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Bird of the Week

Bird of the WeekSpecies

In the blink of an eye, this bird reminds us how much there is to learn

by Beverly Mills Gyllenhaal
written by Beverly Mills Gyllenhaal

Great Blue Heron

Anders and I are back in Florida for the next several weeks, indulging a passion for chasing the birds. It’s our sixth birding adventure to the winter home of millions of birds – from stately herons and egrets, to sassy songbirds, opportunistic seagulls and menacing hawks.

It’s like reuniting with old friends — hearing the familiar squawks and calls, being able to distinguish a breeding bird with only a glance, and knowing that a warbler is a Palm just by the shake of its tail feathers.

Palm Warbler

We started this birding quest not knowing the difference between a seagull and a tern, never mind the pipers and plovers. By day we’d search for birds to photograph. By night we’d thumb though the guidebook page by page, comparing our photos with the colors of beaks, feathers and feet to figure out just what it was we had found.

We’ve come a long way in our knowledge of birds, and it’s all too easy to puff up and shake a little tail feather myself. (Aren’t I something, looking through my new binoculars and being the first one to spot a Red-shouldered Hawk hiding in the middle of a palm tree. I have taken to calling myself the Hawk Whisperer.)

Red-shouldered Hawk

While revisiting some of the wildlife sanctuaries near our campground in Melbourne on Florida’s northeast coast, I realized I was starting to get a teeny bit bored. The first time you see a Roseate Spoonbill foraging, it’s magical. (Click here for the video.) The fifteenth time, not quite so much.

Just about then, at Viera Wetlands just up the coast, along walked a Sandhill Crane. (They do in fact walk almost right up to you. For this video, click here.)

With a blink of that Crane’s eye, my perspective on repetitive birding got rearranged. Think you’ve seen it all? Better look again.

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Bird of the WeekBirdingBirding research

Can the Wild Turkey survive? Thanksgiving is the least of its troubles.

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal

Something is after the Wild Turkey. Actually, almost everything is.

A pair of Wild Turkey hens forage in a field in Eastern Maryland.

A combination of coyotes, hunters, loss of habitat, hawks, climate change and troubles in the nest is undermining the species that once competed for the title of national bird. In parts of the country, populations are down by half and the overall drop is about 15 percent.

“We have a problem,” said Michael Chamberlain, a University of Georgia wildlife expert who leads a 15-state consortium working to find a response. “A lot of things like to eat turkeys.”

For the past half century, the Wild Turkey was the poster bird for how to bring back a species approaching extinction. Starting in the 1970s, after decades of overhunting and habitat loss, hunters, environmentalists, wildlife managers and researchers joined forces in a campaign that pushed the nationwide population up to more than 7 million birds. 

Michael Chamberlain

But today, the combination of accelerating development, warming temperatures and all those predators has started setting back that progress, particularly in southern states.  “We thought maybe it was just a natural phenomenon, where the population had peaked,” said Chamberlain.. “But fast-forward to today, the populations are not doing as well.”

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Bird of the WeekBirdingBirds stories

How one squirrelly nuthatch can change your world view

by Beverly Mills Gyllenhaal
written by Beverly Mills Gyllenhaal

Last in a series

If it’s a crisp fall morning, with the sun highlighting the gold and orange of the still-moist leaves, it’s possible that luck could bring you a visit from a nuthatch. And if you get that chance and if you have the time, you’ll want to sit quietly and pay close attention.

My White-breasted Nuthatch

My nuthatch was a White-breasted with a black-and-blue back and an evocative black stripe on its head. He seemed to say watch me. Not only am I good-looking, but I’m smart and industrious, too.

Putting words into the mouth of a bird may be a silly habit, but I can’t seem to help myself. This bird spoke volumes to me.

If I had my way, we’d just give everybody in Congress a pair of binoculars and put them in the woods.

As I sat on a picnic table a couple of weeks ago in a campground near Nashville, I thought the nuthatch was doing his usual thing — creeping up and down the trunk of a tree, probing the bark for something to eat. Then he started hammering away as loudly as a woodpecker.

Hatching a nut

Strange. I’ve seen these birds crack nuts open with their beaks, (thus the name “nut hatch”), but I’d never seen one imitate a woodpecker – or a squirrel for that matter. Suddenly I realized the bird was boring holes in the tree to hide some of his nuts.

 
Here’s a gallery of our White-breasted Nuthatch, ignoring gravity, climbing its tree, hiding food and preparing for the winter:
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Bird of the WeekBirdingMigrationPhotography

Great Egrets: Putting on a bird ballet

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal

Our trip along the storied Montezuma wildlife drive in upstate New York had been all but devoid of birds the first hour. Then we turned the corner at the halfway mark and came upon a scene that instantly made up for the quiet start.

Two dozen Great Egrets stood clustered in a shallow pond as if in a ballet rehearsal. They moved along in groups of threes and fours in precise formation. With their long thin necks lining up one minute and crisscrossing the next, they seemed choreographed for elegance.

Great Egrets are such compelling birds to watch – and they don’t seem to mind an audience that keeps its distance. Much of the time, they prefer to forage alone, researchers say. But they will come together in small groups when there’s plenty of fish. From time to time, they’ll form big flocks like the one we came upon at Montezuma.

They aren’t hard to find all across the wetlands in the United States. Although hunted nearly to extinction during the feathered-hat craze of the late 1900s, migratory protection laws have helped Great Egrets become one of the strongest wading bird species today.

They’re flexible and adaptable, enabling them to adjust to the habitat loss that has undermined other species. The North American Waterbird Conservation survey estimates that there are 180,000 breeding Egrets in the U.S.

The egret’s green eyes in breeding season

They stand out in marshes and coastal areas — sheer white, with yellow beaks, long dark legs and a wingspan of almost 5 feet. During the spring breeding season, the area around their eyes turns lime-green, a striking accent that signals their readiness for mating.

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Bird of the WeekMigrationPhotography

Nature’s jewels: Ruby-throated Hummingbirds on the move

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal

The statistics for Ruby-throated Hummingbirds are almost as stunning as a close-up look at their iridescent plumage.

Zeroing in on the male hummingbird

Their wings can flap up to 80 times a second. They weigh about 3 grams – a wisp of a bird at a tenth of an ounce. They can go from breakneck speed to a full stop in an instant.

And when they do hang suspended in midair, their wings a blur of motion, the sight is one of nature’s most precious moments.  It evaporates as suddenly as it appears, making the encounters all the more intriguing.

The Ruby-throated is one of 300 hummingbird species worldwide, only a few dozen of which are in the U.S. and Canada. The Ruby-throated Hummingbird is the dominant species in the Eastern United States. It’s plentiful and not particularly shy.  So these spectacular hummingbirds are not hard to spot, particularly this time of year.

In late summer, as the hummingbirds are preparing to migrate halfway across the hemisphere, they are in the midst of a feeding frenzy to bulk up for the journey. They consume their entire weight in nectar each day, which the Audubon Society calculated was the equivalent of a human drinking 18 gallons of milk.

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Bird of the WeekBirds storiesFledgingPhotography

Birds in training: A couple of young Sapsuckers learning the ropes

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal

The Sapsucker mom trying to teach her fledglings

We were just finishing our morning coffee, dawdling at our campsite in update New York, when we looked up to see something precious: A Yellow-bellied Sapsucker feasting on the fluid of a birch tree not 15 feet away.

As we sat still and watched, we realized there were also two fledglings — one just down the branch from Mom and the second perched two feet in the other direction. It was a family outing that looked a lot like a training session.

Here’s how you find a meal, the mother seemed to be saying as her two uncertain offspring watched, albeit somewhat distractedly. 

The Yellow-bellied Sapsucker is a medium-sized woodpecker that can be found all across the eastern U.S. and much of Canada. Its breeding and nesting is limited to the upper portion of its range, so we were able to witness this captivating gathering thanks to our swing through the northeast toward the end of July.

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Bird of the WeekBirdingFledgingFlightPhotography

One magical night: A chance encounter with three baby owls

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal

Trying out an owlish stare.

They were just weeks from leaving the nest for the last time, still learning to fly, but the trio of fledgling Eastern Screech Owls seemed ready to conquer the woods. Every night at dusk, they’d materialize around our campsite in the hills of Virginia and put on a show.

They swooped from tree to tree and practiced hunting for insects on the ground. One of them even walked across the road. Every once in a while they’d land on the same branch for a dose of sibling togetherness. They swiveled their heads as only owls can do, and let out sweet little calls that were nothing like the eventual screeches that give them their name.

Three young owls perching together.

Though still unsteady at times, these fledglings were growing up fast. Matt Larson, a researcher with the Owl Research Institute in Charlo, Montana, told us these owls should be leaving their parents behind within two weeks. So it was pure luck that we got to experience them as a family.

A fledgling (left) with one of the parents.

We heard about the owls on our first afternoon at Sherando Lake, in a remote corner of the mid-Atlantic southwest of Charlottesville. A neighboring camper saw us returning from a birding walk draped in binoculars and cameras.

“Have you seen the baby owls?’’ she asked.

“Baby owls!?’’ we said in unison, probably a little too loud.

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Bird of the WeekPhotographySpecies

What’s this bird? How a drab little guy stumped the experts

by Beverly Mills Gyllenhaal
written by Beverly Mills Gyllenhaal

When you upload a bird photo to the terrific Facebook group called “What’s This Bird?” you tend to get an identification back in a matter of seconds.

A few nights ago, however, something was wrong.

I like to count how long it takes for my mystery bird to be pegged, and it’s rare that even five seconds tick by before several veteran birders on the Facebook site from the American Bird Association agree on the species.

Here’s the bird that kept everyone guessing.

But this time I had uploaded a photo of a small, greenish-gray bird – drab except for white bars on its wings. I knew from my guidebook that this bird was a type of Flycatcher, but which one?

East of the Mississippi River this time of year, the guidebook showed eight very similar possibilities: The Yellow-bellied, Acadian, Willow, Alder and Least Flycatchers, all in the Empidonax species group called “Empids;” or else the Olive-sided Flycatcher, Eastern Phoebe or Eastern Wood-pewee.

Although my Flycatcher was on a branch close to the ground obscured by green leaves in low light, I had no doubt Facebook’s crackerjack birders would solve the riddle.

And so I began to count – 10, 20, 30 seconds – then a whole minute. That’s odd, I thought. Was everybody on vacation?

After about five very slow minutes, I saw the Facebook signal that someone started typing. And it turns out that identifying Flycatchers is so difficult that the ensuing deliberation sounded like a bunch of scientists judging a dog show.

“My gut says Eastern Wood-Pewee,” the first person wrote. “Any Empidonax would have a cleaner chest, but this bird has a smudgy gray “vest.” Definitely not a Phoebe — a Phoebe would have a black face contrasting the paler grey back, also a brighter white lower belly.”

Hooray, I thought. Mystery solved. And then someone else started typing:

“The relatively short primaries suggest otherwise. A Pewee would have very long primaries. Also a Pewee would have a much less pronounced eye ring. Empids can have a smudgy vest. This is an Acadian Flycatcher.”

The back and forth went on for a couple of days, and even some of the best birders in Washington, D.C., got involved.

 

With the next comment, we generally settled on the Acadian:

“I will add my vote for Acadian Flycatcher,” wrote one of the most respected and thorough contributors. “The yellow underside of the bill, the moderately long primary extensions and the location all point to Acadian Flycatcher. Right now in southern Maryland, Acadians and their little two-note calls are everywhere!”

For me, one of the most compelling parts of birding is the detective work that goes into figuring out what we’ve seen. These days, we’re armed with dozens of books, apps, websites and laminated pamphlets to help with identifications.

Acadian Flycatcher view of pronounced wing bars.

In my early days of birding, anything beyond the most common species presented a challenge. Anders took photos of almost every bird, and we’d collect the mystery birds at the end of the day. Then we, too, would eagerly compare tail feathers, eye rings and beaks – just like the experts — to try and figure out the IDs. Oftentimes it’s a lot harder than you’d think.

My Flycatcher adventure was a reminder that the complexity of the avian world is enormous. There’s always more to learn. It turns out that the best way to figure out which Flycatcher you’re looking at is to catch their song. Without it, you may never be sure. If I’d known that the two-note call of the Acadian Flycatcher sounds like pizza (piz-ZAH), I wouldn’t have needed Facebook.

A bird’s “vocalizations” are definitive — way more reliable than its smudgy vest or belly color. (However, the process of learning hundreds of combinations of peeps, buzzes, squawks and trills is daunting. A story for another day.)

So what did I learn from my first Acadian Flycatcher? Sometimes, even the best birders get stumped.

One friend had some advice when it came to Flycatchers. “If it doesn’t vocalize, then just move along,’’ he said. “Pretend you didn’t see it.’’

Be sure to try out “What’s this Bird? when you’re stumped. It’s usually fast and easy. Meanwhile, here’s a gallery of various Flycatchers. Scroll over the phots for IDs.

 

 

 

 

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Bird of the WeekBirdingPhotography

A ray of sunshine, the Goldfinch takes center stage

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal

The American Goldfinch is a symbol of summer. Impossibly yellow in May, June and July, they stand out like flashes of sunlight flitting across meadows, farmlands and treetops.

Then as the summer ends, the intriguing cycle of nature begins. Like a debutante with a closet full of clothes, the Goldfinch changes to suit the season. In the fall, it pulls out its muted colors. In the winter, it’s nearly unrecognizable as it molts into a splotchy, mostly brown outfit.

This makes the Goldfinch’s spring and summer style all the more pronounced. Despite their small size, even a lone Goldfinch will stand out for its sharp yellow profile punctuated by an orange beak. When they travel in groups of eight or ten, as they often do, you’ll also be treated to a sweet, warbling concert.

Here’s an excellent graphic from the Sibley Guides that shows the changes the Goldfinch morphs through each season.

A few summers ago, on a birding trip through the South, we stopped to camp near Tupelo, Mississippi, next to a drained lake that had been overtaken by grasslands.

The field was like a photo studio for Goldfinches, vegetarians who live for the seeds plentiful in fields like this one.

Right away we spotted the first of many, moving from reed to reed, working on dinner. They gave me one of my favorite photos, this one of a male perched on a stalk as if posing for a museum piece. (Not a farfetched idea, it turns out.)

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