Texas: Part III

Have you ever begun a day birding and ended it batting?  Some of the coolest parts of visiting a new area of the country with a great group of people are the surprising non-birding adventures that befall you.  That would never be more true than it was that evening at dusk.  But for now, it was morning again...non-birding adventures would have to wait.  It was time to bird!

We returned to the Kerr WMA area so that everyone might get additional chances to see the Black-capped Vireo well.  This morning, some new singers added their voices to the dawn chorus.  Spring migration was well underway, and who knows what we might turn up?  A Nashville Warbler welcomed us back, as did a Black-and-white Warbler.  A Northern Bobwhite whistled an abbreviated version of his call, and remained hidden.  Blue-gray Gnatcatchers were even more vocal then the day before, if possible.  Every chance I get to study a gnatcatcher, I take it, for that one moment when I'll be standing in southeastern Arizona, wondering if I've got a Black-capped in front of me:

Doesn't that eyebrow make him look menacing?

We did get more looks at the Black-capped Vireo, but I was falling in love with a burgeoning passion: photographing butterflies!  Thank heavens Pete was there to sort out the look-alikes.  Unfortunately for me, I've forgotten many of the names!  Pete, our resident lepidopterist, I'm counting on you to help ID the mystery flutter-by's for me!  Luckily, I remember what this one is:

Red Admiral

And then the butterfly that got it all started for Bill Drummond.  What, you don't know the story?  You better sign up for another trip, and get him to tell you the tale of the million Monarchs!

Perhaps a descendant of those very individuals who inspired Bill decades ago?

Somewhat less wary than a warbler...

After everyone was happy with their looks at the vireo, we headed off to Lost Maples in Vanderpool.  Lost Maples would be another spot for Golden-cheeked Warbler, but a new spot also means a chance for new birds...Tallyho!

I visited Lost Maples a few years ago...in the rain.  It was wonderful to be able to to view it in bright sunshine.  We parked first near a feeding station with a blind (with windows that wouldn't open!).  Around the feeding area was a patch of wildflowers suffused with all kinds of butterflies.  Beyond that were tall oaks and junipers, and beyond those rose high cliff walls.  The sweeping, descending song of a Canyon Wren, less than six inches long, dominated the hillsides.

Most people decided to hike up a wooded trail to get another look at a Golden-cheeked Warbler.  I stayed behind to monitor the feeders, in the hopes that something new might pop in.  Although it always feels like cheating, a feeding station is such a relief after searching so arduously for hard-to-find birds!  The chance to let the birds come to me...phew, it really takes the edge off.  And as I stood outside the blind, leaning against the wall of the small structure in the shade, I observed the birds that came in close for an easy snack.

Hummingbird feeders were filled, and the hummingbird of choice at this stop was the Black-chinned Hummingbird.  C'mon, who doesn't love hummingbirds?

Is she not simply a marvel of the natural world?

You can see the slightest decurve in her bill.

Seems like magic...

Ok, so that's the female...Would it be sexist to assume that, when it comes to hummingbirds, we all want to see the male?  Ok, so where is he?

There he is!  Oh, but that gorget looks black at this angle, doesn't it?

Black-chinned's can be really stubborn when you want to see that violet!

It's just beginning to peek out there below the black chin...

Hey, he's sticking his tongue out!  Click on the picture to see!

Ahhh, there's the violet gorget, at last!

Beautiful violet, but only at the right angle!

The angle changes the gorget as well as the apparent decurve on the bill.

Now you want to show off for us?

A little angel!

Lots of other common birds came in to the feeders as well.  I hope you don't mind photographs!

Northern Cardinals look a little different down here than they do in Massachusetts, even though they still appear to be of the "Eastern" population.  They just look a little more wild and ragged to me.

Ok, he looks pretty kempt...

Whoops, not any more!

There was an assortment of finches in full color.  The Goldfinch looks much clearer when you click on him:

Lesser Goldfinch, the "Bizarro American Goldfinch"

Wow, are these House Finches bright down here!

Let's see, we've got red, yellow...should we add some blue?

Indigo Bunting...really indigo!

Isn't it nice when we all get along?

Although the differences are subtle, the chickadee down here is the Carolina Chickadee, a completely different species from the Black-capped.  Can you see the difference?

These Carolina Chickadees at the western part of their range make it a little easier to distinguish them from Black-capped's.  Doesn't he look really gray all over?  No buffy sides!

He's also a bit smaller, with a smaller tail, but unless you staple a Black-capped to his side, we probably wouldn't notice that.

Luckily the songs are completely different!

He's still just as adorable.

This next bird's for Alex.  I thought of you when this guy showed up, Alex!

Western Scrub-Jay.  This is the interior version, Woodhouse's Scrub-Jay.

Soon to be described as a distinct species?

Who has more personality than a jay?

We had been hearing Rufous-crowned Sparrows sing from the hillsides, but I felt fortunate when one finally came in close to feed:

He looks like a Rusty Sparrow from further south.

Isn't there always a new ID challenge awaiting?

No Rusty Sparrow, this one.  Quite handsome, nonetheless.

The feeders were productive, but once I had seen all that was apparent to see, I strayed over to the patch of wildflowers with its attendant flurry of butterflies.  Pete had wandered back to the patch, too, psychically lured by his innate "butterfly radar," or "butter-flar."  He pointed out some interesting butterflies, and I made every attempt to capture each one on film.  Some of these I know, some I need your help with, Pete!

This is a Western White, not to be confused with a Cabbage White.

I think this Pipevine Swallowtail just sealed my fate when it comes to a new passion for photographing butterflies.  How luxurious!

All right, Pete, it's all you from here on in!  I remember looking at this one in the book with you.  It ended up being the one near the bottom-left of the plate.  What is it??

(Edit: Pete has confirmed this is a Sleepy Orange.  Thanks, Pete!)

Pete's job continues...

(Edit: Pete to the rescue again!  It's a Dainty Sulphur!)

Is this the same one as above, or is it different?

(Edit: Pete weighs in...It's another Dainty Sulphur.)

The final test...

(Edit:  Hmmm...Still a mystery?)

Sound off in the comments below if you can help with any of them!

Those who had hiked off did get another look at a Golden-cheeked Warbler, but now it was time to drive off toward Neal's Lodge in Concan.  Along the way, we stopped at a promising bridge, where he hoped we might find a kingfisher or two in the river below.  Pete did get his eye on a kingfisher, but it was flying away, and I don't think it was ever positively identified.  What did steal our attention, however, was the multitudinous swarm of Cliff Swallows filling the air over the bridge!  Vast congregations of swallows were weaving their way in waves, feeding on insects, darkening the sky in places.  It was a marvel to behold.  Something on the riverbank beneath the bridge temporarily attracted several dozen Cliff Swallows, who promptly descended upon the shoreline and...well, I'm not sure!  See for yourself:

Just what has their attention down there?

After the spectacle of the swallows, we returned to the cars and made our way to Neal's Lodge.  We arrived in time to drop off our luggage and enjoy a nice dinner.  A dispersed array of cabins throughout a variety of habitats at Neal's promised a fun-filled few days.  Just walking around the grounds for a few minutes, we enjoyed our first encounters with Inca Doves and Vermilion Flycatchers.  A Yellow-throated Warbler sang constantly from the restaurant parking lot.  And behind the restaurant was a balcony overlooking the Frio River.  Below, we had our first look at a foraging Black Phoebe.  But our time at the lodge that evening was short...the sunset hour was approaching, and we had an appointment...with several million bats!

In Concan, a cave exists where every evening, millions of Mexican Free-tailed Bats emerge from their daily slumber to embrace the night sky.  And we were going to stand right next to the cave entrance.  It would surely be a unique sight.  We arrived at the gate leading to the cave, but it was locked, and we had at least a half-hour to wait before the "bat guy" would come to let us in.  So we walked around, birding on both sides of the road.  We were in arid sagebrush land now, another new habitat, and another chance for new birds.  Two Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks flew over, offering little more than a chance to study their profile in flight.  A small sparrow did its best to impersonate a Lark Bunting, but eventually revealed itself to be a leucistic Field Sparrow.  And a thorny bush held a few stalwart Lark Sparrows as the sun finally began to set:

I guess they know how to avoid the thorns.  I wasn't so adroit a few days later...

Soon, the "bat guy" arrived, opened the gate, and led us down a dirt road to the bat cave.  For now, the air was quiet...at least, devoid of bats.  Black-throated Sparrows sang from the bushes.  A Cactus Wren scratched the air with his raspy song.  A Great Horned Owl hooted in the distance, unseen.  A Merlin flew over, perhaps preparing to test his mettle against the onrush of tiny bats.  The "bat guy" gave a talk about the bats, their life history, and the guano-mining industry to which the bats had generously been donating for years.  When the visible lights had dimmed just enough, before we even saw the bats, we heard them.  We heard a foreboding, cavernous whooshing sound from deep within the cave, like a growing tornado.  You could almost feel the air begin to vibrate around you.  And then, a few lone bats began to fly forth.  A few at at a time, so that you could see through your binoculars the familiar bat-shape, the bony wings, and the small body.  And then, more emerged.  And more.  And finally, it was an onslaught of Mexican Free-tailed Bats, flying around us, over us, just over us...One even collided with my head, right into my baseball cap, and kept going!  They were coming out in large numbers, and as it got darker, their numbers grew:

As soon as you said, "That's a lot of bats"...

There were more...

And more...

And still more...

They never stopped coming out the whole time we were there.  In fact, they were still leaving the cave when we drove out of there.  Some members of our group saw a big, dark shape launch into the air and swoop through the swarm, a Great Horned Owl on the prowl for an unfortunate bat.  Later on, as darkness descended ever more rapidly, Eric's keen eyes noticed something unusual in the silhouette of a far-off tree:

Does anything look odd to you?

Wow, what a great spot, Eric, in the dark with just your binoculars!  He was right, there was something "odd" about that tree, and another look through the scope revealed the "anomaly."

Aha!  That clump of leaves has two horns on its head!

A Great Horned Owl, perched atop the tree!  That was probably the best spot of the entire trip!  Nice one, Eric!

Finally, it was time to leave.  The bats were still pouring out, and looking in the opposite direction, the swarms of bats filled the sky.  It was hard to believe that any moth could survive the night.  Before I returned to the car, I set my camera on a tripod and held the shutter open for a few seconds...to see what might happen.

The line of bats continued to erupt from the cave, while the other end extended as far as the eye could see, melting into the evening sky, becoming a blur on the horizon.

Texas: Part II

When Bill Drummond leads a group to the Hill Country of Texas, he always promises a wonderful time, beautiful scenery, and blooming spring wildflowers.  And he always delivers.

We hit the road the next morning, eager for our first full day.  And once out of the city, all our hearts soared upon witnessing the display of spring flowers in colorful bloom along every mile of open road.  For a New Englander, the thought of Texas typically conjures up images of hot, arid rangeland, megafarms, and desert.  But this was the Hill Country, a lush, rolling, colorful, breathtaking region.  And inches from the roadside were visible, as we sped by, yellow blurs of Garden Coreopsis, turquoise washes of Texas Bluebonnets, and a host of reds, yellows, purples, and oranges.

But foremost on our mind were our first two major target species: the Golden-cheeked Warbler and the Black-capped Vireo.  We would be stopping at the Kerr Wildlife Management Area, in the hopes of possibly picking up both species.  But before arriving at the main office, we pulled off the road, just to listen and see what might be around.  Sometimes the first day of a trip can be almost too tantalizing...you hear snippets of song and you see flashes of birds streaking through the underbrush.  What's that?  Someone just saw a Scott's Oriole?  But I missed it!  Hmm?  Someone's hearing a Ladder-backed Woodpecker?  Where, where?  It's flown, you say?  Ahh, I missed it again.  The first day can often be a whirlwind, as it seems like you're just missing all these new and exciting birds...You are not consoled by the thought that you will undoubtedly see those birds later on.  Of course, you eventually do see all those birds, perfectly well, and many times at that...But on the first day, you just can't be sure.  So, after we pulled off the road, the whirlwind began.  One person sees a Phainopepla, another a Carolina Chickadee, yet another a Summer Tanager.  But behind all that chatter and song, there was another bird singing...a Golden-cheeked Warbler, the first adrenaline-inducing bird of the trip!  We closed our ranks and waited, but no matter how resolutely and silently we stood by the side of the road, the bird would not approach.  And not long after, as we returned to our cars, I held back momentarily, attracted by an odd birdsong emanating from a nearby bush.  A few steps more, approaching quietly, and I soon realized it was the target Black-capped Vireo, just a few feet away!  A quick call on the radio, and we were all back and standing at attention, but once again, the target eluded us.  The vireo slipped away into the nearby brush and disappeared.  It was on to the Kerr WMA.

At the main office, Bill learned that the area would be closed today for hunting!  Was all hope lost?  No, Bill knew of some nearby roads that were not closed off, where we would still be in the proper habitat, and off we went.  We pulled down a side road, parked, and at last we were at our first official birding stop.  One of the most exciting aspects of birding for me is to visit an entirely new habitat, a new ecosystem.  It's thrilling to look around and think, "So this is where a Black-capped Vireo likes to make it's home..."  And around me was a landscape unfamiliar in Massachusetts...short to medium Live Oak trees dotting the rocky soil, surrounded by patches of dense, thorny scrub.  And wildflowers everywhere.  In looking around, it became clear why fire suppression has wreaked havoc with the Black-capped Vireo, just like it has with the Kirtland's Warbler.  This was not old-growth, this was early successional, and just the right frequency of wildfires, or controlled burns nowadays, would be needed to maintain this kind of scrubby habitat.  Elsewhere, overgrazing was destroying potential Black-capped Vireo land, and cowbird parasitism is always a major threat.  But here, all around us now, was a refuge for these endangered birds.  This was their oasis.  And we were here to see them.

As we walked the road, we began to accustom ourselves to the common birds of the area.  Field Sparrows were singing from every nook and cranny.  Lark Sparrows fed together in small flocks that would flush from the ground when we walked by.  Blue-gray Gnatcatchers wheezed and whined from within every scrubby bush we could find.  Ash-throated Flycatchers stopped play with their referee's whistles, and Bewick's Wrens sang like Song Sparrows without being seen.  Black-crested Titmice showed off their rebelliously fashionable black tufts.  White-eyed Vireos and Yellow-breasted Chats were the most tantalizing, dangling their songs so close, you could reach out and grab them...but one step forward and the birds would retreat, and you were left empty-handed.

At first, this was our company.  No vireos in the chorus.  We began to spread out, taking careful steps to avoid any of the beautiful wildflowers.  Moss Verbena was everpresent:

Click on the pictures to see them as they were meant to be viewed, at full size!

Beautiful Moss Verbena...but it's not native!  Drat!  Am I still allowed to like it?

It's native to South America...but don't blame the verbena!

Texas Bluebonnets are a Hill Country specialty!  They flower in March and April, so we were there at just the right time to enjoy these beauties.

They look so welcoming...but guess what?  They're poisonous!

A symbol of the Hill Country in spring.

Ok, and what is this flower below?  Barbara, anyone?  Leave a comment in the comment field at the end of the post and let me know!  I'll be looking for lots more help throughout these posts!

Show off your "flower power" and tell me the name of this interesting wildflower!

(edit: Barbara to the rescue!  These are Antelope Horns, a kind of milkweed!)

As beautiful as the flowers were, we were still anxious to find a different denizen...And before long, we heard the song that we had been hoping for: the disconnected, hurried twittering of a Black-capped Vireo!  We spent a long while searching for that bird, splitting into groups, keeping in touch over the radio, reconnecting...We were playing hide-and-seek, but our quarry knew the area far better than we did.  Different people kept getting incomplete looks, a blur of black and white...We would hear it singing from a large bush, but always from the other side.  And as we crept as silently as we could around the perimeter, like magic the vireo would then appear to be singing from the spot we had just left.  It was maddening at times.  But persistence paid off, and by degrees, each member of our group was rewarded with good looks at the extremely dapper Black-capped Vireo.  For my own part, I stood sentry at a promising bush where a vireo had been singing just moments prior.  Eventually, he returned, and as I stood motionless, the vireo intermittently alit on a branch unobscured by the foliage, and I was able to sneak these few shots:

How striking his cap!  And what a spectacle his spectacles!

Singing away...That's your territory, Mr. Vireo, and you tell 'em!

Remember to click on the picture to see the full-size photo, if you like.

I think he's on to me...

Quizzical

Love that red eye!

We would be returning the next morning, because not everyone got "life looks" at the vireo.  Understandably so, as this little guy, the smallest vireo in the U.S., can stay hidden if he wants to.  On the way back to cars, I was treated with another look:

At attention

Without question my favorite vireo...that is, until I see the Black-whiskered Vireo, perhaps?  It'll be hard to beat this energetic sprite.

Before the day was over, the members of Car 5 and I had one more exciting adventure to enjoy.  Some of the other cars split off to explore another area a few miles down the road, while Elissa, Judy, Zack, and I returned to the vireo road to roam around a bit more.  As luck would have it, all cars would be rewarded with another target, but in different ways.  My group of four was wandering around the beginning of the road, where off to the side stood a patch of forest very different from the surrounding scrubby habitat which the vireos called their home.   This stand of forest was tall, dense, and old, made up of mature oaks and junipers.  And before long, we heard singing from within those dark woods our second major target: the Golden-cheeked Warbler.

Just like the vireo, the Golden-cheeked Warbler is also rare and endangered, but for different reasons.  While the vireo prefers early successional growth, the warbler nests only in mature oak and juniper woods.  They strip the bark off of the juniper trees to make their nests.  The problem, of course, is that while vireo habitat can be managed with prescribed burns and cowbird traps, old-growth warbler habitat, once destroyed, may never recover.  And all of the Golden-cheeked Warblers left in the world nest in the remaining mature oak-juniper woods within the state of Texas.  Both the vireo and the warbler are precious summer residents, clinging to what habitat remains available to them.

So any chance to get to observe these little guys in their native habitat is indeed special.  And now, this Golden-cheeked Warbler was singing right where he should be, from within these oak and juniper trees next to us.  But it was far too dense to enter, at least from where we were presently standing.  We began to walk around the perimeter of the woods, and evenetually came to an entryway, a natural opening that led inside.  And once in, we had room to maneuver, as it was far more open from within than it had appeared on the outside.  It was cool and shady, and we could see the juniper trees all around us that the warblers prized so highly.  Our bird was still singing strongly a ways off, but there was nothing impeding our progress, so we walked on, tracking the song as we moved.  As luck would have it, the Golden-cheeked Warbler alit on the highest perch he could find and sung his heart out, and Elissa was able to get on him and point us all in the right direction:

What striking plumage!

He sounds very similar to a Black-throated Green Warbler.

No wonder why he's called "Golden-cheeked."

Belt away!

Like the Black-throated Green Warbler, the Golden-cheeked has two main song types, and by the particular song he was singing to us now, it appeared he had established territory and was attempting to attract a female.  He may already have succeeded, and could have been singing near his nest.  To avoid disturbing him, we turned around and headed out of the woods.  We discovered later that the other cars had also found a Golden-cheeked Warbler during their adventures as well.  Wonderful when it works that way!

We would be returning to that same spot the next morning, just briefly...But I knew that there was a chance I might not see these birds again on the trip.  The Golden-cheeked we might find again at Neal's Lodge in Concan if we were lucky, but the Black-capped Vireo...?  I was pretty sure I had enjoyed my last looks at that dapper fellow, and I was satisfied.  We wouldn't be travelling through areas where we'd expect to find him again.  So, I said good-bye to the vireo, and we headed out.  It would likely be another several years before I would stand eye-to-eye with a Black-capped Vireo again.  Or so I thought...