It's the last day of March and it feels like Spring is finally here. The duck crowd waiting for grub in the morning has dwindled to only four or five ducks. Out of this small crew, only one is a female. She is attended by a male mallard that stays close and warns off all the other males. I think this is the same couple that has spent summers with us for a few years. She does not brood eggs, but he is faithful, staying with her. I'll never know if they're really the same couple unless I band them, and it's OK, I'll just assume they are. He talks quietly to her as they pick through the wet morning grass for the corn bits I've tossed there.
All the while, the male Anna's hummingbirds are already up and going, proclaiming their territory. Shreep, shreep, shreep, it goes on from dawn till dusk. The males perch in the topmost branches of the escallonia tree, or near the top of the shore pine. Their heads turn rhythmically from side to side, side to side, watching for any small incursion into their territory. Alexander the Great could learn from these guys. They employ a scorched earth policy regarding any trespassing male hummingbird, be it an Anna's or a rufous.
The otters are making an occasional foray into the pond, coming down from the big lake. I saw one yesterday, crouching happily in the shallows and crunching some delectable little crustacean snagged from the cool water. They will be less enchanting when they return to hunt succulent baby ducks. It's Nature, after all.
Some very special ducks have graced us with a visit. Hooded mergansers are the soul of style. The male sports a lovely yellow eye and flashy colors of black, brown and brilliant white and a set of head feathers that he can raise into a quite flamboyant mohawk at a moment's notice. The hen is a quieter blend of browns and rufous reds. She too has a mohawk, but hers is more of a delicate reddish fan.
They have rounded heads and long thinnish bills. They love to dive, and it happens in the blink of an eye. The mohawk flattens, head arches gracefully down and the entire body forms a quick "C" before the bird disappears silently under the surface. He will reappear yards from where he dove, often with small fish crosswise in his bill.
One of the most charming things about common mergansers is their habit of allowing their youngsters to hitch a ride on their backs in the water. For the birds, it's simply a matter of safety and convenience, but for us humans, it's a major cuteness moment. Tiny, fuzzy brown babies sit happily, usually on the hen's back, and sometimes they will tuck themselves partially under her wing for warmth.
Mergansers are cavity nesters just like wood ducks. If you have wood duck boxes, you may be lucky enough to host a merganser family one year. Just as with wood ducks, as soon as the last duckling hatches, the hen leaves the box, heads for the closest water and begins to call to the ducklings. They find their way to the water and never look back.
It's evening, and the sky is pure, deep turquoise. The beaver is veeing slowly north to south, heading for lodgings in the wider, wilder part of the lake. The hummingbirds have gone to roost and the calling varied thrush is silent. The geese couple are roosting across the water on the neighbor's grass, and I can hear occasional quiet, hoarse 'chonks' from one of them.
Venus is shining in the sky and the tree frogs are tuning up. Who could want more?
Winter Sunset, Loomis Outlet
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
Bald Eagle Rehab
I recalled this experience after reading about the bald eagle that was rescued in Oregon this past week. He had been hit by a vehicle on I-84 and had to be euthanized due to the severity of his injuries. This story has a happier ending, but at the outset, you never know.
"There's a really big bird under some brush on our property and it isn't moving much. Another big bird comes and goes like it's visiting, but the one bird won't leave. Would you come and check it out?"
This was the message received at the wildlife center one late winter day. Our director was right on it. It turned out to be an injured female bald eagle. Her mate was bringing her food, faithfully returning each day with a fresh kill. It was lucky he did that, as it kept her alive until she was rescued.
Weak and hurting, but still very feisty, she was swaddled in a big, thick blanket and carefully transported back to the center. Initial assessment showed that one leg was bent at a very bad angle - no doubt broken.
In fact, it was so severely broken that after surgery, she had to wear an external fixation device on the leg for a period of weeks. Trips back to the vet who had done the surgery followed so that x-rays could track healing of the bone. Transporting an eagle in a giant dog kennel in the back of your truck is an interesting experience. You just hope that the bridge isn't closed and traffic is moving well.
Healing was a slow, slow process. More than once we feared that the bone wasn't going to heal properly. The bird looked as miserable as she was. Hunkered in her enclosure, she would scold us loud and long when we approached, even when we carried a nice fresh meal. We all had to keep the faith that she would improve and fly free again. She kept eating, which is a good sign. If a bird or critter stops eating, trouble probably lies ahead.
Over a period of months the bones did heal. It was a day of celebration when she was moved to the flight cage for increased activity. This is bird physical therapy. If you've ever been inactive due to a major injury or illness, you know how weak and wasted muscles can become. Same for birds and animals. She hadn't used her flight muscles for months. Her wings needed strengthening in order to allow her to fly sustained distances and to hunt.
The flight cage is narrow and long with lots of greenery: small trees, grass and shrubs inside. It has high, sturdy perches at each end. Heavy screening provides lots of fresh air, so it feels like outside even though the bird is still captive.
We watched her tentatively stretch her wings and make her first effort at flight in months. It was wobbly and short, but she did it. We put her food at the opposite end to where she liked to perch. And, as we cleaned the big area, she would fly from one end to the other in order to avoid us. This provided valuable exercise. We watched her get stronger and sleeker, and her in-your-face attitude increased too - if possible! But that was a good thing.
Rehab is a slow process. If a bird of prey isn't strong enough to survive at release, all of the bird's and caregivers' efforts will have been wasted. The eagle stayed in the flight cage for a period of weeks until she flew effortlessly and accurately (not missing the perch she was flying to). She ate her food with gusto, leaving just a few feathers and bones each day.
Release day finally came. We try to release eagles in the same area in which they were found when injured. Many months had passed and reports were that the male had found a new mate. This is understandable. His drive was to mate and create more bald eagles and his former mate had disappeared, despite his efforts to help her. We released the female one sunny, cold morning near the Lewis & Clark River.
All the caregivers gathered around, including the vet who had worked so hard to heal her. She was in the giant dog crate again, and one brave volunteer reached around, unlatched the door and quickly pulled it open. She burst from the opening, jumped into the air and quickly flew with strong, deep wing beats. She went quite a distance before wheeling and landing near the top of a big Doug fir.
High 5's all around and a few tears. There's nothing like giving back.
"There's a really big bird under some brush on our property and it isn't moving much. Another big bird comes and goes like it's visiting, but the one bird won't leave. Would you come and check it out?"
This was the message received at the wildlife center one late winter day. Our director was right on it. It turned out to be an injured female bald eagle. Her mate was bringing her food, faithfully returning each day with a fresh kill. It was lucky he did that, as it kept her alive until she was rescued.
Weak and hurting, but still very feisty, she was swaddled in a big, thick blanket and carefully transported back to the center. Initial assessment showed that one leg was bent at a very bad angle - no doubt broken.
In fact, it was so severely broken that after surgery, she had to wear an external fixation device on the leg for a period of weeks. Trips back to the vet who had done the surgery followed so that x-rays could track healing of the bone. Transporting an eagle in a giant dog kennel in the back of your truck is an interesting experience. You just hope that the bridge isn't closed and traffic is moving well.
Healing was a slow, slow process. More than once we feared that the bone wasn't going to heal properly. The bird looked as miserable as she was. Hunkered in her enclosure, she would scold us loud and long when we approached, even when we carried a nice fresh meal. We all had to keep the faith that she would improve and fly free again. She kept eating, which is a good sign. If a bird or critter stops eating, trouble probably lies ahead.
Over a period of months the bones did heal. It was a day of celebration when she was moved to the flight cage for increased activity. This is bird physical therapy. If you've ever been inactive due to a major injury or illness, you know how weak and wasted muscles can become. Same for birds and animals. She hadn't used her flight muscles for months. Her wings needed strengthening in order to allow her to fly sustained distances and to hunt.
The flight cage is narrow and long with lots of greenery: small trees, grass and shrubs inside. It has high, sturdy perches at each end. Heavy screening provides lots of fresh air, so it feels like outside even though the bird is still captive.
We watched her tentatively stretch her wings and make her first effort at flight in months. It was wobbly and short, but she did it. We put her food at the opposite end to where she liked to perch. And, as we cleaned the big area, she would fly from one end to the other in order to avoid us. This provided valuable exercise. We watched her get stronger and sleeker, and her in-your-face attitude increased too - if possible! But that was a good thing.
Rehab is a slow process. If a bird of prey isn't strong enough to survive at release, all of the bird's and caregivers' efforts will have been wasted. The eagle stayed in the flight cage for a period of weeks until she flew effortlessly and accurately (not missing the perch she was flying to). She ate her food with gusto, leaving just a few feathers and bones each day.
Release day finally came. We try to release eagles in the same area in which they were found when injured. Many months had passed and reports were that the male had found a new mate. This is understandable. His drive was to mate and create more bald eagles and his former mate had disappeared, despite his efforts to help her. We released the female one sunny, cold morning near the Lewis & Clark River.
All the caregivers gathered around, including the vet who had worked so hard to heal her. She was in the giant dog crate again, and one brave volunteer reached around, unlatched the door and quickly pulled it open. She burst from the opening, jumped into the air and quickly flew with strong, deep wing beats. She went quite a distance before wheeling and landing near the top of a big Doug fir.
High 5's all around and a few tears. There's nothing like giving back.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Birding in San Jose del Pacifico, Oaxaca
While spending time in Oaxaca city in the state of Oaxaca in southern Mexico, we decided to explore the mountainous areas surrounding the city. Oaxaca rests in a valley between three mountain ranges. The Majestic Sierra Madre del Sur rises to the south, climbing to about nine thousand feet. At the top, a dense pine-oak forest is interspersed with tree ferns, brilliant orchids and meters-long climbing vines. Tiny red salvia flowers and orange paintbrush generously dot the road which is carved from the steep mountain. Many of the simple homes along the road at the higher elevations have plant nurseries. Colorful pots of flowers line up in neat rows against the steep hill. Pink and red begonias flourish here, as do rich blue Nile lillies and white calla lillies. The people carry baskets of these blooms into Oaxaca city to sell in one of the many markets.
The small hamlet of San Jose del Pacifico perches along the highway near the summit of the mountain range. The land drops off precipitously just one house beyond the road, which continues on to the Pacific Ocean. Just outside town is a small rustic resort called Puesta del Sol. Carved out of the steep hillside, it comprises eighteen charming wood cabanas (cabins), some with fireplaces for the very chilly evenings. Every cabana comes with a generous porch and comfy chairs from which to take in the panoramic view. Land drops off steeply, providing a view of literally miles of forested hills. Black vultures and hawks cruise below eye level. The grounds of the resort are generously planted with flowers and trees that invite all manner of birds. I'll get to that in a minute.
There is a restaurant on the grounds which serves delicious traditional Mexican fare as well as beer and mescal. On the days we stayed, the waitress's quiet and charming little girl peeked shyly around tables to look at the gringos. A deck, only partially fenced, provides another breathtaking view of the valleys below. Cafe de olla, Oaxacan coffee lightly flavored with cinnamon and sugar, tasted great while watching the white-eared hummingbirds feed on the tall, purple coffee flowers outside the window.
We had returned to this area with the excuse of finding the southern race of Stellar's Jay. This far south in Mexico, the subspecies is bluer and has different facial markings than the jay which occurs farther north and in North America. Jays are usually right upfront, not shy and quite vocal: not a skulky bird! But we hadn't seen nor heard this jay last year. We were hoping for a glimpse this time, but we knew we'd see enough incredible birds to make us happy, either way.
When we arrived at Puesta del Sol and began our steep climb down to our cabin, we were greeted by the crystal chime song of the brown-backed solitaire. There is nothing quite like this song. It's a lovely descending call in what sounds like two-part harmony. Echoing off the valley sides in the early evening quiet, it sounded simply ethereal. We were even lucky enough to see the bird who was singing perched below us, looking out over the steep valley as he sang. What a welcome. White-eared hummingbird males aggressively guarded their patches of purple tobacco.
From our perch on the porch we could see a small flock of grey silky-flycatchers moving around in the scrub trees below us. Their long tails and rich yellow-grey bodies shone in the sun.
Audubon's warblers crowded the mountain oak next to our cabin and moved constantly from there to a nearby mountain ash. Black-vented and Bullock's orioles climbed slowly in a maple-like tree that sported amazing red flowers that appeared to have a clawed bird's foot sticking out of each flower. The orioles were savoring the nectar held in those flowers. Higher in the same tree was a rose-breasted grosbeak, his breast showing a pink-red line down his white front as if he had spilled raspberry juice. So although no jay appeared for us this first day, we were happy.
Night fell and the temperature dropped dramatically. After a delicious dinner during which we watched a spectacular sunset through clouds pushed in from the ocean, we headed carefully back down the path to our cabana. On the way we met the senor who lights the fires in each cabin. In a wheelbarrow, he carried a load of very dense oak pieces and kindling for the fire. His secret to starting the fire was to place a bed of sawdust chips first, then kindling, then oak. Then more sawdust for good measure. Then a healthy squirt of diesel from a detergent bottle. We had a crackling fire in no time. He instructed us to add the oak sparingly in order to make the fire last till morning. What a cozy feeling to be tucked away in a mountain cabin with a good fire and heavy blankets. We did have to add logs to the fire during the night but we must have timed it wrong, as our fire only lasted till about four a.m. It was cold cold cold when we got up! But as soon as the sun came over the ridge and fell on our front porch, we were warm again. From long johns to T shirt in fifteen minutes. That's how it is in the Sierra Madre Sur in winter.
Before heading up for breakfast I stuck my head out the door as I heard a familiar and welcome call - a jay. Slightly different from our northern Stellar's jay call, but completely recognizable. And he was right next to us in the mountain oak. Of course, being a jay, he was way up in the top, cruising for breakfast. I think jays look like monkeys in trees, easily loping from one branch to another, climbing easily and quickly. Standing with my neck bent to the max, trying to stay away from the drop-off in front of our cabin, I caught a few good glimpses. I saw his dark crest bobbing as he moved, and his dark blue belly. I watched as he finally flew, doing his flap flap cruise, flap flap cruise flight.
We spent the morning wandering the grounds and walking the short distance into town for a cup of locally grown coffee and a yummy torta (sandwich) for lunch. The afternoon passed quickly as we followed the activity of the birds below our cabin and watched the sun move across the winter sky. Dusk returned, and the birds flew down into the valley to more protected and warm areas below. We did the same, moving in to enjoy a glass of very smooth mescal as we watched the fog push in from the ocean. The moon rose to sail in and out of the mist as our fire was lit once again to guard against the cold of the coming mountain night.
The small hamlet of San Jose del Pacifico perches along the highway near the summit of the mountain range. The land drops off precipitously just one house beyond the road, which continues on to the Pacific Ocean. Just outside town is a small rustic resort called Puesta del Sol. Carved out of the steep hillside, it comprises eighteen charming wood cabanas (cabins), some with fireplaces for the very chilly evenings. Every cabana comes with a generous porch and comfy chairs from which to take in the panoramic view. Land drops off steeply, providing a view of literally miles of forested hills. Black vultures and hawks cruise below eye level. The grounds of the resort are generously planted with flowers and trees that invite all manner of birds. I'll get to that in a minute.
There is a restaurant on the grounds which serves delicious traditional Mexican fare as well as beer and mescal. On the days we stayed, the waitress's quiet and charming little girl peeked shyly around tables to look at the gringos. A deck, only partially fenced, provides another breathtaking view of the valleys below. Cafe de olla, Oaxacan coffee lightly flavored with cinnamon and sugar, tasted great while watching the white-eared hummingbirds feed on the tall, purple coffee flowers outside the window.
We had returned to this area with the excuse of finding the southern race of Stellar's Jay. This far south in Mexico, the subspecies is bluer and has different facial markings than the jay which occurs farther north and in North America. Jays are usually right upfront, not shy and quite vocal: not a skulky bird! But we hadn't seen nor heard this jay last year. We were hoping for a glimpse this time, but we knew we'd see enough incredible birds to make us happy, either way.
When we arrived at Puesta del Sol and began our steep climb down to our cabin, we were greeted by the crystal chime song of the brown-backed solitaire. There is nothing quite like this song. It's a lovely descending call in what sounds like two-part harmony. Echoing off the valley sides in the early evening quiet, it sounded simply ethereal. We were even lucky enough to see the bird who was singing perched below us, looking out over the steep valley as he sang. What a welcome. White-eared hummingbird males aggressively guarded their patches of purple tobacco.
From our perch on the porch we could see a small flock of grey silky-flycatchers moving around in the scrub trees below us. Their long tails and rich yellow-grey bodies shone in the sun.
Audubon's warblers crowded the mountain oak next to our cabin and moved constantly from there to a nearby mountain ash. Black-vented and Bullock's orioles climbed slowly in a maple-like tree that sported amazing red flowers that appeared to have a clawed bird's foot sticking out of each flower. The orioles were savoring the nectar held in those flowers. Higher in the same tree was a rose-breasted grosbeak, his breast showing a pink-red line down his white front as if he had spilled raspberry juice. So although no jay appeared for us this first day, we were happy.
Night fell and the temperature dropped dramatically. After a delicious dinner during which we watched a spectacular sunset through clouds pushed in from the ocean, we headed carefully back down the path to our cabana. On the way we met the senor who lights the fires in each cabin. In a wheelbarrow, he carried a load of very dense oak pieces and kindling for the fire. His secret to starting the fire was to place a bed of sawdust chips first, then kindling, then oak. Then more sawdust for good measure. Then a healthy squirt of diesel from a detergent bottle. We had a crackling fire in no time. He instructed us to add the oak sparingly in order to make the fire last till morning. What a cozy feeling to be tucked away in a mountain cabin with a good fire and heavy blankets. We did have to add logs to the fire during the night but we must have timed it wrong, as our fire only lasted till about four a.m. It was cold cold cold when we got up! But as soon as the sun came over the ridge and fell on our front porch, we were warm again. From long johns to T shirt in fifteen minutes. That's how it is in the Sierra Madre Sur in winter.
Before heading up for breakfast I stuck my head out the door as I heard a familiar and welcome call - a jay. Slightly different from our northern Stellar's jay call, but completely recognizable. And he was right next to us in the mountain oak. Of course, being a jay, he was way up in the top, cruising for breakfast. I think jays look like monkeys in trees, easily loping from one branch to another, climbing easily and quickly. Standing with my neck bent to the max, trying to stay away from the drop-off in front of our cabin, I caught a few good glimpses. I saw his dark crest bobbing as he moved, and his dark blue belly. I watched as he finally flew, doing his flap flap cruise, flap flap cruise flight.
We spent the morning wandering the grounds and walking the short distance into town for a cup of locally grown coffee and a yummy torta (sandwich) for lunch. The afternoon passed quickly as we followed the activity of the birds below our cabin and watched the sun move across the winter sky. Dusk returned, and the birds flew down into the valley to more protected and warm areas below. We did the same, moving in to enjoy a glass of very smooth mescal as we watched the fog push in from the ocean. The moon rose to sail in and out of the mist as our fire was lit once again to guard against the cold of the coming mountain night.
Friday, January 4, 2013
A Few More Days in Spain
The following day we took the winding road due north from Jaca into France. We followed the road through the small, picturesque towns of Urdos, Etsaut, Cette and Eygun. The mountain houses on both sides of the border are charming: tall, sturdy wood and stone structures with massive wood shutters. Brilliant red geraniums spill from every window box. The countryside opens out into wide, treeless alpine stretches that turn into cross-country ski areas in winter. Small herds of chestnut-colored draft horses, on summer vacation, wandered the roads and fields. The short green grass is a carpet of flowers: pink lillium and heather, white alpine yarrow and reddish thistle. Near the boggy stream sides, long leaved butterwort was a bright chartreuse contrast to the darker grass around them.
Alpine chough (pronounced chuff) and red-billed chough eddied and called in huge black flocks above us. They would land on the roadside, then take off in swirling clouds as a car approached. Northern wheatear bobbed on house-size rocks. We also had good looks at carrion crow, European serin, goldfinch, citril finch, common crossbill, great grey shrike, rock thrush, common raven and linnet.
At the rocky pass where Espana becomes Francia, there is only a small stone marker in the parking lot with an "E" on the Spain side and an "F" on the France side. A small simple house tucked into the rocks at the summit advertised goat cheese for sale. Dozing in the warm sun, shaggy goats balanced on the narrow windowsills of the house. As we topped a hill and looked down into France, paragliders hung in the warm air below us, looking like brightly colored toys.
The sun was setting as we headed back to the lowlands. Just outside of Jaca in the deep dusk a flock of corn buntings flew across the road and disappeared into a grassy field.
We left Jaca the next day and moved farther south, into the Rioja area of Spain. This area is flatter and more agricultural than the north, producing the grapes for world-renowned red wines. We stopped in the small wine country town of Alfaro, which prides itself for having the world's largest urban white stork rookery. The tile roof of the ancient, rambling cathedral in the center of the town is home to countless white storks. Hundreds could be seen flying out early in the morning and returning to huge, twiggy nests at dusk. The people are very proud of their birds and we were presented with a beautiful photo album of stork pictures at the small restaurant where we had dinner, I think simply because we voiced sincere interest.
An early morning walk along the wooded path that follows the Rio Alhama was productive for more birds. This small, slow river meanders past fields of neat rows of purple and green artichokes. We saw house martins, barn swallows, European goldfinch decked out in red, gold and white and grey herons. A hummingbird hawkmoth fed convincingly on a buddliea using its bill-like proboscis, hovering and moving from blossom to blossom. We had to keep reminding ourselves that there are no hummingbirds in Europe, though he was quite convincing.
One last booted eagle scanning the grassy fields from his perch on a power pole was our final tick on an unforgettable birding trip.
Alpine chough (pronounced chuff) and red-billed chough eddied and called in huge black flocks above us. They would land on the roadside, then take off in swirling clouds as a car approached. Northern wheatear bobbed on house-size rocks. We also had good looks at carrion crow, European serin, goldfinch, citril finch, common crossbill, great grey shrike, rock thrush, common raven and linnet.
At the rocky pass where Espana becomes Francia, there is only a small stone marker in the parking lot with an "E" on the Spain side and an "F" on the France side. A small simple house tucked into the rocks at the summit advertised goat cheese for sale. Dozing in the warm sun, shaggy goats balanced on the narrow windowsills of the house. As we topped a hill and looked down into France, paragliders hung in the warm air below us, looking like brightly colored toys.
The sun was setting as we headed back to the lowlands. Just outside of Jaca in the deep dusk a flock of corn buntings flew across the road and disappeared into a grassy field.
We left Jaca the next day and moved farther south, into the Rioja area of Spain. This area is flatter and more agricultural than the north, producing the grapes for world-renowned red wines. We stopped in the small wine country town of Alfaro, which prides itself for having the world's largest urban white stork rookery. The tile roof of the ancient, rambling cathedral in the center of the town is home to countless white storks. Hundreds could be seen flying out early in the morning and returning to huge, twiggy nests at dusk. The people are very proud of their birds and we were presented with a beautiful photo album of stork pictures at the small restaurant where we had dinner, I think simply because we voiced sincere interest.
An early morning walk along the wooded path that follows the Rio Alhama was productive for more birds. This small, slow river meanders past fields of neat rows of purple and green artichokes. We saw house martins, barn swallows, European goldfinch decked out in red, gold and white and grey herons. A hummingbird hawkmoth fed convincingly on a buddliea using its bill-like proboscis, hovering and moving from blossom to blossom. We had to keep reminding ourselves that there are no hummingbirds in Europe, though he was quite convincing.
One last booted eagle scanning the grassy fields from his perch on a power pole was our final tick on an unforgettable birding trip.
Friday, December 28, 2012
More Birding in Northern Spain
The next day we drove to Ordesa National Park, a few hours northeast of Jaca. This Park adjoins the French National Park on the French side of the Pyrenees. Cars are not allowed inside the Park, and the number of visitors allowed in at one time is limited as well. Although we visited during one of the busiest months, we had no trouble entering as soon as we arrived. There is an excellent paved car park and comfortable, modern buses that carry visitors the short distance into the Park proper. The Pyrenees surround us, vast and dreaming the the cloudless sky.
The Rio Soaso runs the length of the Park and well-marked trails follow on both sides to the falls, which roar down a series of rocky steps. Beech forest prevails, interspersed with linden and Spanish pine. Marsh tit, coal tit and firecrest (looking a lot like our golden-crowned kinglets) are common birds in the cafe hub area. Tits are small birds in Europe that act a lot like chickadees and titmice in the U. S.
It's possible to climb to the top of the nearby peaks, although the trail is a rough, arduous series of switchbacks. The climb takes roughly four to five hours one way. At the top, the view makes it all worthwhile. The Soaso River is a tiny silver thread coursing through the valley. The rocky buttresses continue to climb above for several thousand meters. In the meadow where we stopped, our party found water pipit, dunnock, European robin, black redstart, rufous-tailed rockthrush, common blackbird, crested tit, Eurasian treecreeper and many more birds. Egyptian vultures and griffon vultures were coursing on the warm air carried up from the canyon. They were below us, giving us rare looks of these birds from above.
It was after eight in the evening when we arrived back at the hub area. The buses run until ten in order to accommodate late-returning hikers. It would be easy to spend several days birding the many side road and back-country areas in this beautiful place.
We all voted for a later start the next day. There are excellent birding sites in Jaca, so we opted to spend the day on local searches. La Cuidadela, an ancient five-sided brick citadel in the heart of Jaca, is an excellent place to find rock sparrows, common swifts and linnet. A herd of deer lives in the sunken grassy moat of the fort. They spend their days following the shade under the ancient walls. After finding the fort birds, we took a short walk to the Pilgrims' Bridge, another venerable structure which carried pilgrims on their walk centuries ago over the Rio Aragon.
In August, by noon or later, the temperature in the valleys climbs to the high eighties. Businesses close down for siesta at about one and re-open around four-thirty or five. We were reluctant to lose this midday time for exploring the city, but found that the Spanish are right: it's too hot. We found some shade and enjoyed the view. As we sat on our shady patio in the middle of Jaca, a red kite coursed low over the hotel grounds, scattering the rock doves. Later in the afternoon, we went on a hunt for the black woodpecker. The monasteries of San Juan de la Pena are a short drive southeast of Jaca and this bird is often seen there. The oldest monastery, built in the tenth century, is built right into the buff-colored cliffs. Crude lookout windows are visible in the old rock above the monastery. We had no luck on the woodpecker, but came back with a deep sense of mystery and awe imparted by the aged rock.
Back in Jaca, two of our party took an after dinner walk to te Paseo, or city park, hoping for Eurasian scops owl. They can often be seen there in the light from the street lamps. This night the owls could be heard calling softly but stayed hidden in the trees lining the manicured paths.
The Rio Soaso runs the length of the Park and well-marked trails follow on both sides to the falls, which roar down a series of rocky steps. Beech forest prevails, interspersed with linden and Spanish pine. Marsh tit, coal tit and firecrest (looking a lot like our golden-crowned kinglets) are common birds in the cafe hub area. Tits are small birds in Europe that act a lot like chickadees and titmice in the U. S.
It's possible to climb to the top of the nearby peaks, although the trail is a rough, arduous series of switchbacks. The climb takes roughly four to five hours one way. At the top, the view makes it all worthwhile. The Soaso River is a tiny silver thread coursing through the valley. The rocky buttresses continue to climb above for several thousand meters. In the meadow where we stopped, our party found water pipit, dunnock, European robin, black redstart, rufous-tailed rockthrush, common blackbird, crested tit, Eurasian treecreeper and many more birds. Egyptian vultures and griffon vultures were coursing on the warm air carried up from the canyon. They were below us, giving us rare looks of these birds from above.
It was after eight in the evening when we arrived back at the hub area. The buses run until ten in order to accommodate late-returning hikers. It would be easy to spend several days birding the many side road and back-country areas in this beautiful place.
We all voted for a later start the next day. There are excellent birding sites in Jaca, so we opted to spend the day on local searches. La Cuidadela, an ancient five-sided brick citadel in the heart of Jaca, is an excellent place to find rock sparrows, common swifts and linnet. A herd of deer lives in the sunken grassy moat of the fort. They spend their days following the shade under the ancient walls. After finding the fort birds, we took a short walk to the Pilgrims' Bridge, another venerable structure which carried pilgrims on their walk centuries ago over the Rio Aragon.
In August, by noon or later, the temperature in the valleys climbs to the high eighties. Businesses close down for siesta at about one and re-open around four-thirty or five. We were reluctant to lose this midday time for exploring the city, but found that the Spanish are right: it's too hot. We found some shade and enjoyed the view. As we sat on our shady patio in the middle of Jaca, a red kite coursed low over the hotel grounds, scattering the rock doves. Later in the afternoon, we went on a hunt for the black woodpecker. The monasteries of San Juan de la Pena are a short drive southeast of Jaca and this bird is often seen there. The oldest monastery, built in the tenth century, is built right into the buff-colored cliffs. Crude lookout windows are visible in the old rock above the monastery. We had no luck on the woodpecker, but came back with a deep sense of mystery and awe imparted by the aged rock.
Back in Jaca, two of our party took an after dinner walk to te Paseo, or city park, hoping for Eurasian scops owl. They can often be seen there in the light from the street lamps. This night the owls could be heard calling softly but stayed hidden in the trees lining the manicured paths.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
The Search Goes On...
Back to wallcreeper country. There was so much ravine, so many rocky escarpments to search for this small gray and red bird. The rough cliffs disappeared into the clouds on every side. We spread out again on each end of the tunnel. Suddenly an urgent, echoing holler came from the other side of the tunnel. Wallcreeper! Hurry! Three of us ran full speed, scopes tilting and bins bouncing, careless of tunnel traffic. We couldn't miss this elusive rarity.
He was surprisingly easy to see, feeding along a rocky face across the ravine. Although related to the nuthatch, this is a bigger bird: 14 to 17 cm from slightly decurved bill to white banded tail. He was creeping along the rock face, gleaning insects from crevices and alpine plants. He looked rather drab until he spread his wings to move to an adjacent area: lovely "broad, round wings, gaudily marked with red, black and white above" as described in our damp copy of Birds of Europe. At one point he flew to the rocks just above us, giving an excellent view of his black throat and breast. We were all grinning like fools in a twenty-mile-an-hour wind and horizontal rain. Lammergeier and wallcreeper - and it was still early afternoon!
We started back down the valley and stopped near the small town of Siresa, a bit north of Hecho. A grassy abandoned field surrounded by overgrown bramble looked promising. (When you're a birder, the oddest kind of places can look grand.) While we wandered around, stretching our legs and admiring the ancient walled town across the valley, we had good looks at red kites, black kites and griffon vultures above. Two red-backed shrikes, an adult male and a juvenile, were perched on the far fence, flying off occasionally to hawk insects. We also saw a cirl bunting, a spotless starling (a rather plain, black bird) and a Eurasian wryneck in the hedges. Ravens, a common kestrel and a beautiful dark-phase booted eagle drifted on the thermals above us. It was a day for raptors.
Once or twice we had heard the odd purring call of European bee eaters, a very lovely, very colorful little bird. On our way back to Jaca, near Berdun, we stopped to check a sunny open field dotted with shrubby growth. We were lucky. Six European bee eaters were perched on the bare limbs of a snag, looking like polished, multi-colored ornaments. One by one they flew out to hawk insects and return to the snag. The rich gold-yellow on their throats was easily seen and their cinnamon crowns glowed. Black mask, golden chin and azure blue breast are so very lovely it's hard to find words. We were able to glimpse the long tail projections flashing in the low sunlight. Magical.
Finally, back to Jaca for a late dinner (dinner is not served until 9:30 at the earliest, so snacks on the way help prevent cranky birders). Dining in northern Spain is a treat. The excellent wines of the nearby Rioja area are plentiful and reasonable. Salads feature local specialties such as white asparagus and sweet red pepper. Beef and lamb are cooked to perfection on an asador (grate) over an open fire.
We went to bed very late but extremely happy with the day's remarkable birds.
Stay tuned for more Spanish birding adventures.
He was surprisingly easy to see, feeding along a rocky face across the ravine. Although related to the nuthatch, this is a bigger bird: 14 to 17 cm from slightly decurved bill to white banded tail. He was creeping along the rock face, gleaning insects from crevices and alpine plants. He looked rather drab until he spread his wings to move to an adjacent area: lovely "broad, round wings, gaudily marked with red, black and white above" as described in our damp copy of Birds of Europe. At one point he flew to the rocks just above us, giving an excellent view of his black throat and breast. We were all grinning like fools in a twenty-mile-an-hour wind and horizontal rain. Lammergeier and wallcreeper - and it was still early afternoon!
We started back down the valley and stopped near the small town of Siresa, a bit north of Hecho. A grassy abandoned field surrounded by overgrown bramble looked promising. (When you're a birder, the oddest kind of places can look grand.) While we wandered around, stretching our legs and admiring the ancient walled town across the valley, we had good looks at red kites, black kites and griffon vultures above. Two red-backed shrikes, an adult male and a juvenile, were perched on the far fence, flying off occasionally to hawk insects. We also saw a cirl bunting, a spotless starling (a rather plain, black bird) and a Eurasian wryneck in the hedges. Ravens, a common kestrel and a beautiful dark-phase booted eagle drifted on the thermals above us. It was a day for raptors.
Once or twice we had heard the odd purring call of European bee eaters, a very lovely, very colorful little bird. On our way back to Jaca, near Berdun, we stopped to check a sunny open field dotted with shrubby growth. We were lucky. Six European bee eaters were perched on the bare limbs of a snag, looking like polished, multi-colored ornaments. One by one they flew out to hawk insects and return to the snag. The rich gold-yellow on their throats was easily seen and their cinnamon crowns glowed. Black mask, golden chin and azure blue breast are so very lovely it's hard to find words. We were able to glimpse the long tail projections flashing in the low sunlight. Magical.
Finally, back to Jaca for a late dinner (dinner is not served until 9:30 at the earliest, so snacks on the way help prevent cranky birders). Dining in northern Spain is a treat. The excellent wines of the nearby Rioja area are plentiful and reasonable. Salads feature local specialties such as white asparagus and sweet red pepper. Beef and lamb are cooked to perfection on an asador (grate) over an open fire.
We went to bed very late but extremely happy with the day's remarkable birds.
Stay tuned for more Spanish birding adventures.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Birding in the Spanish Pyrenees
"Lammergier!" John shouted - we all spun around. There he was, a majestic vulture close to four feet long with a wingspan of almost eight feet, slowly pumping those enormous wings to gain altitude. The bird had been on the ground perhaps 100 feet from us, hidden by a small hillock. As he beat away, we had long looks at this tawny-dark giant with the long, wedge-shaped tail. The silvery peaks of the Spanish Pyrenees surrounded us, the sky was deep blue, and alpine lilies grew at our feet. Life was good.
Friends in England had invited us to spend part of August birding with them in northern Spain. In early August we flew into Barcelona via Vienna. We spent a leisurely day and a half driving to Jaca, a resort town in the foothills of the Pyrenees. Jaca was our home base for the following week.
The Pyrenees form the mountainous boundary between France to the north and Spain to the south. The tallest peak, Aneto, rises 3,404 meters (10,212 feet). Most of the twenty-six major peaks rise between 1500 and 3000 meters. Birds are plentiful. Alpine, Mediterranean and northern European species can be found in the Pyrenees and the nearby dry valleys and foothills at various times of the years. Although August is the quietest month for birds, we were not disappointed.
Up early our first day, the five of us agreed to go on a search for a very elusive, small grey bird called a wallcreeper. A narrow, dark, dripping tunnel appropriately named Boca del Infierno, or Hell's Mouth, carries a small mountain road through a rocky gorge in the mountains. The gorge on either side of the tunnel has been a good place to find wallcreepers, as they glean insects from the crevices in the rocks and walls. This area in the northern Hecho Valley, about 50 km northwest of Jaca, is one of the lowest and most accessible places in the Pyrenees where wallcreepers can be found.
On our way to the Valley, we made a stop on a stone bridge over the Rio Aragon. Crag martins coursed the wide, shallow river as it chattered over rocks. A bit farther north, the Hecho Valley is broad and open: perfect country for raptors. We got our first of many red kites, Egyptian vultures, (Eurasian) griffon vultures, a booted eagle, a spotted flycatcher and the lammergier.
We had stopped along the quiet two-lane road to scope the booted eagle when John had glimpsed the lammergier from the corner of his eye. Our grins were a mile wide. As we celebrated the raptor with cookies and coffee, an elderly Basque gentleman stopped to chat. We were at least 10 km from any town or settlement and he was out briskly walking, black beret cocked over one eye. With his few English words, our basic Spanish and many smiles and gestures we learned about the grey herons that fish in the nearby river and the vultures that feed on carcasses in the fields. He wished us well and continued on his long walk to somewhere.
As we made our way north through the Hecho Valley, passing through the town of Hecho, we left open, sunny country behind. Grey rock ravines dropped to an icy mountain stream that followed along the road. The rock was dotted with a curious alpine saxifrage that looks just like a pale green sea anemone. By now the wind had picked up and a fine cold rain was sweeping down the narrow valley in soaking gusts. When we reached the dripping tunnel, the Boca del Infierno, we spaced ourselves along the ravine on each side and began a search for wallcreepers. This is popular country for camping and hill walking. Many people passed us in cars, on bicycles and on foot, always polite and sometimes curious about why we persistently scanned the high rock face across the road. Most of the hikers carried walking sticks and some of the men sang what sounded like arias in clear voices as they walked. The songs, combined with the soft 'clonk-bonk' of the large bells worn by the sheep in the area, were a hauntingly pleasant sound.
We spent forty wet, cold minutes looking for the elusive bird. Our binocular lenses were wet and the fine, drifting rain settled on our clothes. A lunch break was in order. We found a camp ground along a shallow mountain stream where we sat sheltered on some rocks among alpine Queen Ann's lace, delicate pale blue campanula, tiny pinks nodding in the wind and mauve wild geranium. The campers seemed unfazed by the rain as they picnicked outside, walked and sang. Their good-natured cheerfulness was an antidote.
Stay tuned for more birding in Spain.
Friends in England had invited us to spend part of August birding with them in northern Spain. In early August we flew into Barcelona via Vienna. We spent a leisurely day and a half driving to Jaca, a resort town in the foothills of the Pyrenees. Jaca was our home base for the following week.
The Pyrenees form the mountainous boundary between France to the north and Spain to the south. The tallest peak, Aneto, rises 3,404 meters (10,212 feet). Most of the twenty-six major peaks rise between 1500 and 3000 meters. Birds are plentiful. Alpine, Mediterranean and northern European species can be found in the Pyrenees and the nearby dry valleys and foothills at various times of the years. Although August is the quietest month for birds, we were not disappointed.
Up early our first day, the five of us agreed to go on a search for a very elusive, small grey bird called a wallcreeper. A narrow, dark, dripping tunnel appropriately named Boca del Infierno, or Hell's Mouth, carries a small mountain road through a rocky gorge in the mountains. The gorge on either side of the tunnel has been a good place to find wallcreepers, as they glean insects from the crevices in the rocks and walls. This area in the northern Hecho Valley, about 50 km northwest of Jaca, is one of the lowest and most accessible places in the Pyrenees where wallcreepers can be found.
On our way to the Valley, we made a stop on a stone bridge over the Rio Aragon. Crag martins coursed the wide, shallow river as it chattered over rocks. A bit farther north, the Hecho Valley is broad and open: perfect country for raptors. We got our first of many red kites, Egyptian vultures, (Eurasian) griffon vultures, a booted eagle, a spotted flycatcher and the lammergier.
We had stopped along the quiet two-lane road to scope the booted eagle when John had glimpsed the lammergier from the corner of his eye. Our grins were a mile wide. As we celebrated the raptor with cookies and coffee, an elderly Basque gentleman stopped to chat. We were at least 10 km from any town or settlement and he was out briskly walking, black beret cocked over one eye. With his few English words, our basic Spanish and many smiles and gestures we learned about the grey herons that fish in the nearby river and the vultures that feed on carcasses in the fields. He wished us well and continued on his long walk to somewhere.
As we made our way north through the Hecho Valley, passing through the town of Hecho, we left open, sunny country behind. Grey rock ravines dropped to an icy mountain stream that followed along the road. The rock was dotted with a curious alpine saxifrage that looks just like a pale green sea anemone. By now the wind had picked up and a fine cold rain was sweeping down the narrow valley in soaking gusts. When we reached the dripping tunnel, the Boca del Infierno, we spaced ourselves along the ravine on each side and began a search for wallcreepers. This is popular country for camping and hill walking. Many people passed us in cars, on bicycles and on foot, always polite and sometimes curious about why we persistently scanned the high rock face across the road. Most of the hikers carried walking sticks and some of the men sang what sounded like arias in clear voices as they walked. The songs, combined with the soft 'clonk-bonk' of the large bells worn by the sheep in the area, were a hauntingly pleasant sound.
We spent forty wet, cold minutes looking for the elusive bird. Our binocular lenses were wet and the fine, drifting rain settled on our clothes. A lunch break was in order. We found a camp ground along a shallow mountain stream where we sat sheltered on some rocks among alpine Queen Ann's lace, delicate pale blue campanula, tiny pinks nodding in the wind and mauve wild geranium. The campers seemed unfazed by the rain as they picnicked outside, walked and sang. Their good-natured cheerfulness was an antidote.
Stay tuned for more birding in Spain.
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