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...

Texas: Part I (The Bloom is on the Sage)

"How I long to be in Texas, just a ridin' on the range!"  So sang Bill Drummond over FRS radio as our five-car caravan sped down the blooming Texas Bluebonnet-lined roads of the Hill Country.  What a way to begin a 12-day birding trip through the Edwards Plateau, Big Bend, and the Davis Mountains!  And what a way it would end!...But that comes later.  For now, it was Day 1, and the entire trip and all of west Texas lay before us.  It was just the beginning.

During my inbound flight to San Antonio on April 10, I kept having flashbacks to Day 1 of my Newfoundland trip with Bill just a few months ago, when I missed several flights and was forced to go through security four times.  Check out my post from February 16, 2012 if you enjoy travel horror stories.  But thankfully, all nineteen of us arrived on time and without incident.  On my final leg from Dallas/Ft. Worth to San Antonio, I saw two women trying to pack tripods into the overhead bins, and knew immediately that I was among friends.  "You must be birders!" I said, introducing myself, and I thus met Sally and Helga before the trip had even officially begun.

It's always such a thrill being deposited in a different part of the country...As soon as you walk out of the airport, an entirely new world of sights and sounds just hits you right in the face.  Wildflowers in bloom all along the roadsides...flurries of butterflies coursing through the grass...and birds!  New birds, that is!  As I took the short shuttle ride from the airport to the car rental lot, already I was met with Great-tailed Grackles flying by, their long tails like the train on a black wedding gown.  Western Kingbirds peered down unperturbed from the telephone wires.  And the elegant Scissor-tailed Flycatchers revealed their pink flanks, but only hinted at their bright salmon underwing for now.  I couldn't get out of that shuttle soon enough.

In time, all ninteen of us arrived without incident in San Antonio and met up with our great and expert leader, Bill Drummond.  We had a wonderful congregation of people, and luckily Bill's wife Barbara was along to lend her skilled ear for birdsong as well as her knowledge of wildflowers.  Since it was only the first day, and now late in the afternoon, there were no scheduled birding stops...We would be enjoying our first dinner together later that evening at a riverside Mexican restaurant.  But true to our nature, birders never want to leave a spare moment hanging in the wind...So most of us paced around the hotel in the 90-degree heat, getting a jump on building the trip list.  There wasn't much around the hotel parking lot...A small abandoned weedy field was good enough for House Sparrows and House Finches, but we were more excited by the surfeit of White-winged Doves and the smaller Black Vultures joining the Turkeys up above us.  Demonstrating the keen eyes that would prove to be so beneficial throughout the trip, Zack and Mike got on a curious bird perched on a fence across the highway, and after running back to my room to retrieve my scope, we were rewarded with our first Loggerhead Shrike.  This group had energy...and the trip was only ten minutes in!

But it was soon time to go to dinner, and a riverside Mexican restaurant in downtown San Antonio would be our venue.  And what a venue...The San Antonio River Walk is a public park directly adjacent to the San Antonio river, and from my seat at the outdoor dining table, I could reach down and pet the Mallards if I liked.  Miles of restaurants, candy stores, and souvenir shops beneath a canopy of cypress trees along the riverside...It was a beautiful and refreshing place to enjoy our first dinner.  But wouldn't you know?  Do birders ever stop birding?  Even before the meals were served, someone spotted a Yellow-crowned Night-Heron gliding down the river...And leaping from our tables, always to the befuddlement of waiters and onlookers alike, we walked downstream to discover an entire rookery of night-herons!  They were all over the trees, and in each tree could be found several nests.  Returning to the table, we reassured the waiters that, no, there was no bomb under the table, nor a rattlesnake in the chair, just a few birds.  Birders get used to living in their own world on a trip like this.

Then during dinner, one of our group spotted just over our heads an active swallow nest...And the adult was going in and out, leaving, returning...and switching places with another adult...Was it a Cliff Swallow?  Luckily, some of us had brought our binoculars along, and discovered that the nest just a few feet from our dinner table was in fact an active Cave Swallow nest!  Good fortune, for our looks at Cave Swallows the rest of the trip would be fleeting, and here, without even trying, we could enjoy great looks without getting up from our meals.

After dinner, we strolled over to see the Alamo nearby.  My former history lessons used to rest firmly in my memory banks, but have since been displaced...Thankfully Gene, our resident history expert, was there to fill in the gaps and answer all my questions.  My camera was still packed, so my photos would have to wait until the following day, but I did have my iPhone, and was able to take this, my first official picture of the trip:

Zack remembers the Alamo, but not his binoculars.

A rewarding and auspicious first day in Texas!  The next day, Eric and I would have our cameras with us, so the photos are on their way...Get ready, the first full day of the trip is upon us!

Newfoundland: Day 4

For a birder, each morning, fresh hope is born anew.  It was our final day in Newfoundland.  There had been no sign of a Yellow-legged Gull near St. John's, not a trace.  If the other gulls knew where he was, they weren't telling.  All indications were that Mr. Yellow-legged had moved on, moved away, or had gone into hiding.  But for a birder, when the next day dawns, the renewed possibility of success wipes away any previous failures.  Over the breakfast table the excitement grows, optimism builds, and adrenaline surges.  We were going to find him.

On the other hand, we were a level-headed bunch, serious but grounded, and we had all experienced a wonderful week in Newfoundland.  We weren't going to be devastated if we missed him.  That would be the real tragedy, were someone to let one big miss overshadow an otherwise amazing trip.  But the trip wasn't over yet.

We began, as usual, at Quidi Vidi Lake, but discovered once again that the ice cover, so beneficial to our gull-watching on Day 1, had receded even further.  We spread the cars out and scanned as many gull congregations as we could find in the area, but eventually, we left off the search.  We would venture off to some new locations now to mix up the day, to return with a vengeance in the afternoon.

Dave Brown suggested we all drive to nearby Cape Spear, considered the easternmost point in North America.  It would be a scenic stop, showcasing the oldest surviving lighthouse in Newfoundland, and along the way we would be passing through more beautiful boreal forest habitat.  There's just something about the boreal forest...so pristine, so far removed from the deciduous forests we're used to here in New England.  The boreal just forest seems...purer, cleaner, quieter.  It's one of my favorite habitats in the country.

So as we drove along some remote stretches of road through the spruce and fir forests, any time Dave spotted something from the lead car, we were all itching to hop out and explore.  The air was crisp and the sky was sunny and blue for the first time since we had arrived.  It was the kind of morning that made you thankful you had woken up at 4:30 a.m.

We stopped and strolled around several times.  Boreal Chickadees, ever curious, popped in and out of sight.  Large flocks of Pine Siskins wheeled overhead, wheezing and chirping and then descending en masse upon a single spruce, disappearing among the needles.  A Red-breasted Nuthatch intoned his nasal call from the top of a fir.  And periodically, some larger finches would swoop past us over the road, large enough for us to recognize them as Pine Grosbeaks.  Several landed on a treetop long enough for us to retreive our scopes from the cars, and continued to feed there for a good ten minutes.  A few people enjoyed their life looks at both male and female Pine Grosbeaks prying the seeds from the highest cones they could find.

We continued on and arrived at Cape Spear.  What a cool distinction, to be able to boast the easternmost point in North America!  It's a breathtaking coastal landmark.  You can see how it just peeks out to the east on the map below:

The easternmost point in North America (not including Greenland or Alaska)

Cape Spear also has the oldest surviving lighthouse in all of Newfoundland and Labrador, dating back to 1836.  I was captured by the scenery as soon as I stepped out of the car.

No Yellow-legged Gulls here...

But there are gulls here!  Which one has yellow legs?

Maybe he's hiding in the bushes?

Because my lens was pointed at the sea, I was oblivious to what was flying by right over my head.  Thankfully, Christine yelled over to me, "Do you see the Bald Eagle up there?"  Now I did.

Immature Bald Eagle...He's got yellow legs!  Does that count?

Always impressive

I hope he's not responsible for the missing gull...

Once the Bald Eagle flew off, I turned back to the sea and the surrounding scenery.

Remember Monty Python's "How Not To Be Seen"?

Everyone else had already walked over to the eastern overlook, and I couldn't miss my chance, so I hurried over.  Down a short walkway to a dead end atop the rocky cliffs, this sign welcomed me:

As well as this sign:

Higher up on the hill stood the oldest surviving lighthouse in Newfoundland.  A newer, more modern lighthouse had also been constructed here.  I didn't get a shot of the old lighthouse...we were still on the move...but I did take a quick b&w photo of the new lighthouse:

We weren't going to let too much time pass by without returning and at least checking the gull hotspots.  We would be staying close to Quidi Vidi and environs for the rest of the day.  But every stop yielded the same negative result.  So Dave took us to another special spot nearby, a quiet river tucked away in a suburban area.  We walked down a treacherous, icy flight of stone steps to reach the riverbed, and soon heard a familiar peeping sound.  It was the call of a Green-winged Teal.  And after crouching under branches and slurping through the thick, wet mud, we found the teal, male and female.  But...

Something's different here...

Green speculum...check.

It wasn't any ordinary Green-winged Teal.  That's a Eurasian Green-winged Teal, a "Common Teal"!  The vertical white bar at the side of the chest is missing...and you can see those bold white lines on the face.  He was still on the opposite bank from me.  I hoped he might pop into the river and swim a bit closer, so I could admire some of his other distinguishing marks.  A few females were present, already in the water:

Are teal not the cutest ducks?

Are these female teal American or Eurasian?

Hmmm, they both sport a dark patch across the cheek...Let's just let this one go.

The male did eventually join the females in the river, and he provided us with the exciting opportunity to scrutinize him more closely:

See that pale horizontal stripe running down the side?  And that buffy area to the right of the vertical black bar near his back end?  I didn't notice that until I reviewed the photographs later.

We almost had all our ducks in a row...

Looking even more closely, you can see other, subtler distinguishnig characteristics.  Check out the gray sides on the male below:

It's not just a dark gray wash...You can actually make out the vermiculations on the sides, just as we observed on the Lesser Scaup's back the day before!  The pattern is much starker, with far more contrast than on the sides of an American Green-winged Teal.  And look at the coloration on the tertials below, those long, loose gray feathers at the back that drape over the tail:

Those tertials are also more contrastingly marked than the same feathers on an American Green-winged Teal.

Gorgeous, no matter where he's from.

We left the teal, and now, there was nothing left but to return to the spot where we had begun our search in earnest three days prior.

We spent the rest of the day looking for the Yellow-legged Gull.  Bill wisely split our team up, and while one car went to survey the dump, my car searched the golf course and a field near the lake.  We found enormous congregations of gulls...There were over 10,000 at the dump alone.  And amidst the Herring, Glaucous, and Iceland Gulls, we did pick out a few Lesser Black-backed Gulls showcasing their yellow legs...but no Yellow-legged Gulls.  Dave Brown rejoined us, and immediately pointed out a gull that appeared to him to be a European Herring Gull.  He had seen this individual before, and had conferenced previously with some European gullers to confirm his suspicion.  It was difficult for the uninitiated to descry any difference between this first winter bird and the other young Herring Gulls:

It's the gray mottled gull sitting down in the center.

Wow.  I had to get out my scope to see what Dave was seeing...And did I see anything unusual?  Whew.  Perhaps the wing markings looked slightly more...crisp?  But it was nothing diagnostic, certainly nothing I could seize upon without question.  And to pick this guy out of a flock of hundreds?  Dave's trained eye really hones in on the most minute details.

Still sitting, just to the right of the orange pole and a first-year Great Black-backed Gull.

Hmmm...Something got their attention!

Let's zoom in a bit and take a closer look.

Well, unfortunately, I eventually placed my camera back in the trunk, so when the gulls all flushed, and Dave called out, "Yup, that's a European Herring Gull," I missed my opportunity to take a flight shot.  Through my binoculars, I was able to make out the narrow tail band and contrasty white rump.  More importantly, I learned an invaluable lesson for a beginning photographer...Never be without your camera!

And that was it.  We returned to the hotel for a convivial evening of eating, drinking, and reminiscing.  As luck would have it, we were able to get a table near the bar, out of earshot of the irrepressible but well-intentioned piano player.  We relaxed, pored over our bird lists, considered our favorite birds of the trip, and began to plan our return to Newfoundland.  We had missed the Yellow-legged Gull, but no one could deny what an amazing and life-changing trip this had been.  I had fallen in love with the land and its birdlife.  Dave Brown was an incredible guide and a fun guy to bird with for the week!  And Bill, as always, did a fantastic job organizing and leading our adventure.  Most, if not all of us, are planning a return trip next winter.  If there's anything good that comes out of missing a big target, it's the ardent, unsquelchable desire to do it all over again, as soon as possible.

My flight home was quick and painless.

Oh, I forgot one thing.  Just before dinner, that final evening, my car, Car 3, Dave, Christine, Mary, and I, drove up to the top of Signal Hill, overlooking St. John's.  It was there that Guglielmo Marconi set up a wireless station and received the first transatlantic wireless transmission in 1901.  But I was more interested in breathing in the city and harbor below for the last time.

Well...not for the last time.