Bird Sense: A Birding Blog

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Short-billed Dowitcher, Evans Road

Red Knot, Evans Road

Black-crowned Night Heron (Immature) @ Sparrow Pond

Osprey Nestling @ Belle Haven Marina

Bald Eagle (Composite), George Washington Memorial Parkway

Black-bellied Plover, Fowler Beach Road

"The world acquired a new interest when birds appeared for the presence of birds at any time is magical in effect, They are magicians that transform every scene; make every desert a garden of delights." Charles Abbott, Medical doctor, American naturalist, nature writer, and archaeologist, date unknown.

Still snowed in, mostly. Another winter storm on the way. Nothing much to do but process some old 2009 captures for the first time.

Under construction!

I know bird photographers who can burn through an eight GB card in something like 20 minutes. There is nothing wrong with this, though I am more of a "sniper" than "sprayer." I can usually shoot an eight GB card all day long - and then some.

Nevertheless, when I get a bird or birds inside the reach of my lens, I am always getting multiple captures of the same bird or birds. There are lots of reasons why this happens, beginning with the fact that I am not much of a bird photographer. Making progress, sure! But, I simply lack the camera skills to be a true "sniper." I am usually shooting in a straight manual mode, and I often struggle trying to find exposures that might work for me. Among other things, this means that I am usually banging away at birds that I find inside the reach of my lens.

Lots of exposures translates to more processing time once captures are downloaded to my computer. Inevitably, this means that I end up with perfectly serviceable captures that do not get processed on anything approaching a real time basis. For example, I photographed the Short-billed Dowitcher posted here in May 2009. I got a bunch of Dowitcher and Red Knot captures that day on Evans Road. With the backlog of unprocessed captures that I have sitting on my hard drive, in things like snowstorms, it is pretty easy to go back in time and pull up old captures that are just waiting to be processed.

The captures posted here all have stories that I remember well. These stories will probably not matter much to you, but they mean an awful lot to me. My blog, my stories. So here goes. LOL!

Evans Road abuts Delaware Bay, near Lighthouse Road and the Mispillion Nature Center. I believe the small beach at the end of Evans Road is part of the Slaughter Beach complex.

Unbelievably fine place to see and photograph shorebirds, especially Red Knots. Birders usually walk the beach sorting out shorebirds as they go. "Shooters," especially those of us shooting "big rigs," are much more likely to pick a spot on the beach and wait for shorebirds to walk themselves inside the reach of our camera lenses.

Because the sun rises in the east, I want to be on Evans Road later in the day when the sun will be behind me, in what hopefully amounts to even and very "shootable" light. Talk about magic. Waiting to catch up with the light, I spend a lot of time along Lighthouse Road looking for opportunities to photograph Sparrows and Rails. More magic later in the day when I discover that the late afternoon light on Slaughter Beach is everything I hoped it would be. There are lots of birds around too, mostly Red Knots, Short-billed Dowitchers, and Ruddy Turnstones.

Sometimes it can be a long wait, waiting for a bird to show up inside the reach of my camera lens. Not so, on Evans Road that day. I am shooting minutes after I set-up my "rig." Great light. Nice "shooting" alleys. Lots of birds. I am good to go.

One of the keys to bird photography is the idea that perspective matters. In general, I want to avoid shooting down at a bird, especially birds on the ground. This means getting closer to the ground. Many pro "shooters" and lots of big-deal amateur photographers use something called a belly-pan to get as low to the ground as is possible when photographing shorebirds. A belly-pan makes it easier to lie outstretched, flat on the ground to be able to "shoot" shorebirds dead-on. I do not do the whole belly-pan thing, but I do shoot from a knee or a chair, instead of a standing position. Had I been standing upright while photographing the shorebirds posted here, my captures' composition and perspective would have been much different and much less interesting.

There was no wind to speak of that day on Slaughter Beach. Veteran birders usually get the whole bug thing. No wind, later in the day, sitting on the beach. Me, three other "shooters," and pretty much every biting insect in Delaware.

Standing outside my car, I am gearing-up and using enough OFF to turn myself into some kind of toxic waste dump. Besides my exposed skin, I spray my socks, pants, long sleeve shirtsleeves, and my hat.

On the beach, the sun is setting. I am banging away at Red Knots, while the biting insects are banging away at me. I last all of twenty minutes before I am forced to retreat to the safety of my car. I know that I do not want to miss the last of the day's light, so after a few minutes of cowering in my car and much itching, burning, and scratching, I grab a towel, spray the thing up, grab my gear, and return to the beach to let my biting buddies finish me off. I use the towel to cover my head, ears, and neck, as best I can. I finish the day getting the captures I was hoping for. All way to cool for mere words, really. Way beyond my ability to describe, properly anyway. What a great way to finish a great birding day on the coast.

Of course, there is great magic in birding. But, is this magic found in something as trivial a mere tick mark that reduces a bird to nothing more than inventory in some pitifully lame birding game. Truthfully, once and for all, tell me: where exactly is the magic in a tick mark? And, this, for those with the ears to hear, is why pure "listing" inevitably becomes a form of self-robbery, because truthfully, there is nothing magical about "listing."

Some birders see birding as nothing but science. Fancying themselves amateur ornithologists, these birders seek to reduce birding to straightforward ornithology. To be sure, ornithologists perform valuable work. But, the truth is this: some of these amateur practitioners are frauds; well intended; perhaps, but frauds just the same. They can walk the walk and talk the talk, but they practice no real science, and they know little, if anything, about the magic of birding. And, riddle me this: is science magic? No, it is not. Science, real science, has its own rewards. Magic is not one of these rewards.

Ask me, and I will tell you flat out: No matter the time of year; no matter the season, the venue, the time of day, the weather, birding is magical; not as an empty tick mark or some scientific pursuit.

Ask me, and I will tell you that birding's true magic will not be found in a book or a laboratory, but in the field where it belongs. Magic that can only be imagined and then experienced. Magic that once experienced is not easily forgotten. Magic that turns me every which way but loose. Magic that keeps me focused and coming back for more. Magic that leaves me wanting more. Magic that makes me curious. Magic that puts a smile on my face; a smile that only another birder can ever truly appreciate, much less comprehend. Magic that makes me laugh. Magic that humbles me in ways that cannot be imagined. Magic that lifts me up and teaches me. Magic that is bigger than a list and much more intimate and personal than some cold (but noble) scientific pursuit. Magic because birds do indeed make the planet we inhabit a much more necessary and interesting place.

Don't believe in magic? Give birding a try, real birding. Learn to watch birds as they go about their daily lives. Listen carefully to bird song. Watch a courtship display. Watch parents gathering and carrying nesting material. Watch a bird(s) going about the serious business of building a nest. Do these things and so much more, and tell me again that there is nothing magical about birding. Today, you may not be a believer, but birds, given the chance, will make a believer out of you in very short order, tick marks and science notwithstanding.

Recently, I ran into a couple of photographers photographing Bald Eagles at Pohick Bay Regional Park. This was a mixed crew, with one guy shooting a Canon body and the other shooting a Nikon body. Both of these photographers were shooting short telephoto lenses.

In general, birders want to discuss birds. Most bird photographers almost always want to talk about gear. Discussing gear is one of the ways that "shooters" get to know each other. Camera bodies they are shooting. Bodies they want. Lenses they lust after. Gear that is traded for. Gear that is rented. Cameras and lenses that have been fed to the cause. Crop factors. Full-frame cameras. Pixel cramming. Pixel chasing. Build problems. Lenses that are soft. Lenses that are improperly front and/or rear focusing. Metering. Blown highlights. Stacked lenses. Anything, but the birds that are being photographed. LOL!

Eventually, one of these photographers wants to know what other venues might be good for Bald Eagle, "besides the dam (a reference to Conowingo Dam), I mean." The "dam." LOL! The Holy Grail for shooting Bald Eagles between October and early January.

Now that we are talking birds, I am in my wheelhouse. I can do the whole gear thing, but truthfully, I often have trouble keeping up with and following the threads of some of these conservations.

So, there we are talking about Bald Eagles, and the best places to "shoot" them. While this conversation is going on, I am looking at a nearby Downy Woodpecker and listening to a White-breasted Nuthatch vocalizing in the distance. One of the photographers is trying to shoot the Downy, when out of nowhere the other photographer asks his companion to identify another nearby bird. "Chickadee or Titmouse," this photographer wants to know?

Being the expert that I am, without waiting for his companion to answer the question asked, and without bothering to look up from my lens, I answer the question asked. "White-breasted Nuthatch," I say with great authority. LOL! I answer this question at about the same time as the photographer who was asked this question says, "Tufted Titmouse."

So, there it is in the bright light of daylight. Nuthatch or Titmouse. Once again, without bothering to look up, I say, "White-breasted Nuthatch" because I am still hearing a Nuthatch vocalizing nearby.

The two photographers exchange a look that I have seen hundreds of times since I first picked up a camera. These guys are going to defer to me. After all, I am the birder in the know. I am sporting a $1500 pair of binoculars, in a harness no less. I am shooting a pro-body and a

pro-lens. Clearly, I know what I am talking about. The issue is settled. One of the photographers follows my lead, saying, "White-breasted Nuthatch."

About this time, I look up. I see that one of the photographers is looking at a bird that is much closer than the Nuthatch that I am still hearing in the distance. Of course, the bird this guy is looking at is a Tufted Titmouse. LOL!

These guys had been looking with their eyes, while I had been looking with my ears. These guys were not sure their bird was actually a Tufted Titmouse, but they were working the ID problem to the best of their ability. Me, I was not working the problem at all. LOL! Anyway, in short order I correct myself. "Tufted Titmouse," I say, and these photographers could not have been more pleased that they called their bird correctly. Smiles, all around.

A few minutes later, one of the photographers wants to show me a Red-tailed Hawk that he got recently. He dials this bird into his camera's LCD, and as I look at the bird on the camera's LCD, I do not see a Red-tailed Hawk, but a Bald Eagle. "Bald Eagle," I say. "Red-tailed Hawk," the photographer replies.

Now, we just finished doing the whole Nuthatch/Titmouse thing. The camera's LCD is kind of dark, so I decide to take a second look. "Bald Eagle," I say. "Bird has a white head. See." As the photographer takes another look at the bird he has dialed up, he again says, "Red-tailed Hawk." The next moment, he says, "Oh, Bald Eagle."

"Yeah," I reply. "Titmouse and Bald Eagle are tough calls. I get em confused all the time." We share a laugh, and I tell these photographers: "Listen, birders call birds incorredly all the time. Sometimes this happens for good reason, Other times, we just blow the call. This is not a big deal, really. You guys are "shooters. Take the time to learn more about birding. You will have more opportunities to photograph birds. Calling birds incorrectly is all part of the learning curve. Look at it this way. You guys need to learn a little more about birding, and I have to have to learn a little more about "shooting;" "that and Tufted Titmouse."

The photographer really wants to show me his Red-tailed Hawk. And, sure enough the next bird he dials up is a Red-tailed Hawk. "Nice shot," I say. "Where did you get it? "Over at at small pond near Long Branch Nature Center," the photographer tells me. "You mean Sparrow Pond," I ask?" "Yeah, that's it," the photographer says. "Good spot for Wood Duck," the photographer tells me. LOL!

Is there really something magical about birding? Of course there is. For you see, regardless of skill level or time in the field, birds make birders smile. Whether you are a new birder struggling to identify a Tufted Titmouse correctly or a veteran birder blowing a Tufted Titmouse call, the smile is the same. Simply being able to work an ID problem in the field is magical. Regardless of skill level and/or time in the field, learning something new about birds or birding is a priceless experience. Sharing some part of your birding world with others, regardless of skill level or time in the field, never gets old. What else besides the magic of birds can possibly be responsible for this sense of belonging and community?

If we are lucky, we learn good birding habits of mind early on. If we are unlucky, we learn these habits of mind later on, often the hard way. The best birders, regardless of skill level and time in the field, have almost no ego invested in their birding personas. Really good birders know that there is a humility to birding that has nothing whatsoever to do with being able to call a hundred or more species in a day. Good birders know that there is no shame in calling a bird incorrectly, any more than there is shame in struggling to call a common bird correctly. We learn to shun combat birding, opting instead to practice our craft responsibly. Great birders know that we are all works in progress, regardless of our skill level and time in the field.

At some point, we learn the greatest birding lesson of all, which is that birding is all about conservation. We care about the birds we watch, so we put our shoulders to the conservation wheel in small and large ways, and we do what we can to support the resources that makes birding possible. People, the real magic of birding is conservation.

This is another reason why pure "listing" is a form of self-robbery. All too often, "listers" fail to make the connection between birding and conservation, choosing instead to reduce birding to some kind of game or perpetual competitive sporting event. Birding is indeed great fun. But, birding, real birding; contemplative birding is simply not a competitive sporting event. End of the story.

I photographed the immature Black-crowned Night Heron (BCNH) posted here last summer at Sparrow Pond. Here in Virginia's Coastal Plain, BCNH is a common transient and summer resident. Loosely defined, migration is a mechanism that allows birds to move between their summer and winter homes. Migration can be distinguished from other types of bird movements (think dispersal) because it is seasonal and occurs each year. Of the 650 plus avian species that breed in North America, something like 75% of these species participate in some form of migration. But, clearly, some birds do not engage in migratory behavior.

Migration and dispersal are two different processes. While some birds do not migrate, most birds are involved with dispersal in different ways. Breeding dispersal involves the movement of adult birds from one breeding locale to another, while post breeding dispersal (natal dispersal) occurs when a young bird moves from the natal envelope where it was raised to a possible breeding habitat.

Part of the magic of birding is that veteran birders have opportunities to do much more than simple field birding, where the object of the exercise is to do nothing more than identify a bird. As we learn more about birds and birding, we have opportunities to ask questions. Birds are always doing something, and as we begin asking questions, our fieldcraft demands that we learn, as best we can, to interpret basic bird behavior. Eventually, with enough time in the field and effort, our focus shifts from mere identification to a deeper understanding of what it is the birds we are watching are doing. We do learn to interpret, however imperfectly, basic bird behavior, so much so that our focus shifts from mere identification to the real challenge of improving our birding fieldcraft. This too involves an element of birding magic.

Veteran birders are curious about birds. To the best of our ability, we try to learn more about avian biology and ecology. We begin to understand concepts like habitat requirements, distribution, relative abundance, migration, and dispersal. We learn not only bird song, but the language of birding. We become more complete birders, and of course, this too is a big part of the magic of birding.

Photographing the BCNH, I am trying to decide how to interpret this bird's presence at Sparrow Pond, especially since this is the first BCNH that I have seen at this small wetland. Was this BCNH hatched at Sparrow Pond? Is this bird migrating? Can the BCNH's presence be explained by post breeding dispersal? I think about the time of the year, the habitat, what I know about BCNH, and my understanding of Sparrow Pond. I am unsure how to answer the question at hand, but I am doing what veteran birders everywhere do, which is working the problem. Is this some kind of birding magic? Perhaps!

Regardless of my inability to categorically explain the BCNH's presence at Sparrow Pond, the day that I am photographing this bird at Sparrow Pond, birding magic is afoot, big time.

I am sitting on the ground, watching and photographing the BCNH. Shortly, I am joined by my own growing gaggle of observers because, as I am photographing the BCNH, people using the adjacent hike/bike trial are stopping in droves to learn more about what I am doing. Neighborhood residents, walkers, joggers, cyclists, parents with children in tow stop to look at and spend time with this BCNH.

Children are sitting quietly together, two rows deep. Parents and others are standing shoulder to shoulder. Some are quietly pointing the BCNH out to new arrivals. There is an attitude of respect and awe in the air. The BCNH is oblivious to all this attention, perhaps because it is occupied hunting and taking prey from the pond's shallow water. Perhaps this is what explains the polite quiet that has settled over my gaggle of fellow observers. Children and adults, non-birders to be sure, are birding, if only for a while. They have gotten themselves caught up watching the spectacle of a fishing BCNH. Yes, of course, there is magic in birding. Transformational magic!

There is a kind of energy to birding that explains the stagnant and sometimes declining membership rates in many Virginia bird clubs, something these clubs, especially the Virginia Society Of Ornithology seem not to understand. I discuss birding with non-birders all the time.

There is a pair of breeding Bald Eagles at the Belle Haven Country Club. This property is adjacent to both the George Washington Memorial Parkway and the Potomac River. The nest tree and nest are easily seen, both from the Parkway and a nearby hike/bike trail.

This time of year, I spend a lot of time along the Potomac River between the Stone Bridge and Mount Vernon. Non-birders are always stopping me me to ask a birding-related question or to tell me about a bird they have seen along the Parkway or out on the river. More times than I can count, these non-birders ask me if I have seen the Belle Haven Bald Eagle nest? Whenever I am photographing these now resident Bald Eagles from the hike/bike trail, people using this trail, often non-birders, stop to ask me questions about these breeding birds. Cars traveling the parkway often slow down to check out this natal area.

References:

Terres. "Things Precious & Wild." Fulcrum Publishing, 1991; P.5.

Sibley. "The Sibley Guide To Bird Life & Behavior." Alfred A. Knoph, Inc., 2001; P. 61-66.

Red-shouldered Hawk @ Occoquan Bay NWR

Northern Flicker @ Occoquan Bay NWR

Spent the last few days bombing around some of my favorite Northern Virginia venues, including George Washington Memorial Parkway, Fort Belvoir, Pohick Bay Regional Park, and Occoquan Bay NWR.

A great assortment of water birds continues on Northern Virginia watercourses, including Tundra Swan, Gadwall, American Wigeon, American Black Duck, Northern Shoveler, Northern Pintail, Canvasback, Redhead, Ring-necked Duck, Lesser Scaup, Bufflehead, Common Goldeneye, Hooded Merganser, Common Merganser, Red-breasted Merganser, and Ruddy Duck.

I have been following a small gaggle of male and female Common Merganser, waiting for one of these ducks to drift inside the reach of my camera lens. Struggling to find an exposure that might work for me, I blow a great opportunity to photograph these ducks. Otherwise, the Common Merganser spend most of their time "loafing" just outside the reach of my lens.

At Pohick Bay Regional Park, I do a lot of birding from a chair, waiting for an opportunity to photograph Bald Eagles. I see ten or more Bald Eagles from the park's parking lot, but I have no opportunity to point my lens at an Eagle, much less photograph one.

At Occoquan Bay NWR (OBNWR), a snowcap concentrates lots of sparrows on the edges of the refuge's entrance road and parking lot. I spend a couple of hours photographing these foraging birds, using my car as a blind. Sparrows I see include: American Tree, Field, Vesper, Savannah, Song, Swamp, White-throated, and Dark-eyed Junco.

I miss a nice opportunity to photograph an American Tree Sparrow perched on a snow bank. No card in my camera, again! LOL! I settle for some "cheesey" captures of a Tree Sparrow foraging on the parking lot's asphalt surface. I have mouth-watering views of a couple of Vesper Sparrows, but I have no opportunity to photograph these birds. (I want the Vesper Sparrows up off the ground on a low perch of some kind since there is not much point in photographing a little brown bird on the ground against a dark background.)

An Accipiter (Sharp-shinned Hawk, I thought), a Red-shouldered Hawk, and a Northern Harrier are all hunting refuge edges. The Accipiter dives on a bunch of Savannah Sparrows that I am photographing, putting these birds up.

I have great opportunities to photograph Northern Flickers doing some ground foraging on snow covered refuge fields. I hope to photograph Eastern Meadowlark in these same fields. I see lots of Eastern Meadowlark, but none of these birds manage to get inside the reach of my camera lens.

OBNWR is a beautiful place, especially with a couple of inches of snow on the ground. Another winter snowstorm is almost upon us. This storm is likely to bury Northern Virginia in a couple of feet of snow.

With only a couple of inches of snow on the ground, the sparrows I am photographing at OBNWR are clearly expending a lot of energy trying to meet basic needs. I spend a few minutes thinking about the birds that will not survive the coming storm. My restless mind drifts, and I think about the King and Virginia Rails at nearby Huntley Meadows. How, I wonder, will these magnificent birds fare in a couple of feet of snow?

Forget about mortality associated with a simple winter storm. 176 avian species in the continental U.S. need immediate conservation help (Audubon 2007 Watch List). Science Daily reports that by 2100 as many as 14% of all bird species could be extinct, and as many as one in four species may be functionally extinct. (Science Daily, February 5, 2010. See the article entitled "Global Bird Populations Face Dramatic Decline In Coming Decades.") But, hey, by all means. Let's continue playing silly birding games: "I bet I see more birds than you do. My list tops your list!" LOL!

Without winter storms and changing global weather patterns, birds, daily, struggle just to survive. And, we make a sport out of who can see the most birds. Again, I am painfully reminded that birding is not much of a game. And, for a few moments, I have nothing but contempt for those who manage to reduce birding too little more than a game. ("Today, I got Vesper Sparrow for my 2010 year list." "Jesus, BFD!")

In Virginia's Coastal Plain, Red-shouldered Hawk (RSH) is a common permanent resident. RSH has two different plumages (adult and juvenile).

In Virginia's Coastal Plain, Northern Flicker is a common permanent resident. Northern Flicker commonly forages on the ground, one of only a few woodpecker species to do this. Pairs normally mate for life and often return to the same breeding ground year after year. Significant population declines have occurred over much of the North American continent. Another small reminder that birding is not some silly game.

References:

Wheeler & Clark. "A Photographic Guide To North American Raptors." Princeton University Press, 2003; P. 49.

Alderfer, ed. "Complete Birds of North America." National Geographic Society, 2006; P. 378.

Stokes. "A Guide To Bird Behavior." Little Brown & Company, 1979; 1:95-103