New Bird Species Found in 2013

In a world where walking on the moon and instant messaging are taken for granted, it's surprising that new species are still being found in remote places in the world.   But that's exactly what happens every year.   This past year, at least five outstanding new bird species were discovered.    Just to give you a flavor for how very exotic these birds are, I'll name them.  There is the Cambodian Tailorbird, the Guerrero Brush Finch, the Junin Tapaculo (emphasis on the third syllable), the Rinjani Scops Owl and the Sierra Madre Ground Warbler.  Wow. 

There are still animals, plants and birds out there to be discovered.  We have been responsible for the extinction of several species: passenger pigeon and dodo come to mind, and yet still there are more to be found.   This, for me is the essence of hope. 

Of course, they all live in incredibly remote jungles.

 The Cambodian Tailorbird was undoubtedly seen or heard by some of our troops fighting long ago in Viet Nam.  This bird lives in humid lowland scrub in Phnom Penh and other sites in that floodplain area. Humid lowland scrub means temperatures close to 100 and humidity to match.  You have to be very committed to hunt down an elusive small bird in these conditions. 

The Guerrero Brush Finch lives south of us in Mexico, in the misty cloud forests of the southern Sierra Madre range in the state of Guerrero.  It has a lovely chestnut crown and black mask.  If this bird lived in the U.S, it would fall into the sparrow family.

The Junin Tapaculo is found in the Andes in Peru.  Scientists differentiate it from other very similar birds only by the notes of its song.  Its scientific name  is Scytalopus gettyae.  As often occurs, the bird was named in honor of a scientist whose hard work has merited attention and distinction.  Mary Getty is a nature conservationist and works for the National Fish and Wildlife Foundation.

The Sierra Madre Ground-Warbler is a unique little bird.  It is in a  family of ground-walking songbirds and it appears that they can barely fly.  They live in dense forest understory and feed on bugs.  They are also skilled ventriloquists~  you can never figure out where they are from their call, and they always sound far away, even if they're within a few feet. 

Lastly, the Rinjani Scops Owl is found only on one island in a series of islands in Indonesia.  Locally these dapper little owls are called burung pok, which sounds like their call.  This is the only bird native to this island.

I hope that by telling a bit about each of these birds I've made them more real.  They are all listed as endangered already.  Maybe we can learn to preserve these exotic little creatures so that future generations can travel to wonderful remote places and actually see them thrive.  

First Bird of the New Year

It was early New Year's Day morning in Guadalajara and all was quiet, finally.   Tradition calls for families to gather for all night street parties in this busy city.  Cooking starts on grills in the late afternoon of New Year's Eve as people gather with more food, music, kids and dogs.  A great time is had by all, and the best thing for visitors to do is simply enjoy the spectacle.

When peaceful morning arrived, I opened the door to the beautiful walled garden outside our room to see what birds had ventured out early, like me.

Many of us have special ways of kicking off the new year.  Resolutions, plans and wishes seem more doable with a clean slate ahead.  A tradition for many birders is to make a point of noting the first bird seen on New Year's Day.   This can be a relatively predictable  ritual if you're at home - robins, sparrows -  and an adventure if you're not.

 As I walked out into the bursting greenery, two little Inca Doves scuttled to safety through the low-growing azaleas near the fountain.  Great first bird!

Inca Doves are small tropical doves, about the size of a robin.  They are dainty, graphite-colored little birds easily found in tropical America.  A closer look reveals that each feather is softly outlined in a darker grey, giving the dove a delicate, scalloped look.  And when they fly, lovely red underwings flash in the light.

The thing about the first bird of the year is that it can help you set the tone for the coming year.  Doves are seen around the world as a symbol of peace, but they carry even deeper meanings.  Doves represent harmony and hope by being a uniting force.   Think of the soft call- cooing - of doves.  It's a calming and soothing sound.  Doves form large flocks and are comfortable living among people  all around the world.  Every  park and plaza in Mexican towns and cities has its dove contingent, industriously dot-dotting along, avoiding kids and dogs and finding good things to peck up in the grass.

So, more harmony, optimism and tolerance - some good goals for the new year.

Being at home could mean that that first bird sighted might turn out to be (heaven forbid) a starling.  Well, don't despair- take a deeper look.  Starlings are survivors.  They are bossy, fearless and strong, and will chase away predators.   Not bad attributes to have on tap.

As the new year begins to gain momentum, take a minute to consider all of those we share this earth with.  The birds and other critters have a lot to offer us, if we are willing to slow down and look a little deeper.



 

Sharing the Road with Red-Tailed Hawks on the Hunt

                                 


I’ve had to make more than the usual number of trips to Portland lately,  and I've noticed a large number of red-tailed hawks hunting the margins of the road.  Some of these raptors are residents, and some are moving through, heading farther south for the winter.  Red-tailed hawks  are very variable in coloration, running from tan to almost black.  Most commonly though, they are a rich brown and from the front, you will see a thickish dark 'necklace' on lighter breast to belly feathers.  And of course, a brick-red tail on adults.

Highway 26 has become incredibly busy as development  moves from  Beaverton, Hillsboro, North Plains and on westward.  I always watch for  the red-tailed hawks that are commonly found sitting hunkered on the big overhanging light supports along the road.  They like to hunt the wide flat fields, so start looking once the road leaves the mountains and flattens out. The birds may even clutch the power line in massive claws, teetering back and forth - not a very fierce and dignified hawk posture.  But these are excellent lookouts  for  meals.  The grassy median and the roadsides are a great place for mice and voles.  The hawks can see the slightest movement below them, even with all the wind movement from the traffic. They launch downward with great concentration and speed to grasp their prey with strong talons.  If you see this happening, watch for the next thing - keeping one eye on the road, of course.  Once the prey is secured, the hawk will spread her wings out and forward on either side of the unlucky catch.  This is called 'mantling' and from the fierce look-around by the hawk that accompanies this action, I'd say it's a serious warning for other predators to back off.

It's getting trickier for raptors to navigate Highway 26 these days.  There are more lanes, faster traffic, bigger trucks.  The hawk has to time her swoop for a meal so that she isn't falling directly into the path of a car traveling at 60-plus mph.  Sadly, some don't time it so well, but  I see very few road-killed hawks along 26.   I credit their sublime ability to move in the air, to gauge distance and speed.   More often, they're seen pulling off tasty bits of lunch as traffic roars by in both directions.

Hawks will feed just feet from the road and traffic.  I'm sure if you stopped to get out, that bird would fly with its prey, but they must not see the flow of traffic as a threat.    A female hawk will fly up and away with her captured meal to take to her nest to feed young.   This is fun to watch when a big long snake is the prey and the hawk flies, snake twisting and dangling,  over a convertible.

When you drive 26 or other roads,  be on the lookout in the distance and you may be able to enjoy seeing wild nature at work during rush hour.

It's Time to Watch for Snowies

As I looked out our windows the past few days, I wouldn't have been a bit surprised to see a snowy owl perched on a snag, gazing out with yellow cat eyes over the snowy expanse of our side yard.  This is snowy owl weather, and reports are beginning to come in that these owls from the far north are starting to drop down into 'warmer' territory.  It may be because of the pressure of too many owls (a good thing in a way) that pushes owls down to us.  It may be harsher than usual weather up north.  There are lots of theories but the important thing is to enjoy them while they're with us.

Snowies prefer open, grassy fields where they  hunt mice.  A snowy will appear as a short, squat, white shape on the edge of an open field, usually perched low.   Young birds will be mottled brownish, but still mainly white. Adults are the purist white imaginable.  They hunt by sitting motionless for hours, watching for movement in the field.  When a hapless field mouse or other prey is spotted,  in utter silence the owl will swoop out and down, taking the catch in powerful talons.

I watched a snowy owl who had been perched for some time on a low snag, motionless except for the slow blink of amber eyes.  A flock of red-necked phalaropes, small shorebirds who also winter with us, gradually drew closer and closer to the still hunter.  Finally the flock, still busily feeding, was no more than twenty feet from where the owl sat.   When he made his move, his lift-off was effortless.  Huge white wings unfolded and long feathered legs pushed him from the snag.  He angled over the now-panicked flock, talons extended, and easily grabbed an unlucky shorebird.  Almost casually he arced back to the snag, where feathers blew away in the icy breeze as he ate his catch.

Snowy owls showed up in Ocean Park last year.  One bird spent the night on the eaves of a friend's house right in town.  One snowy was seen at the Ocean Park approach to the beach.  He was quietly perched near the dunes in plain sight, but few of the people on the beach seemed to notice him.  Nature is all around us, but we often do not see the unexpected.  That's one of the lures of nature for me: to have the gift of such wildness so near us.

On another front,  it's been a busy few days feeding and watering the local bird crew.  Even the lake outlet is frozen over, so the small birds need water as well as food.   Little black-hooded juncoes, chickadees, towhees and even a few red-winged blackbirds have appeared on the deck, looking for a handout.  Shelled sunflower seed is quite popular, and a shallow plastic bowl of warm water is much appreciated.  These birds survive - or don't - without us.  Some will fall prey to the cold and stress, especially birds that were hatched this year.  They don't have all the survival skills lined up yet.  I found a beautiful female orange and brown varied thrush this morning.  She was actually still warm, but had sadly succumbed to the cold.
If throwing a handful of seed outside a few times a day can save one or two young birds, I'm all for it.  And the payback is to see them skittering along on the slippery ice,  fluffy and optimistic in the wintry sun.

Eight Reasons to Love Birds

It’s the special time of the year to be thankful.  If you read my column at all you’ll know that I have a deep love of birds.   I’ve been asked many times why that is, and oddly,  it’s hard to explain.   It’s one of those things:  if you love something, no explanation is needed; if you don’t, none will suffice.

Here are eight reasons the quickly come to mind that partially explain that love.  National Audubon recently did a “Ten Reasons to Love Birds”, but they included ideas like “money makers”, which I guess is true, but really doesn’t fit for me.   Maybe you can think of other reasons than these.  I can, but there has to be a limit, after all!

1.    Birds are optimists.   On the rainiest, darkest morning of winter I can find a noisy, busy gathering of chickadees, nuthatches, juncos and towhees around the feeders.  They’re fluffed out and waterproof, exchanging info about the night just past, easily shaking sparkles of rain from their tiny backs.  Not a sign of a down mood anywhere.

2.    Birds are dependable.   Spring migration brings winter birds back to us to sing, forage and nest.   Like the swallows of San Capistrano, many follow a schedule that will bring them back  within the same week every year.   Following the approach of Rufuous Hummingbirds on the on-line bird sites is like waiting for Santa.   First spotted on the California border, then the Willamette Valley, then around Astoria then wow- there’s a bright Rufous male at my feeder.

3.    Birds are great vocalizers.   The soft murmuring that arises from the mallard flock when I appear with the corn can in the morning is a lovely sound to start the day.  I wonder what they’re saying about me?  The absolutely mystical sound of a Swainson’s Thrush song echoing through the summer woods is thrilling.  He sings  ‘cordelia’ over and over on a rising note.   Lovely.

4.    Birds will boost your mood.  Red-breasted nuthatches hanging upside down on a pine trunk making their toy horn call brings a grin every time.  An assertive female mallard chasing off an over-attentive male, her head down and eyes narrowed is just comical.

5.    Birds are good parents.   Watch a mother woodpecker try to teach her youngster to eat from a suet feeder, patiently repeating the same action over and over.  Or a mother mallard with a brood of ten, she so carefully watches over them, counting them repeatedly and immediately herding them to safety at the first whiff of danger.

6.    Birds are the clean-up crew.   Who else is going to eat road kill?   Those young crows who wait to the very last minute to get out of the way of your car deserve a brake.   That’s dinner they’re peeling off the road, and the clean-up part is a bonus for us.

7.    Birds are efficient.   There are ducks designed to utilize food in every depth of water.  Dipping ducks, like mallards, forage on material in shallow water where they can tip up and eat away.  Other species of ducks dive somewhat deeper for the next layer, and others to even deeper.  Nothing goes to waste.  Spilled seed at the feeder disappears fast.  Skulking fox sparrows, towhees and juncos dash out from the protection of the heather and rhododendrons to score every seed.

8.    And finally, birds just are.   From what we call drab brown little sparrows to tropical resplendent quetzals, their beauty is awesome, in the truest sense of the word.  They  make their livings near us, giving us joy by letting us see them raising their families, nesting, singing, hunting and finally dying, to become once again, part of our great earth.

What’s not to love?

The Autumn Bird Crew

This mild Indian summer weather has been a gift.  Gold, red and orange leaves still flicker in the trees.   In the morning, deep mushroomy smells come from the woods and afternoons bring a rich, blackberry perfume. 

Even the moody clouds have provided an unusual Fall for us – no rain so far.

 The duck crew still loafs in the water off the yard each morning, waiting for the human to come out and toss corn.  As soon as I round the house where they can see me, a soft muttering conversation begins among them and then one by one, they burst from the water and land in the lower yard.  Some are so wild that the moment they land they take off again, rethinking their brash move.  Eventually they all arrive and dig in.

 I’ve begun to toss a handful of shelled sunflower seed onto our stone patio.   Juncos, hooded like tiny monks, towhees and two bossy Steller’s jays take turns with a very industrious Townsend’s chipmunk.   The chipmunk races over the stones, belly almost on the ground, Hoovering seed as fast as he can.  His cheek pouches look about to burst.   He’ll have an easy winter,  I think.  By the way, if you get a chance to look closely at a Steller’s jay, note the wonderful vertical blue eyebrows on the black face.  Quite stylish. 

The pugnacious Anna’s hummingbirds have relaxed a little since their competitors, the Rufous hummers, have headed south.  The male Anna’s sits on the feeder perch surveying his domain.  If he had a little comment bubble above his head it would say “Mine….all mine.” 

And the Peregrine falcons are back.  Look for sleek, dark hunters with a characteristic helmet band on the face.   We came upon one on the beach  who had just  taken down a crow and was beginning  his feast, hungrily pulling feathers away from skin.  He had neatly removed the crow’s head, which lay nearby.  He won’t leave very much behind, and whatever is left will be eaten by others: insects, other carrion eaters such as ravens, even other crows.  It’s the clean up crew and that‘s a good thing.

I’m taking in the seed feeder every night since the neighborhood bear managed to climb our holly tree, inch out on a branch that was too small and bring the entire thing down, bear and seed feeder included.  He then proceeded to bend the metal feeder into an S shape.  It was high enough that we needed a ladder to refill it.  Now it comes in at night.   When I carry it out in the early morning, chickadees sound their two-note alarm call and retreat farther into the shore pine.  I hang the feeder and as soon as I move away, the family of chestnut-backed chickadees and two red breasted nuthatches head for breakfast.  Nuthatches hunt insects on tree bark head-down, going from high to low, using their sharp bill to pry for food.  When they fly to the tube feeder, they land head-down on the mesh, take one seed and fly away.  Chickadees also take one seed and fly to another branch where they delicately hold the seed between their tiny feet while they eat it.

So even though it’s Fall and things seem quieter, there’s always something going on in the yard.   Just now the varied thrush, looking like an orange-black meadowlark, is skulking just at the edge of the heather.  His low, haunting whistle echoes through the shadowy woods.

It's that wonderful, turning-in time of year when there is a soft mist over the water, all the reeds turn golden and the winter birds are returning.  Those harvest moons, huge and pale gold, are sailing west over the ocean.  Magical.  There is something quite reassuring about the predictable, lovely changes of the seasons.  Life will throw us curve balls, but for me,  if the varied thrush returns and sings deep in the woods, all will be well.

Some Thoughts on the Federal Duck Stamp Program

On misty fall mornings in marshes and lakes across the country, the voices of geese and ducks can be heard calling and echoing as they pass above in ragged vees or from flocks gathered on still, mirrored water.   It’s a Norman Rockwell picture of autumn in America. 

There was a time when these ponds and ducks and geese were in real danger of disappearing.  Their numbers had become dangerously low and the potholes were being filled in to provide more arable land.   This was during the Great Depression and people were killing wildfowl and other animals simply to feed their families.  It was a hardscrabble time. 

Wildfowl conservation seemed like a frivolous thing to talk about in those dark days, but out of those days came the  Federal Duck Stamp Program.   The Duck Stamp Program was nicknamed the “little program that could”, and since its inception in 1934, has generated more than $750 million dollars.  Ninety-eight cents of each of those dollars has been used to help purchase or lease 5.3 million acres of waterfowl habitat in the U. S., much of which is now protected within the National Wildlife Refuge System.

So, what is a duck stamp and where do they come from?  The Program was started by President Roosevelt, and to this day, all hunters must buy a duck stamp every year in order to hunt wildfowl.  In order to make it interesting, the Federal Government provides a juried art event to choose the stamp every year, and it’s a very prestigious win for wildlife artists.  This year there were over 200 entries.  The artists are given a limited choice of wildfowl types to paint.  This year’s winner shows a male and female canvasback.   There is also a Junior Duck Stamp Contest and you see some of the incredible entries now at the Ocean Park Library.

Ducks Unlimited, a hunters’ organization, has been instrumental in supporting the Program. But, you say, hunters kill ducks, right?   Yes, but.   Here is a comparison of ways birds are lost.   

 Annual waterfowl hunts account for 15 million bird kills a year.

 Window crashes, cat kills, high tension wires, cars and communication towers account for over five times that many kills a year!  These stats were compiled by David Allen Sibley in 2003.  Sibley is a birder and conservationist.

Plus, when a piece of land is set aside by the Duck Stamp Program, not only the wildfowl are protected.  Frogs, newts, shorebirds, coyotes, bats, whatever other critters use that area are also protected from habitat loss.  

Hunter numbers across the U. S. are dwindling, and the environmental community has been slow to recognize the value of the Duck Stamp Program.   Birders don’t have to buy a stamp to go out in the field, and some argue that birding is ‘non-extractive’.   We don’t take home a brace of birds, but there is our vehicle impact, trail maintenance and so on.  

I say, buy a stamp if you care about the birds.  If you shoot them or watch them, we’re all in this together.  If we care about habitat and wildlife, the stamp is a good thing.  And a current stamp will get you free admission to any wildlife refuge open to the public.  (When they re-open, that is.)

You can purchase this small piece of art at your local post office, local refuge or online.  There is an excellent small book  about the Duck Stamp Program called  “The Wild Duck Chase”  by Martin J. Smith.  Our library system has it.

So the next time to look up to admire a noisy flock of geese or ducks, know that you can help to support them.