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The White Ibis — graceful and awkward at once — is a sight to see

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal

When the White Ibis is soaring, it’s a magnificent and graceful bird, from its black-tipped wings to its long, curved, signature beak.

When an Ibis comes in for a landing, on the other hand, it turns into a gawky and awkward comic. It’s hard to tell its wings from its tail feathers.

Those are just two of the varied performances the Ibis delivers as it patrols the wetlands of the southeastern United States. While it mixes with the Egrets, Herons and Anhingas with which it shares the marshes, the Ibis stands out for its distinctive profile and personality.

All this helps make it a symbol of the marshes – and a bird to watch for both its beauty and its health as one of the coastal species under pressure. Particularly in Florida, where the Ibis is most plentiful, researchers say its numbers are nonetheless diminishing with the steady loss of habitat.

As the climate has changed, the Ibis has slowly expanded its reach. You can find them as far north as the Carolinas, depending on the season, as this map from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology shows.

They’re not hard to spot; that’s partly because of their long, pink beaks they use to sift for crustaceans, fish and insects, and partly because they’re rarely alone. They fly, feed – and just hang out – in groups of dozens of birds.

The other day, we encountered a full community of White Ibis gathered on the northern tip of Jekyll Island, Georgia, one of the sea islands where limits on development make room for wildlife. When we approached a small bridge over the marshes, a dozen Ibis were jostling for position on two narrow railings. 

It made for a comedy routine you couldn’t stop watching. They all wanted to be on first one railing, then on the other. They jumped off and traded places, pointing their distinctive beaks every which way. Then they lined up in near perfect profile as if ready for inspection.

                    

At times, the Ibis will be bashful and flee when they see you. Other times, they’ll put up with visitors and allow a good look. That day on Jekyll Island, they didn’t seem to mind our presence and stood posing for all the pictures we could take.

Here’s a gallery from that day, as well as encounters with Ibis all across the Southeast the past few years:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Chasing the Kingfisher — five years and one lucky day

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal

Every birder has a favorite species or two. Mine has always been the Belted Kingfisher, partly because this elegant speed demon is so elusive.

For five years I’ve been trying to get a photo in mid-flight, but it’s been like catching a shadow. The Belted Kingfisher is so skittish and moves with such unpredictable twists and turns, he comes up mostly as a blur.

That is, until the other day.

My fascination with the Kingfisher goes back to my first encounter in Huntley Meadows Park in Northern Virginia, where I found one patrolling a swampy lake. I caught just a glimpse of him zipping about, but that’s all it took.

I managed this slightly fuzzy photo in the Alligator Preserve in North Carolina.

Kingfishers prefer shallow water where they can spot fish from the air. They like to fly along the banks, and then perch in a tree on the water’s edge. It’s as if to taunt a birder into thinking you might get a clear shot if you can just get a little closer. Half the time these sightings occur in swamp-like areas, so this can be a murky and muddy pursuit. 

The Kingfisher’s Elvis look

Part of the Kingfisher’s appeal for me is its striking appearance. The Kingfisher looks like a cross between a military officer in a crisp uniform and a surly teenager with spiked hair. When it spreads its wings the Kingfisher looks like Elvis in his most outlandish getup.

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These ducks were out to make fools of us — and boy did they ever

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal

We hadn’t been birding in a while because of miserable weather, so we were anxious to get out last weekend and see the ducks and geese that take up residence on Maryland’s eastern shore every winter.

The waterways were jammed with ducks, most of them Canadian Geese you could hear from half a mile away.

We could hear the Canadian Geese as we approached the Wye Island refuge just off the Chesapeake Bay — literally thousands of them filled waterways and fields. There were also supposed to be lots of Black Ducks, Mallards, Tundra Swans and Buffleheads.

Then we turned a corner and saw two or three dozen Canvasbacks visible through the marsh grass in an expanse of salt water a few yards away. We pulled off the road in a rush. I went to the back of the car to set up my camera while Beverly grabbed her binoculars.

We spotted the Canvasbacks through the reeds — and went right to work.

Luckily, a thick wedge of grasses hid us as we crept up. It was windy and overcast so the light wasn’t favorable, but it looked like we could get closer than we’d ever been to this large of a flock.

I started shooting before there was even a clear view: You never know when they’ll take flight, so I wanted to be ready. Beverly headed one way and I went the other as we gradually moved to the edge of the marsh for a direct look.

Even as we got close, the ducks didn’t seem fazed. The waves kicked up in the wind, but they held their places as if they wanted to be sure we got a nice photo. I finally found a break in the reeds and managed a full look at our quarry. The realization hit me.

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Talk like birding royalty: A squabble of Gulls and a bowl of Spoonbills

by Beverly Mills Gyllenhaal
written by Beverly Mills Gyllenhaal

What could be more delightful than a herd of cowbirds, a flotilla of frigatebirds or a pandemonium of parrots?

A bowl of spoonbills, perhaps.

A Spoonbill about to join a bowl

One of my favorite of Anders’ photos is of a gangly Roseate Spoonbill coming in for a landing to join six others. So when I came across the fact that a group of spoonbills is called a bowl, the image was just so striking it made me laugh.

And of course it made me curious.

Turns out that our medieval ancestors dreamed up tons of terms for flocks of specific birds. There’s a “wisdom” of owls, a “mewing” of catbirds and a “slurp” of sapsuckers.

Is it a 1) squabble, 2) wedge or 3) a scoop of Skimmers? See the list below.

The lucky ducks get several monikers: a “safe,” a “raft” or a “paddling” while on land — or a “team” in flight.

Hummingbirds can be collectively called a charm, a glittering, a shimmer, a tune, a bouquet or a hover.

In 1486 Dame Juliana Barnes of England listed these “proper terms” in “The Book of St Alban.”  They were included in handbooks to educate the English nobility — a way to distinguish the aristocracy from the less well bred.

Is it a 1) pod, 2) a party, or a 3) posse of Pelicans. Keep reading for answers.

Fast forward to 2001 and “An Unkindness of Ravens: A Book of Collective Nouns” by Chloe Rhodes. She says flocks tended to be named for peculiar habits, physical characteristics or a personality trait that people believed the birds to possess: A flamboyance of flamingos, a coronation of kingbirds, a constellation of starlings, a murder of crows.

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Year of the Bird: Telling the story of the global campaign to save birds

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal

Second of two parts

When the Year of the Bird campaign on behalf of endangered species kicked off one year ago, National Geographic magazine turned to a unique voice for its cover story. One of the country’s leading novelists, Jonathan Franzen, took up the question of “Why Birds Matter.’’

The National Book Award winner’s article blended his fascination for birds with his literary firepower. Drawing from his decades of birding all over the world, Franzen walked through the attributes of 49 different species on the way to an appeal for us to change our careless ways.

“Now humans are changing the planet – its surface, its climate, its oceans – too quickly for birds to adapt by evolving,’’ he wrote. “Crows and gulls may thrive at our garbage dumps, blackbirds and cowbirds at our feedlots, robins and bulbuls in our city parks.

“But the future of most bird species depends on our commitment to preserving them. Are they valuable enough for us to make the effort?”

The Year of the Bird project, led by the Audubon Society, the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, National Geographic and Birdlife International, comes to a close on Monday with a long list of accomplishments to its credit.

One of the most notable was the story-telling that came with the campaign. Over the course of the year, essays, journalism, photography and videos drew an enormous audience reaching tens of millions of people to the question of whether and how to preserve the world’s endangered species. Last week, Flying Lessons explored the impacts of this sprawling project. Today’s post looks at the way the coalition told its story.

National Geographic’s coverage included magazine stories on exotic and threatened species, its unrivaled nature photography, books and videos that put you, for instance, alongside wet-suited photographers bobbing in the frigid ocean to get a close-up bird shot.

The Cornell Lab of Ornithology used advances in social media and apps to collect huge amounts of data from birdwatchers. The data fuels both scientific studies and storytelling with graphics and animation. The most impressive element is a new animation technique that lets you watch how migrations unfold over the seasons across the hemisphere.

The Audubon Society and BirdLife International used their increasingly sophisticated websites to share birding news, post photographs and make the arguments central to the Year of the Bird project. Audubon’s president, David Yarnold, is a former newspaper editor who writes regular advocacy pieces that draw on his journalism background.

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Bird of the (Holiday) Week: A Woodpecker Worthy of a Hallmark Card

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal

To celebrate the holidays, we offer this memorable moment with a Pileated Woodpecker who looks like he’s posing for a Christmas card.

With his twisted red crest and feathering that could double as a tuxedo, he’s a picture of the holiday season.

The Pileated is the loudest and largest of the woodpeckers, alternately gawky and graceful. With a two-foot wingspan and height of up to 20 inches, it’s not hard to spot as it forages for everything from insects to nuts and berries. We came across this one near Savannah, Ga., working on a string of red berries. 

You will find the Pileated Woodpecker in much of the U.S., all over the East, throughout southern Canada and in parts of the Northwest. There’s a rumor a few have reached the North Pole.

Click here for Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s summary, complete with maps, records and photos. 

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Why Flying Lessons: You can learn a lot from the birds

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal

This is the mysterious bird that turned out to be a Mourning Warbler.

For days, we couldn’t figure out what the small, yellow bird was that stared out from a series of photos taken in the southern Nova Scotia. Beverly looked through every one of her many birding books without finding a match. I went back and looked at looked at all the photos for clues.

Finally, Beverly emailed the photo to a birding expert and friend in Maryland to ask for his help. He said it was a tricky one because the bird was almost certainly a juvenile who’d yet to come into its full colors. They eventually decided it had to be a first-year Mourning Warbler, an uncommon species that just happened to look a lot like other Warblers.

Anders and Beverly, in the mountains in western North Carolina.

Beverly and I take very different approaches to birding. She is exacting and studious. She can spend an hour moving slowly through the woods or fields to suss out shy birds, and then devote another hour hardly moving as she watches them at work and play. She has gradually taught herself to spot species even from afar, to learn their complex calls and to coax them out of their hiding places. Like with the Mourning Warbler, she won’t give up until she’s figured out what she’s seen.

On the other hand, I like to charge ahead to see what’s around the next corner. As the photographer, I try to keep moving and hope to come upon birds by surprise. I’m happiest when I can catch a bird in flight, taking off or landing to show the magnificent science of flying. I’m comfortable with guesses as to what we’re seeing — and like to move to the next question.

Both of us were journalists for many years. Beverly was a reporter, an editor and then the food editor at The Miami Herald, before she launched syndicated columns on first parenting, and then cooking family meals, which turned into the Desperation Dinners franchise that included weekly columns, then a series of books and finally a national website.

Anders, on the beach in Georgia.

I began as a reporter and photographer at newspapers in Pennsylvania, Virginia and New Jersey, before switching to editing and eventually running newsrooms in Raleigh, Minneapolis and Miami. My last assignment was the top editorial position for McClatchy, a network of newspapers from California to the Carolinas. All of this led to a love of writing, reporting and photography that helped to lead us to this website.

Beverly, at one of our camping sites in Ocracoke, North Carolina.

When we retired, we got the chance to combine our love of the outdoors, camping and hiking with our fascination for birding. We started traveling, first in a small Casita trailer,  and then in the Airstream you see behind Beverly, which lets us stay out for long stretches when the birding is good.

It might be our years in journalism that push us to look for the broader story. That got us thinking about the layers of lessons we’ve encountered over the past several years that go far beyond simply identifying the birds we see. We still consider ourselves to be in the learning stage as birders. But we hope if may have stories, questions, discoveries to share as our experiences.

We’d love to hear from you about your thoughts and observations about learning from the birds.  Here’s an email to use — or please leave comments on any of the posts and pages. And once more, thank you for spending time on Flying Lessons.

-Anders and Beverly

 

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