Back to our story...So on Friday morning, I headed down to Connecticut for an action-packed day of winter birding with my good friend, SJ (who previously starred in the Pink-footed Goose adventure from last month). No one knows Connecticut birding better than SJ, so it always promises to be a blast when we bird together. And we never know what to expect...Whoso would ever predict, upon stepping out their front door, that within a few short hours, they would know what it's like to be chased away by an angry man in a forklift?...The day was special for a few other reasons, too...SJ has been instructing me in the art of "counting." That is, actually keeping track of the number of individual birds of each species, and then logging the data into an online database. It's a real skill, and there is a steep learning curve, to be sure. Tallying a few cardinals and chickadees here and there is one thing...But it's a daunting challenge to stay calm when faced with a beach covered with hundreds of gulls, to say nothing of the thousands of sea birds sitting on the ocean in the background! Why on earth would anyone take the time to hand-count hundreds or even thousands of seagulls? We'll get to that later. But today, I would be tasked with maintaining the day's count with a pen and a little folded piece of paper. The day was also special because it would be my first time out in the field with my first DSLR, the Canon 7D. For the first nine years of my birding adventures, I traveled light, with only my trusty binoculars hung around my neck. Then, I added a spotting scope, attached to a backpack and slung over my shoulders, to bring the bird world that much closer. I was quite a site to see, walking around with this hulking backpack and scope with tripod attached, the legs jutting out in three directions, my binoculars still dangling from my neck. But I had developed a good system, and I was comfortable. With my scope secured behind me, my hands were free to manipulate my "bins," and when the right time came, I could whip off my backpack and have my scope and tripod set up perfectly in a matter of seconds. A few years ago, I bought an iPhone 4, and began using that to digiscope, or "iPhone-scope," pictures and videos of birds through the eyepiece of my spotting scope. That was another skill that required a lot of practice, but in time, I became proficient in the technique, and for two years, that's how I photographed birds. You would think that aiming the little lens on the iPhone through a scope and holding it steady might not be very effective, but I have been able to obtain a lot of high-quality images, and have preserved many special memories in the process. With this technique, I was able to record the Great Horned Owl that my mother and I saw together:
This dignified matron was the first owl my mother ever saw in the wild.
And through my iPhone, I was able to focus through the wire enclosure to snap a picture of this mother Piping Plover, vigilantly guarding her nest:
Even commonly seen birds were fun to photograph through the iPhone, like this Ruddy Turnstone, clearly in his favorite habitat:
So the iPhone has served me well, and still does. I have lots more "iPhone-scopes" from the last two years saved on my computer, and I hope to dribble them here and there throughout future posts. But last month, I bought a real camera, a Canon 7D and a 100-400mm lens. So, if people thought I looked overencumbered before, now, with my binoculars, backpack, scope, tripod, camera, and lens all dangling ponderously from every appendage, I resemble some multi-limbed mythical creature from Greek legend:
Or maybe I'll be able to defeat Spiderman now?
The possibilities are truly limitless.
But the main purpose for outfitting myself with all this gear is to be able to enjoy my experiences with the birds. And after a few hours spent in my living room adjusting, fiddling, and readjusting, I was able to arrive at a suitable configuration, whereby I now have my binoculars supported on a chest harness, my camera situated securely over my right shoulder with a sturdy strap, and my tripod backpack donned over all. And I can operate each one freely and independently. Maybe I'm not a legendary monster or an evil villain...I've constructed my own special suit, replete with every futuristic gadget, ready to take on the world...I'm one of the good guys...I'm...
If I could only find the right vehicle to complete the picture...
So for the first time, the photographs I've included below were taken with a DSLR instead of an iPhone. I'm a complete rookie, but I'm happy to start at ground zero and work my way up. Also, for now, I'm shooting in jpeg, just to get my feet wet...Next month, I plan to enter the world of RAW photography and learn the art of post-processing. But the .jpg's will do for today. Enough prologue. On to the birding day!
We began at the beach, Jenning's Beach to be exact, and since it was a weekday, there weren't many people. A few beachgoers with their dogs hugged the shoreline in the bright morning sun. It seemed like there were more dogs than people, in fact. As SJ and I scanned the ocean through our spotting scopes, every few minutes I would suddenly hear a brisk panting coming from below, and tearing my eye from the scope, I would look down to see a friendly canine looking inquisitively and playfully at me and my bizarre contraption. He would entertain a few pats on the head, and then prance off to provoke an altercation with the undulating surf. Have you ever seen a dog unhappy at a beach?
As I continued to scan the seas, SJ encouraged me to begin the official "count." I had a pen and a simple piece of plain paper folded in fourths. My job was to make note not only of each species of bird seen, but also the number of individuals for each species! If such a prospect doesn't yet sound forbidding, let's see if I can put this in perspective. Imagine you walk into your front yard, with a nice green lawn and healthy blades of grass waving in the wind. Now, try to count the grass blades. But wait, there are several dozen different kinds of grass there...and some of them look alike! Make sure you count them all, and don't mix them up! But hold on yet again...Each grass blade is being carried around by a little ant, and they're all moving around in random patterns! Nothing's staying still! And every few seconds, the blades of grass dive beneath the ground, resurfacing in different locations! Make sure not to count any blade twice...and can you include that huge patch of grass in your neighbor's yard while you're at it? Oh, and by the way, count the ants, too.
That's what it can seem like when you're at the beach, trying to count birds that are flying all around, sitting on the beach, on the water, on the rocks, and all of a sudden you spot a raft of nearly a thousand birds drifting and diving below the surface hundreds of yards away.
Does it sound like a crazy endeavor? First of all, it's a lot of fun. What new challenge isn't? Ok, so why in the world would anyone want to do this? The data that can be recorded online is essential to conservation, so researchers can analyze long-term trends in bird populations. Counting is difficult, but it can really be a boon to the birds. When scientists at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology check their database and see that the average number of Herring Gulls seen at a certain beach at a certain time of year has fallen from 250 to 150, or vice versa, a 40% decline like that that would otherwise go unnoticed could alert the researchers to a critical shift in the population. But there's another benefit for the birders, too. SJ pointed out that in the process of counting each and every bird, I would become more attentive to detail, and would be more likely to notice anything out of the ordinary. It really does train your focus, and although it might not sound like a typical "day at the beach" for some, it also immerses you in your environment like nothing else. You get lost in a world of birds, interrupted only by the occasional curious, but completely welcome, doggy.
The ocean held Common Loons and Red-throated Loons, scaup, gulls, and more, but after scanning for a while, it was time to head out. But before leaving for good, SJ and I decided to walk around the parking lot and the surrounding area for a while. And there he was, sitting innocently on a railing, with neither pomp nor circumstance, unaware of his own impending celebrity...the bird I had been waiting for...the first bird I would ever photograph with a real camera. He didn't appear to think much of the occasion, but he grudgingly accepted the honor. And here it is, the seminal record:
"This really is beneath my station."
Ahhh, the dazzling brilliance of a non-native winter male House Sparrow. Let the colors cascade forth!
Well, you've got to start somewhere, right? Still, getting up close and personal with any bird, even a House Sparrow, can be exciting. If there's a picture that interests you, you can click on it for a larger view. It'll be much sharper, too!
SJ and I continued to walk down by the docks, scrutinizing the flocks of resting gulls for any out-of-place individuals. We didn't find anything unusual among the Herring, Ring-billed, and Great Black-backed Gulls, but photographing has begun to make me look at each bird, however common, as a potentially interesting subject. This immature Herring Gull seemed quite comfortable with his lofty perch atop one of the many wooden poles:
"Where'd my other leg go?"
Most exciting for me, however, was SJ's discovery back in the parking lot. We had been hearing the distant grating calls of Monk Parakeets throughout the morning. For those of us who live in the north, the jarring sound of a Monk Parakeet vocalizing can make us do a double-take...Wait, am I in the tropics all of a sudden? The Carolina Parakeet used to be the only "parrot" native to the eastern U.S., but they went extinct about a hundred years ago. They would have been something special to see nowadays:
Carolina Parakeet, formerly native to the eastern U.S., now extinct.
So now, the sound of parakeets squawking usually means you're in either Latin America or a pet store. But lots of Monk Parakeets have been imported from South America as pets over the last fifty years, and as it often happens, many manage to escape. Now, feral populations of Monk Parakeets have established themselves in the United States, even as far north as New England. So, while walking around Connecticut, SJ is attuned to the sound of these South American expatriates...while I'm still jolted awake by the incongruous calls.
We heard the Monks calling from the edges of the parking lot, where thick brambles and brush and trees offered proper protection for any birds there. A Northern Mockingbird scrambled about, proclaiming his right to the territory, and giving me some much-needed practice in focusing on birds hidden behind branches and twigs:
Soon, SJ spotted a dense of congregation of long sticks and twigs partially obscured up in the trees. I wouldn't have known, but SJ identified it as a Monk Parakeet nest:
Can you see it?
Looks huge for such a small bird! You'd think a hawk lived there! And before long, the owners of the nest came by to tend to their business. The Monk Parakeets remained tough subjects to photograph, as they operated behind a dense curtain of branches. But occasionally, we caught satisfying glimpses. SJ and I were still in the car, and we stayed there, so as not to disturb or pose a threat to the birds near their nests.
It's hard not to think you're in the tropics...
The Monks were unconcerned with our presence, and soon approached the very nest that SJ had just pointed out to me moments ago:
SJ quickly observed that the Monk was carrying and manipulating long sticks, a sure sign that nest-building was taking place right in front of our eyes! Sure enough, a close-up view of the photo above reveals the Parakeet holding some building material:
Look how much bigger the nest is than the bird!
There you can see the relative proportions of the Monk Parakeet to the nest it's constructing. Even more zoomed in, you can see the Parakeet with some building material:
"Now, where should this one go?"
And then, allowing us into their private world, the Monk Parakeets began working on their architectural endeavor:
"Why am I working so hard to keep this place clean when my kids are just going to mess it up again?"
I caught another shot of a Monk Parakeet working his way through the branches, and at the time, I didn't think anything of it:
I didn't notice until reviewing the photographs later that here again, the Parakeet can be seen carrying nesting material in its bill! Take a look at this magnified image of the same photo:
It's awe-inspiring what these guys can do just with their bills. And look at the size of the branch this Parakeet has excised from a nearby limb in the resized photo below:
Impressive, isn't it? The fact that a little Monk Parakeet can manage to find, remove, manipulate, and build with branches, sticks, and twigs like this is mind-boggling to me. And it's always special to see it happening right before your eyes. I hope their kids like the finished product!
Before we left the parking lot for good, a mockingbird, perhaps the same one I had seen before, alit just outside the car window...to see us out. Some of these jpeg images, which look clear on my desktop, appear a bit fuzzy once they get resized and compressed to fit in the blog...Thankfully, the originals look sharper when you click on them. Give it a try!
"Thanks for stopping by."
We headed out and made our way to Veterans Park. SJ was excited about the prospect of searching for some new disoveries in an area that may not be birded that often. A lot of the common birds were accounted for...A lone Mourning Dove seemed to stand sentinel on a limb above, hardly moving the whole time we were there. House Sparrows were out in force, as a house nearby had a few feeders filled. One House Sparrow in particular caught my eye, as it had an obvious buffy patch on one side of its back. It didn't quite look like a scapular feather...more like an aberrant pattern on the mantle:
Looking closely at some more detailed pictures of House Sparrows, it appears this buff-and-black patch is often present, but doesn't usually contrast as heavily with such plain back feathering...Maybe an interesting molt pattern yielded this striking, though possibly temporary, design:
As we walked further into the woods, we were accompanied by a nearby pair of White-tailed Deer. Perhaps they were responsible for the disconcerting but all-too familiar scene that appeared next...a melange of beer bottles strewn all over a patch of ground, and scores of bright red plastic cups littered about for added color. When it comes to red, I prefer this next image. I attempted to snap a photo of a perched male Northern Cardinal, but he flew off just as I released the shutter, leaving me with this beautiful, sensuous blur:
A missed opportunity, or abstract art?
Still excited at the prospect of exploring hitherto lesser-known pockets of habitat in the area, SJ recommended we take a stab at scouring a portion of the local dump! We didn't actually drive in to the garbage depository proper...Near the entrance, we noticed a network of paths, just wide enough for a small car like mine, cutting through these humongous hills of mulch. From our position, we couldn't yet see what lay around the corner of the nearest mulch mountain, but that mystery, and potential, were all the encouragement we needed. My little vehicle fit perfectly on the narrow "road," and as we criss-crossed among the patchwork of paths and hills, we saw little more than one mountain of shredded wood after another...at first. Rounding one corner, SJ and I both exclaimed as we saw a raptor perched on a vertical branch about fifty feet in front of us. We had reached the boundary of the "dump," which here gave way to some better habitat. A Red-tailed Hawk stood calmly atop his stick, oblivious to SJ and me, who remained in the car. Maybe he was contemplating buying some mulch?
Even as quiet as we were, it wasn't long before the hawk noticed us:
But he quickly made it clear that he wasn't very impressed by us, and went about his own personal grooming, unconcerned:
We decided to pull up a ways, closer to the hawk...We would have to drive by that spot anyway to exit the Mulch Mountains...but after driving forward a few yards, SJ stopped me, because off to our right was an oasis! An expanse of wetlands down below that was now visible from our exposed vantage point. SJ excitedly jumped out of the car and walked over to the edge to get a better view, while I continued to train my sights on the Red-tailed Hawk, still preening. But not seconds later, like some biblical juggernaut towering over the earth and crushing everything in its path, this gargantuan forklift appeared from between the mountains and began accelerating toward us, the operator waving his hands and gesturing wildly. It was as if some hill giant native to these parts had risen from his slumber beneath the mulch to defend his homeland. For all I knew, he was yelling, "Look out! This forklift is outta control!!!!" But it turned out, as SJ told me after he jumped back into the passenger seat, the forklift driver was yelling that we had to leave because we were on private property. It didn't seem sensical, since we hadn't entered through the dump entrance yet, and we hadn't passed any signs warning us of the autonomous behemoth that would forklift us into the wetlands below if we lingered too long. But, such is the common plight of the birdwatcher, so we skedaddled, bidding a hasty retreat before they called any bigger guns, like a crane, to hoist us away.
We stopped next at the Fairfield Country Club parking lot to scope out the pockets of water below. There were Gadwall and Hooded Mergansers, Mallards, and more swimming around pleasantly, but we stayed only long enough for a quick survey, and then left for South Pine Creek.
SJ was hoping to locate some Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers that had been present a bit down the path. We didn't get lucky with the sapsuckers, but we were kept company by a troupe of Song Sparrows flitting along the edges. One Song Sparrow darted in and out of the nearby brush, as if at first startled by our footfalls, but then grew curious...He observed from behind safe cover:
Always so dapper, the Song Sparrow.
Then he showed off his profile:
Then, he showed off his...well...
Now that really is rude.
He flitted off, self-satisfied with his schoolyard antics...but curiosity got the better of him again, and he reappeared on a nearby branch, this time in the open, unabashed:
Are you sorry for that rude gesture?
At last he became contrite:
You should be sorry! Ok, apology accepted.
We then headed to our final destination, the Penfield Reef. Out on the stone jetty, SJ and I set up scopes, and I started to scan the beach and the sea, and then realized with horror that I was still supposed to be counting all the birds, and here were hundreds upon hundreds of gulls, with more flying in every second as the tide receded! SJ and I laughed at the prospect, but practice makes perfect, and in the blowing coastal winds that grew colder by the second, we scanned and I counted, 250 of this, 150 of that, all most certainly underestimates. But still, the counting process compelled me to be more acutely aware of my surroundings, and as the numbers of White-wing Scoters, Greater Scaup, and Common Goldeneye swimming in the ocean also climbed into the hundreds, it was hard not to feel humbled by the immenseness and vastness of the scene before us.
We packed it in, headed home, reminisced about the day's adventure, and remarked on how fun a day of birding could be, even without any surprise rare birds popping up. There are always other surprises of one kind or another, be they feathers or forklifts. Here's to the next adventure!
The photos from your new camera are terrific! It's wonderful to see how a close-up can reveal beautiful coloring on an otherwise "small brown bird." It is also nice to know that your efforts at counting the birds can help the scientific community to know more about what is happening to our environment. So many birds counted, so many more to see! Looking forward to reading more adventures.
ReplyDeleteThe "Mary's 100th Birthday" is fantastic.
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