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6 February 2014.  Ontario. Not the normal sort of posting this one.  But today I had the privilege of a very brief glimpse (but no photograph) of a Northern Saw-whet Owl.

I am on the list of volunteer drivers for The Owl Foundation, an owl rehabilitation centre that relies for support on the goodness of peoples’ hearts. When they have a patient-owl that needs to be transported, either as an incoming injured bird or as an about to be released bird, they call upon a string of drivers to do the job.  Today I ferried the Saw-whet on the last leg of its journey, delivering it to the rehab experts.

As the young specialist lifted it gently from its box she quickly assessed its condition and confirmed a fractured humerus; not a good condition.  But, she added with relief that the bone had not penetrated the skin; if it had, the exposed end would have dried and been incapable of repair and healing.  As it was they planned to send it on to a veterinary surgeon for an attempt at resetting (my words, not theirs).

That quick in-the-hand assessment was my glimpse of this pretty little bird.  The accompanying notes said that the finder’s husky had picked it up.  It must have been in a poor way for a dog to pick it up; perhaps it had been in an earlier collision with a car.

Anyway, the prognosis is rarely good for birds with such injuries.  Vets’ fees are high and volunteer organizations depend on the generosity of donated professional time; if the chances of repair and rehabilitation are good then it’s easier to call upon such donations.

Saw-whets are endearing little owls.  Their name comes from one of their calls which is supposed to sound like a saw being sharpened, or whetted.   You can read more on this species and play a recoding of the call by following this link to The Owl Foundation website.

I obtained the engaging photo below from Wikimedia Commons and is the work of Brendan Ially.

3 February 2014. Burlington Ontario. Although really nothing more than tabulating the rhythm of the Earth, flipping over the January page of the calendar seemed to have made all the difference.  Bright sun, a blanket of snow and barely noticeable cold was all that the birds and I needed to enjoy each other’s company today.

I walked around a favourite valley not far from home, a place of sheltered trails, a meandering river and a winter bird population that knows and loves people and the food they usually bring with them.  I pocketed a small bag of mixed birdseed and went to see what photography opportunities would pop up.

It was, as I expected, all about the usual avian suspects and they provided lots of opportunity.  There was little sense in looking for rarities, just enjoy a beautiful winter morning. The birds obliged nicely and the gallery below is a reflection of my morning’s walk.

My Wow! moment came almost as an afterthought.  Completely satisfied with my morning of photo-op birds, I decided to drive around a nearby cemetery where a Screech Owl can sometimes be seen, particularly if the sun shines. He was there right on cue and since the sun shone so brightly I was spurred on to check another owl spot, where to my astonishment these two Screech Owls were sitting sunning themselves.

To help you interpret the picture of these two birds, I need to quote a local authority, Bob Curry, from his excellent book Birds of Hamilton and Surrounding Areas (Pub’ Hamilton Naturalists’ Club 2006): “The Eastern Screech Owls occurs in three colour morphs: grey, brown and red.  Grey Screech Owls are by far the commonest in southern Ontario, these include the similar brown morphs that are seldom distinguished in the field or in museum collections. ….Red morph birds are less well adapted to cold and are commoner in the United States.  Based on specimens in the Royal Ontario Museum….red morphs comprise about 19% of the Ontario population.

Quite apart from the sheer pleasure of seeing them, what made these birds so special was to find the brown and grey morphs together and apparently a bonded pair, a sign of spring if ever there was.

This post contains photos in galleries visible only on the website, not if you’re reading this as an email.

 

31 January 2014. Haldimand ON. Thank goodness, a thaw.  With temperatures just a shade above freezing for a change, I saw several noteworthy species today: Three Wild Turkeys picking through snow-encrusted corn stubble; a lone male Northern Harrier quartering wind-blown farm fields; a Rough-legged Hawk keeping watch atop a large oak;  Tumbling squalls of Snow Buntings; A scattering of Horned Larks and, Bird of the Day, two or three Lapland Longspurs.

Let me put it all into context. I returned to that same quiet, windswept, country road to continue our work banding Snow Buntings. A couple of days of fierce winds had exposed wide expanses of farmland stripping the soil and blowing it onto roadside snow-drifts, turning them coffee coloured.

Without a covering of snow, birds find it easier to forage for more traditional sources of food so our baited ground traps were far less effective.  Still, we banded twenty-two Snow Buntings and one Lapland Longspur.

Snow Buntings, they are so aptly named, move in very large rolling flocks that barrel across the landscape like a loose-leafed snow squall. Horned Larks and Lapland Longspurs seem to get caught up in the excitement of the buntings’ wanderings and we’ll usually see a few of them, and maybe band a handful. (Click on any photo below to really appreciate their cuteness.)

Horned Larks are probably one of our most under-noticed birds, they prefer open farm fields, the rougher, bleaker and more disturbed the better and while winter is still tossing around late snow and ice, Horned Larks start nesting, often tucking a nest in a crevice between clumps of old grasses and weeds.  We saw a score of Horned Larks today but none that wanted to settle for us to enjoy them for long.

Lapland Longspurs are smaller and have a diminutive charm of their own.  Like the buntings, they nest in tundra far above the tree line but spend the winter foraging over open fields in southern Canada and much of the U.S.  It’s a privilege to see them after they’ve gone to all that effort to visit us.  Few birders notice them because they can be so hard to find in those large flocks of Snow Buntings.  The one that surrendered itself for banding was much admired, enough to be Bird of the Day.

This post contains photos in galleries visible only on the website, not if you’re reading this as an email.

29 January 2014. Haldimand ON. You know how you hear about extreme sports and how (other) people push the limits of endurance and safety purely for fun?  I think I understand why they do it, at least until they reach the point of foolhardy, life-endangering participation.  Well, today I think maybe we pushed the rational limits on birding, and for a while I wondered just how serious my resulting frostbite might be.  But I’m typing this and all digits are working fine; but still…

I joined a couple of other bird observatory friends to band a few Snow Buntings.  Consider the setting: we work in an unheated mini-van, minus 17 Celsius outside (1.4 deg. F), flat open farmland and a buffeting westerly wind blowing spumes of ice-crystals off the tops of snow-banks.  We had three ground traps baited with cracked corn (ground traps work like a lobster trap, the birds walk in and but can’t find their way out).  Clouds of Snow Buntings, in hundreds, whirled around drawn by the corn, some of it scattered around, but most of it inside the traps. They were hungry, and when Matt and I arrived on site Nancy had just collected thirty or so birds and popped them into cloth bags.  We took them to the van for banding, ageing, sexing, weighing and release.

With our first batch processed and released, we struggled out of the van and back through the snow drifts to the traps which had filled once again.  My gloves were too clumsy so I pulled them off and started gathering and bagging buntings. Within thirty seconds my hands were very cold, at sixty seconds almost numb but still functioning, and shortly after that screaming in pain.  By then I had my bag limit, I could hardly feel anything but managed to pull my gloves back on, then plunged back through the drifts and to the van.  As I closed the door, Matt climbed in behind me exclaiming that his hands seemed to have vanished.  I don’t think we’d been out for more than four minutes, yet examining my hands I could see the top of at least one finger was bone-white, I knew I’d been frostbitten.  It took some ten minutes of hot breathing and arm-pit incubation to get any feeling back.  It was a signal lesson in not removing gloves and how quickly extremities will freeze; it was also very painful.

Still in three hours we banded 80 Snow Buntings and two days from now I’m going again; that’s what extreme sports nuts do I think.  I should have new photos then, these are from 2011

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28 January 2013. Huatulco Mexico. Just a year ago we were in Mexico checking out traditional methods of weaving and dyeing.  The memory of that trip still burns strongly, even more so over this past couple of weeks with the contrasts in mobility, weather and colour so vivid. Our final two or three days were spent in the Pacific coastal town of Huatulco where one of life’s pleasures for everyone is to congregate in the town square, the zocalo, and just people-watch.  I always added bird-watch to the agenda because the large shade trees were lively with vocal Great Kiskadees, Yellow-winged Caiques (cah-hee-KAYs), Great-tailed Grackles and Tropical Kingbirds.

 

 

 

 

On one of those sit-and-watch days, binoculars and camera always close at hand, a black bird settled on the shrubbery opposite where we sat, my first impression was of yet another a grackle but on second look I realized in astonishment that it was a Groove-billed Ani.  I’d never seen one before, but how could I mistake it?  There are three Ani species: Greater, Smooth-billed and Groove-billed. Click on the picture below and take a closer look, this could only be a Groove-billed; to me anyway.

Wikipedia nails it with this brief description. “The Groove-billed Ani (Crotophaga sulcirostris) is an odd-looking tropical bird in the cuckoo family with a long tail and a large, curved beak.”  The Cuckoo family again!  There always seems to be something just a little odd about them.  The Lesser Ground Cuckoo, seen just ten days prior, the Roadrunner, and Eurasia’s Common Cuckoo, an obligate nest parasite, all of them just a little off centre in one way or another.  And now here’s the Groove-billed Ani to confirm and add to the familial eccentricities.  I was thrilled to see this bird, certainly a Wow! moment.  I’d only ever seen illustrations of them before and wonder what possible purpose that oversized, striated bill serves.

A little later I spotted a pair of them.  My attention was caught by the odd posture of one scuttling and scratching around beneath a row of shrubs, it’s that curious looking pose in the photo below.  It turned out to be a courtship strategy, moments later the object of its desires obviously tempted, appeared for a moment of copulation. Birding is full of such surprises.

This post contains photos in galleries visible only on the website, not if you’re reading this as an email.