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Birds For Beginners: They gotta stay still and be big enough to shoot

by Beverly Mills Gyllenhaal
written by Beverly Mills Gyllenhaal
Birds For Beginners: They gotta stay still and be big enough to shoot

The Great Blue is the largest heron in North America.

We loved this comment and question from Candy Krewer of Montana:

“I am a beginner birder and love to try to photograph birds. The Great Blue Heron is a current favorite since it’s a large target, often standing still! I also have a LBB (little brown bird) as a regular on my list. Please tell me more about what birds you are following.”

If you’re learning to take pictures of birds, you can’t go wrong with a Great Blue Heron. Big shorebirds were also among our favorites when Anders and I  got hooked on birding five years ago, and we love them still. The herons and egrets often fish in the same spot for long stretches, and when they take to the sky, it’s a sight to behold.

A nesting pair of Roseate Spoonbills.

We’re currently in Florida for a few weeks, and so we’re surrounded by shorebirds. As to Candy’s query about what we’re following right now, the Roseate Spoonbill is my hands-down favorite. It’s pink and fluffy, funny and frilly — and it just makes me gasp every time we see one.

Spoonbill or a photographer’s sitting duck?

Did I mention photogenic? Anders heard about the Stick Marsh Critical Wildlife Area near Melbourne, Fla., where there are two protected islands stuffed with nesting Spoonbills. So last week we set out to find them. Even shooting in the “wrong” afternoon light, I think the photos Anders got were stunning. We’ll definitely go back at dawn. (The Stick Marsh site is adjacent to the T.M. Goodwin Waterfowl Management Area. Click here for more information.)

As for other “Beginner Birds” that keep still and are big enough to shoot, woodpeckers are tough to beat. It’s hard to know if we’re following them or they’re following us. Woodpeckers make a lot of noise (so you can find them), and some species, like the Red-bellied, are common. Once alight on a suitable tree, they tend to stay put and peck away.

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BirdingBirds storiesFlightPhotography

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

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal
The White Ibis — graceful and awkward at once — is a sight to see

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
Chasing the Kingfisher — five years and one lucky day

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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How a lake disappeared — and an unexpected gift took its place

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal
How a lake disappeared — and an unexpected gift took its place

Here’s a story to help transport us to the opposite end of the calendar as winter sets in: We traveled nearly 10,000 miles this past summer in search of birds and new places — and the unexpected was often waiting along the way.

One of those stops in mid June was at Mississippi’s Trace State Park, which was promoted as a magnificent lake-front campground just off the Natchez Trace Parkway near Tupelo.

The lakefront was just overgrown weeds — many waist high.

When we pulled up to our waterfront campsite, a surprise awaited. The lake was missing — and in its place was a sprawling field of weeds, brush and brambles stretching as far as we could see.

We learned later that the lake was drained a full three years earlier after the dam showed signs of wear. They’d been working on it ever since in utmost slow motion without bothering to update the website or let folks know the prime camping spots lacked any actual water. 

Red-winged Blackbird at the lake that wasn’t.

We thought about turning around and driving on. Who wants to look out over an empty lake bed for three days? But it was late afternoon so we decided to stay at least for the night.

And then we noticed something unusual: A symphony of bird songs was coming from the field where the lake use to be.  We stood listening to be sure we weren’t imagining it, then quit setting up camp and ran for binoculars and my camera and powered up the birding apps.

Within an hour we had spotted Indigo Buntings, Blue-gray Gnatcatchers, Red-winged Blackbirds, and lots of goldfinches, starlings and cardinals. It was the beginning of three days of terrific birding — far better than any lake view could have been.

As an added offering, our timing put us in the middle of the first flights and early worm-hunting lessons from a new generation of birds as they left the nest. Here is a mix of what we saw:

The disappearing lake left me thinking about expectations and unexpected gifts. Let’s hope they never fix the dam.

An Indigo Bunting perches near the “shore” of the missing lake at Trace State Park.

(Scroll down to leave a comment — or tell a story of when the birds surprised you with the unexpected.)
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BirdingBirding researchFeaturedMigrationPhotography

Year of the Bird: Can this sweeping campaign curb rising threats to birds?

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal
Year of the Bird: Can this sweeping campaign curb rising threats to birds?

First of two parts

The most ambitious effort to protect birds in a century comes to a close next week. Although its catalog of accomplishments ranges from enlisting thousands of new supporters to collecting reams of fresh data, the Year of the Bird faces a tough question:

Was the 12-month campaign powerful enough to make a difference on behalf of endangered species, or will it turn out to be mostly a memorial to an era of plentiful birds that’s slowly disappearing?

Led by the Audubon Society, Cornell Lab of Ornithology, National Geographic and BirdLife International, the Year of the Bird project gathered 180 partners, 50 proclamations and tens of thousands of new supporters over the course of the year.

The campaign turned a loose collection of like-minded organizations into a coalition that can push for legislation, preserve habitat and rally supporters in the future. “The network is now in place,’’ said Miyoko Chu, senior director of communications for the Cornell Lab.

An example of Cornell’s maps that turn eBird data into animations of bird migrations by species. Look below to play video versions.

The project elevated Cornell’s effort to turn its birding apps into ground-breaking tools for visualizing migration and population trends. The apps are fueled by an army of 400,000 birdwatchers who record species to form a collective portrait more detailed than ever before possible. Last month, Cornell unveiled new technology that creates animations showing precisely where and how specific birds migrate during the fall and spring seasons.

The Year of the Bird was accompanied by a flow of stories, photos, videos and essays from National Geographic that took readers on a tour of the front lines of birding. The magazine launched its contribution with an essay by novelist and expert birder Jonathan Franzen, who took on the question of “Why Birds Matter.’’ It’s must-reading for anyone interested in the future of birds.

The Year of the Bird also inspired dozens of offshoot projects as partners came on board. In one example, a class of advanced graphic design students at Ithaca College heard a radio interview with Franzen and immediately went to work with Cornell on a series of  posters in support of the project.

“People participated in Year of the Bird in all sorts of ways, from the individual level to the global,’’ said Nicholas Gonzalez, an Audubon media specialist. “It’s always the year of the bird at Audubon. We never need a reason to celebrate birds. But this was an especially big deal.’’

And yet, right as the project was coming to a close this fall, a series of setbacks came along, as if to remind the organizations what they’re up against.

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Birding researchFlightPhotography

Unraveling one of nature’s mysteries. How do flocks fly like that?

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal
Unraveling one of nature’s mysteries. How do flocks fly like that?

          It’s one of the great birding mysteries on display each fall with the migration: How on Earth do huge flocks of birds come together and fly in formation, zigging and zagging in some of nature’s best choreography, making split-second pirouettes at speeds of up to 40 miles an hour?

A swarm of Black Skimmers on North Carolina’s Pea Island Preserve.

            For centuries people could do little more than guess at the mechanics. Do birds possess a kind of telepathy about  when to turn? Is there a single leader that the birds all watch as an orchestra does its conductor?

            Today, with the use of 3D photography, digital reconstruction and several ground-breaking research projects, the  secrets are finally coming out. And with them are possible lessons that could be used  in everything from programming drones to training people new styles of leadership. 

            We spent several weeks this fall on North Carolina’s Outer Banks, watching big flocks of Black Skimmers zoom about in unison, hundreds of Terns zip along the shoreline in clusters, and thousands of ducks fly in V-formations on their way south. For all the wonder of the fall and spring migrations, nothing sweeps you away like the sudden eruption of a mass flock flight.

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Traveling back in time — via Mexico’s island of the birds

by Anders Gyllenhaal
written by Anders Gyllenhaal
Traveling back in time — via Mexico’s island of the birds

 

Frigatebirds fill just about every square foot of the air above Isla Contoy.

The scene comes straight from a primordial past: Five thousand Magnificent Frigatebirds — one of the largest and strangest birds on earth — circle in the air all at the same time, high above an undeveloped island near the intersection of the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean Sea.

Biologists are studying the birds on the five-mile-long island, Isla Contoy, located off the Yucatan coast about 30 miles north of Cancun. Though the Mexican government protects Isla Contoy, the project allows a limited number of visitors each day for three-hours, which is how we found ourselves feeling as though we had traveled back in time.

The Magnificent Frigatebird does look like an ancient creature. Guidebooks describe their long wings as pterodactyl-like. Their are tails are forked, practically demonic. The tropical birds are enormous, with a wing span of more than seven feet. But the Frigatebird’s mating routine is its most remarkable trait. Males inflate a gland sac in their throats so that it looks like a red, nearly heart-shaped balloon. Then the male waves its head around to show off its balloon while clattering its beak to in hopes of attracting a mate.

 

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