhill Cranes were discovered to be nesting there; they’ve returned to breed every year since.   It is an uncommon species in the southern half of Ontario, but quite widespread much further north. This pair and the other two plus young that I found a week ago may very well be evidence of the species’ range expansion.

The lake is close to a very large dry field, home to five towering radio masts and a blocky service building, but otherwise unoccupied. This field was the summer home of countless Savannah Sparrows, Eastern Meadowlarks and Bobolinks and the grass was left to grow to seed, but has since been mowed and all those grassland birds have left. It looks as though the grass was left uncut long enough to allow birds to complete nesting; and for that I (and the birds) are thankful; too many fields are scalped for hay or silage in June or early July.

I introduce those two habitats to set the scene for our encounter today. We scanned the marsh for a long time looking for anything of interest, including the Sandhill Cranes should they still be around; they weren’t and very little was moving in the thunderous summer heat. Moving on, we scanned the grass field, but it too was quiet. No sparrows at all, but a few Mourning Doves picked away at the dry ground, a Red-tailed Hawk and an American Kestrel both sat watching for a meal from up high on one of the many guy wires that keep these radio towers standing. Then, far way on the other side of the field, we spotted three Sandhill Cranes, two adults and a juvenile, doubtless the family from the nearby marshy lake. We were able to approach much closer and eventually walk up to a fence line within a few metres of them. The youngster and one of the adults kept their distance while the other adult moved past us, its improbably long and articulated legs stepping with deliberate, mechanical precision, it scarcely gave us a second look.

Here’s a photo gallery, visible on the website only, not if you’re reading this as an email. You can see many others by following this link.

The Sandhill Cranes were undoubtedly Birds of the Day, but we enjoyed other interesting sightings including: several Hooded Mergansers, Wood Ducks and perhaps a Pied-billed Grebe or two on roadside ponds. Barn Swallows lined up along overhead wires and countless, always cruising, Turkey Vultures dipped and wheeled across fields and woods looking for a cheap meal.

16 August 2014. Carnarvon, ON. Not all birding has to involve wet feet and insect bites; sometimes it’s only a matter of stirring yourself to fill a bird feeder and pour a cup of coffee; oh yes and switch on the camera. Friends invited us to spend some time at their cottage, a lovely home on the shores of a quietly treed lake in Ontario’s recreation land; the only flaw in the whole arrangement is the weather. The surface of the lake has vanished, obscured now by a white sheet of hammering rainfall. The usual non-sound of trees has been overtaken by the shrrrrrr of steady rainfall, and it’s much colder than mid August should be; it’s the sort of day that reminds me why wilderness camping can sometimes (too often?) be a treacherous venture. Still, it’s snug where we are, the wood-stove, intended for the chills of fall, has made it shirt-sleeve comfortable and we brought lots of reading; nice for us.

I sit indoors watching Ruby-throated Hummingbirds, a Red-breasted Nuthatch and American Goldfinches at feeders filled for their convenience; business as usual for them, rain or no. Other birds have visited briefly: A single, male Black-throated Blue Warbler momentarily suggested there might be some exciting birding, but I haven’t seen any more of him. A Broad-winged Hawk greeted our arrival a couple of days ago, they had a nest around here somewhere, but our encounter was brief and almost soundless. Common Ravens croak in the distance and a small flock of Blue Jays passed silently through.

My challenge has been to photograph a Ruby-throated Hummingbird, to reduce, if I could, the blur of its wings to a frozen wing-beat. Hummingbirds are very obliging when it comes to posing, a feeder of sugar water will draw them in about every five minutes. The trick then is patience: a comfortable seat, a decent background and experimentation. I found that a shutter speed of one six-hundreth of a second still showed some blurring, but that at one one-thousandth of a second the wingbeats froze; all of which says much more about the physiology of hummingbird flight than it does about my photography skills, which are pretty much a product of a modern all-functions-automated camera anyway. Still, it’s instructive and rewarding. Here are two of my better in-flight shots.