Through field and forest, glade and glen
through marshy swamp, bog and fen
We scour the lands, near and far
by bike, boat, train, plain or car
On Farmer Joe's field and country club turf
on a beach, through sand and surf
rip-raging through the countryside
by ABA rules, we do not abide
Over mountain tall, through valley deep
deep in our soul, a flame we keep
Outcasts, nerds, vagabonds, freaks
It is our winged friends whom we seek
Without regard to what they say
our way of life is here to stay
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Texas
One am. Weel in the left hand, half liter of green energon juice in the right. 100 miles to Cincinati. Radiohead, open road.
Pure Rage.
It all began in December. News arrived that Nicole, Dominic and Francois were brewing up an adventure. To the Texas coast? Francois has a car! Whooping cranes, a genius idea. But why not the Rio Grande Valley?
And so it began. Before we knew it, we were sleeping in a sub-par motel somewhere in Kentucky. Next thing, we arrived at some state park in Louisiana.
THE CAMPGROUND OF DEATH
Little were me and Francois prepared for a test of survival. This is a vacation, and we're going camping. Hey, its cheap (like, 0 - 20 $ depending on how ethical you are). Turned out there was a gate so we were forced to camp out on the lawn. Almost all the campgrounds down there lock their gates at night (so don't be on the verge of giving birth at any state park - you'll be trapped!!). Anyways, the temperatures plummeted to sub-zero levels. Ill-equiped with shitty sleeping bags, but wearing all of our clothes, Francois and I fought off the hypothermia through the night whilst Nicole and Dominic sweated in their 2 hundred and something dollar antarctica bags. If it had not been for a hearty mexican meal earlier that day, I might not be writing this story right now.
BATTLE OF THE BIRDERS
Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge was our first stop. But this is not just a mere "birding spot". It is a massive refuge. First conflict of the trip: how do you decide where to stop on a road? With Neil, we make a casual concensus based on our instincs (like a spidey sense)and that system works. With 4 quite different people the decision can be rather uncontrolable. However, before long we stopped and found some long-billed curlews in a field. Lifers for Dom and Nicole. Francois is mildly impressed by their humourously long bills. I continue scanning the field. There, 2 crested caracaras! LIFER! I precipitate over the ditch, barbed wire and various-aged cow patties to secure a worthy view of my life-caracaras, Francois following. A great start to the birding trip!... Not quite. Nicole was impatient to get into the refuge. My view: if there are good birds, watch them, THEN move on. Francois view: Caracaras are cool. Dom's view: dang.
These were my options:
1. Dart for my life caracara views, and ignore Nicole, then ask for forgiveness afterwards
2. Listen to Nicole's wish and sacrifice my life views, to preserve the peace.
However, the line needed to be crossed at some point. I chose option 1.
Well unfortunately, there also happened to be a number of Sprague's pipits calling in the field as well, but all at a distance. I decided not to push my luck.
THE FLIGHT OF THE KING
Later, we were driving through the refuge, driving by many good birds along the way, when I suddenly heard a loud and angry rail screaming. Stop! We got out and acessed the situation. It was right at the edge of the marsh, except between us and it lied a large canal. Hmmm. I had no other idea so I chucked a fistfull of gravel in its general direction. PING! per chance there was a beer bottle which one pebble struck, startling a the huge rail into the air. As I stared in astonishment at this majestic rail, I exclaimed "Oh dang, I don't know how to tell them apart!!!" I am refering to the very similar King Rail and Clapper Rail. Luckily, I noticed that it had Kingly bold rufous barring on the flanks, making it a King Rail.
We camped on a dirt pulloff in the middle of a vast grassy marshland. At dawn, rails were my quest, but I could not muster my compnions to join me so it was a solo one. I learned very quickly that flushing rails is nearly impossible alone, and without noise-making equipment, reglardless of how many enchiladas I had recently eaten. However, I managed nonetheless to coax a stunning Clapper Rail to take flight. The yellow rail does not submit to such pathetic efforts.
BIRDING ON THE EDGE
Traveling with friends with different levels of patience can be chalenging. A golden path of sparrows can seem boring to some, and in those cases one must decide where to push the boundaries. Although we just drove hundreds of miles to this world-class refuge for the purpose of viewing wildlife, LeConte's and Nelson's sharp-tailed sparrows were worth passing up in order to let Nicole and Francois get on with the rest of the day. I consider it like holding onto my tokens for the next ride.
THE TOKENS PAY OFF
The habit of rushing away from good spots turned out to be fortuitous for Dominic and I as we were about to experience the best observation in our naturalist careers. Since we had not taken the time to see the Sprague's pipits the day before, we returned to the exact field in order to search for them, since we had alot of spare time from leaving the refuge quickly. Dominic and I advanced into the field with scope in hand and optimism in mind. Perhaps 10 minutes had passed when we saw two Sprague's Pipits land. Good looks were had.
Almost ready to turn back, I spotted a Short-eared owl fly over the field and land. "Strange, in the middle of the day" I thought. I decided to walk closer and try to locate its roost with the scope. As I panned the area of short grass, a luxurious beast trotted into the view. Its pelage was rich rufous with white and black tones, its stride noble. A red wolf. This species is said to be extinct in the wild. Update: the biologist I emailed said it was a coyote.
WHAT NOT TO SAY TO A CUSTOM'S AGENT, SECURITY GUARD, FERRY CLERK, WHATEVER
We arrived at the Galveston ferry docks awating boarding.
Ferry security agent: "Where are y'all from?
- Ottawa.
- Where's that?
- Its the capital of our nation, CA-NA-DA. "
Francois: "[by the way] we have two one-litre liquid propane canisters in the car.
- sorry, you're only allowed to board the ferry if they're attached to a cooking device."
- Ok, but we only brough one stove. We can't attach both at the same time.
- Sir, you'll have to properly dispose of one of those cans if you want to board the ferry."
- Ok, where is there a facility that accepts propane canisters?
- There is none.
- Ok, then you'll have to confiscate one from us then.
- We're not allowed to confiscate items."
I'm not even going to go further.
THE FRUGAL BIRDER AND THE PARK WARDEN
After successfully navigating through the Americans, we made it to a lovely campground called Galveston State Park or something like that. The park fee was one of those complicated formulas where it says "pay this fee plus this much extra for how many friends you're bringing, plus this much extra for how many of them are over 8 years old, plus this much extra for how many extra tents you have, plus this much extra for how many shits you're planning to take."
Well screw that then.
Well, the park warden ended up doing his rounds so Nicole payed the fee, gracefully omitting some of our group specifications. However, the true weaselry was up to me on the following night. It was late and I was using the internet next to the office building to send some emails and do a little research. The others were sound asleep. We had decided to camp in a site just outside the park gate in case they decided to shut it on us in the middle of the night, preventing us from leaving to go to the boat tour we'd scheduled the morning. After I'd finished, I leisurely walked back to the campsite, when a truck pulled up beside me, and what appeared to be a warden greeted me:
"Can I help you?
- Um, nope, just going for a walk.
- Can I help you with anything?
- Nope, don't think so, just going for a walk.
- Are you camping here?
- Yup.
- Where's your campsite?
- Over there (large waving motions to a distant place).
- Which site are you staying at?
- Oh I don't know, my friend did the registration.
- What's the site number?
- I never checked, she did all the registration stuff."
Dang, this is trouble. How do I get out of this one? What would mom do? I know! Engage him in a totally off-topic chat!
"Hey do you know much about birds? I'm looking for a certain night bird called a Pauraque, you can find them along roads by shining light in their eyes.
- mmm no I'm not much of a bird guy myself.
- I heard there was some kind of presentation here tomorrow?
- Oh yea! Theres a slide presentation here tomorrow night, so-and-so's coming in, he's an expert birder, he'll be able to tell you where to find those birds you're looking for.
- Great! I think I'll check it out then, thanks!
- Alright you have a good night."
BHAHAHAHAHA that was so easy.
THE CRANE BOAT AND THE KAYAK PIMP
Among the gang as a whole, the highlight was probalby the pelagic. Well, it was like a pelagic but without all the shearwaters and puke. We joined a guided tour out to the shores of Aransas bay, where the truly wild whooping cranes roam.
Our leader was an interesting fellow:
"Y'all like kayaking? Well I'm the kayak pimp!"
He seemed like a pretty normal guy other than that one strange quote.
We saw possibly the biggest flock of ducks we'd ever seen:
And got some great looks at white-tailed hawks:
But our true quarry could not compare:
(look at how puny and pathetic the great blue heron is compared to these white gods)
We watched as they destroyed many blue crabs. According to the guy the blue crab is the main food of the whooping cranes*, which number less than 300 in their global population. The crab population depends on how much freshwater flows into the bay. Strangely, accoarding to our guide there is no current legislation regulating how much freshwater gets taken by people from the rivers.
And as usual, some old lady goes "hey, whats this brown bird, I think I've got a bittern..." And its a Clapper Rail.
*For the record, we did find two distant cranes on our own the day before (if you think taking the boat is the lazy way of seeing them for old rich people).
Next we were headed for Laguna Atacosta Wildlife Refuge.
THE LESSON OF THE ROBIN
In the late afternoon we arrived at the parking lot of the Laguna Atacosta visitors' center. We hoped to use the last few minutes of the day to locate the Rufous-backed Robin that been reported to be coming to a water fountain there. The Rufous-backed is a denizen of Mexican mountain forest, rarely seen in the U.S. Nicole and Dom went for the visitors' center while I walked the trail. I quickly located the Robin and got ridiculous views as it hopped not 3 meters from my feet as I struggled to keep one of my last few pairs of underwear clean. I spotted Dom through some bushes and urgently yet subtly waved him over, as this robin was shy. I was affraid that Dom and Nicole would scare it however, and as they came bumbling around the bent sure enough it took flight. Dom didn't get to see it. Then they got into a fight. I won't get into the details here, but I learned a lesson. Dom didn't try and see the robin, but instead stayed with Nicole and tried to resolve their conflict until they had made peace. Personally at the time, I would have seen the robin, then patched things up afterwards. Perhaps this is where Dominic and I were different. He showed that he was putting his relationship before one of the rarest birds he would have ever seen in his life. In a sort of way, it symbolized my situation with Chantal. I was running off and pursuing this stuff, but neglecting what was most important. In any case here's a really unworthy picture of the robin:
"HE WHO TENDS THE FIG TREE WILL EAT ITS FRUIT..."(Proverbs 27:18)
Before Francois knew it the trip had turned into a quest for a trifecta of rarities: the Rufous-backed Robin (a semi-success), and our next targets: the white-throated thrush and the black-vented oriole (other Mexican vagrants). It was at Estero Llano Grande State Park that for the former we would search. Like the Rufous-backed Robin, it had been seen there for some time, except this bird split time between visiting a water puddle and a large majestic fig tree. To make the story brief, we went in the afternoon and left the puddle 10 minutes before it showed up. But we did not give up. A plan needed to be formulated. A fresh start in the morning. Francois, not being a bird freak, does not particularly enjoy getting up early every day to look at birds. So what we did was, essencially: leave him at the hotel the next morning to go get the thrush! (We agreed to pick him up at check out time). Our plan was this: Me and Dom split half our time between the water hole and the big fig tree. I glued myself to the bench. It was agonizing. Here is a riddle:
What is plain, and really anoying? Answer: Plain Chacalacas.
Dom tended the fig tree, me the pool. Meanwhile, Nicole went rogue, rounding up many great Texas specialities.
As I descended into the depths of boredom and just about wanted to throw several large stones at the Chachalacas, Nicole came running over: "WE'VE GOT THE THRUSH!" I ran like Donovan Baley on steroids and as I gasped for breath there it was, in all its muffin glory. A handsome bird with a white throat with chocolate syrup streaks, pecan-pie-brown back with an almond-cake belly and a spash of whipped cream on the breast. Delicious.
We didn't get a photo but heres a picture on google of one:
http://scienceblogs.com/grrlscientist/2009/01/todays_mystery_bird_for_you_to_123.php
These are some of the things Nicole found us while we were obsessing over the white-throated thrush:
Fulvous Whistling Ducks:
Common Pauraque:
DOM-ISMS:
On viewing laughing gulls: "It just scatched its chin in the air!!"
On wading birds: "Look, white ibis...snowy egret...great egret"
Tim: "That sure evolved quickly"
On Mexican cuisine and beer: "I usually don't fart at all!"
"This is like, how Corona should taste."
On birds: "There are lots of jaegers in the gulf today."
On downtown Guelph: Francois: "Its pretty quiet downtown." Dom: "Thats cause its like 6:30 on a whatever day it is."
FRANCOIS-ISMS:
In the Mexican restaurant on the first day:
Tim: "Let's state our trip objectives."
Dom: "FIND YELLOW RAILS."
Tim: "YES!"
Francois: "I don't even know what a yellow rail is."
Tim: "All the birds we almost never see, are so common here!" Francois:"Its like the safari zone in pokemon."
Nicole: "What were peoples' highlights today?" Francois:"The dead baby dolphin."
THE TRAILER PARK OF DESTINY
The black-vented oriole. A bird that makes all other birds in Texas look like little winged terds. But in order to enter its lair, we needed to venture behind enemy lines. Into a trailer park, that is. As we passed through the ominous gate, we neared the office. "All birders must register at the office" said a sign. Ok, lets go register, but suddenly, wait. Down the road. Hold on, what are those people with binoculars looking at? Holy sriracha sauce, its the oriole!
But it was a mere speck in our binoculars. We began a frantic sprint. "HOLD ON" said a stern commanding woman's voice, freezing us in our tracks. "You need to register.
- yup, don't worry, we're gonna register.
- oh, I WILL WORRY, she replied."
It was the trailer park Manager.
This is not good. But I guess we had no choice. We ran into the office, and waited restlesly for the manager to come sign us in. A framed print of the black-vented one adorned her desk. Comooooon...OK! We're good to go! Buuut, the oriole is gone. hummm. Well, it turns out that people aren't allowed to stand in that spot anyway, because it blocks traffic for the residents. But the manager assured us that there is this other spot which is even better. Well, I guess we had to take her word for it. We followed a trail of cones (yes, to herd the birders!) to a bunch of benches overlooking some beautiful red-flowered coral-bean trees. And the wait began.
"I can't take this! I have to go back to the other spot, just to check it quickly." I said. So I began jogging over, when Francois ran up behind me: "Tim, the oriole is here!" I doubled back, sprinted toward the buiding it was on the other side of, slipped on some mud, flew through the air, got up, gingerly tip-toed around the building, and beheld a most beautiful bird sipping nectar from the red flowers.
To sweeten the victory, the manager kicked out the other birders.
WHEN TO SPLIT UP AND WHEN NOT TO SPLIT UP?
Splitting up can be a good stategy when finding birds, but it can also bite you in the ass. In this case, I staked out the feeders for the Clay-colored thrush, whilst Nicole and Dom ventured down the road. When I joined back up with them (empty handed), they had just seen a Hook-billed Kite, rarest of birds, flush of a snag. Then of course, as we returned to the feeder I'd just spent a couple hours at, there was the clay-colored thrush. Look at the mocking expression on its face.
I guess this is when you say "Now I've got a reason to come back."
A TASTE OF MEXICAN CULTURE
We were in a Mexican Cigar and Liquor shop where we were greeted by a very friendly vendor named Joaquin. "Are you going to mexico? he asked.
- No, I replied, well I was there today."
"He swam, said Nicole.
- Well, amigo, they you and I have something in common!"
He assured us he was joking. In any case, it was something I had to try before leaving Texas.
FRANCOIS' TIME
Doing non-birdy stuff is fun and all, but it does not involve high stakes. However, once the super-birds have been conquered, it is a perfect time to go about more leisurely activities that normal people do. In this case, Francois took us to the Texas State Aquarium, where we reveled in invertebrates and watched one very playfull river otter. Dominic expressed his true utmost dream: "I want it to slide down the slide so bad!!"
Next we visited New Orleans. Here's us walking down the famous Bourbon Street, although not at the most exciting time of day but lots of fun nonetheless.
Before I knew it I was cruising weel in the left hand, half liter of green energon juice in the right. Radiohead, open road, absorbing the aura of 3 great companions after a long adventure (Francois is taking the picture).
An 8-month session of rage is now over. If you are one of the couple of people who've been following this blog, I thank you and I hope you have enjoyed our stories. What has been learned from all this? I have reforged friendships with people with whom I am truly akin. Together we have gone to some of North America's greatest places to see some of the most amazing sights in the world. But in the midst of these adventures I forgot what was truly most important to me, something that does not require epic quests to conquer. On the day I returned, Chantal dumped me on my birthday and our 3 year anniversary.
Pure Rage.
It all began in December. News arrived that Nicole, Dominic and Francois were brewing up an adventure. To the Texas coast? Francois has a car! Whooping cranes, a genius idea. But why not the Rio Grande Valley?
And so it began. Before we knew it, we were sleeping in a sub-par motel somewhere in Kentucky. Next thing, we arrived at some state park in Louisiana.
THE CAMPGROUND OF DEATH
Little were me and Francois prepared for a test of survival. This is a vacation, and we're going camping. Hey, its cheap (like, 0 - 20 $ depending on how ethical you are). Turned out there was a gate so we were forced to camp out on the lawn. Almost all the campgrounds down there lock their gates at night (so don't be on the verge of giving birth at any state park - you'll be trapped!!). Anyways, the temperatures plummeted to sub-zero levels. Ill-equiped with shitty sleeping bags, but wearing all of our clothes, Francois and I fought off the hypothermia through the night whilst Nicole and Dominic sweated in their 2 hundred and something dollar antarctica bags. If it had not been for a hearty mexican meal earlier that day, I might not be writing this story right now.
BATTLE OF THE BIRDERS
Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge was our first stop. But this is not just a mere "birding spot". It is a massive refuge. First conflict of the trip: how do you decide where to stop on a road? With Neil, we make a casual concensus based on our instincs (like a spidey sense)and that system works. With 4 quite different people the decision can be rather uncontrolable. However, before long we stopped and found some long-billed curlews in a field. Lifers for Dom and Nicole. Francois is mildly impressed by their humourously long bills. I continue scanning the field. There, 2 crested caracaras! LIFER! I precipitate over the ditch, barbed wire and various-aged cow patties to secure a worthy view of my life-caracaras, Francois following. A great start to the birding trip!... Not quite. Nicole was impatient to get into the refuge. My view: if there are good birds, watch them, THEN move on. Francois view: Caracaras are cool. Dom's view: dang.
These were my options:
1. Dart for my life caracara views, and ignore Nicole, then ask for forgiveness afterwards
2. Listen to Nicole's wish and sacrifice my life views, to preserve the peace.
However, the line needed to be crossed at some point. I chose option 1.
Well unfortunately, there also happened to be a number of Sprague's pipits calling in the field as well, but all at a distance. I decided not to push my luck.
THE FLIGHT OF THE KING
Later, we were driving through the refuge, driving by many good birds along the way, when I suddenly heard a loud and angry rail screaming. Stop! We got out and acessed the situation. It was right at the edge of the marsh, except between us and it lied a large canal. Hmmm. I had no other idea so I chucked a fistfull of gravel in its general direction. PING! per chance there was a beer bottle which one pebble struck, startling a the huge rail into the air. As I stared in astonishment at this majestic rail, I exclaimed "Oh dang, I don't know how to tell them apart!!!" I am refering to the very similar King Rail and Clapper Rail. Luckily, I noticed that it had Kingly bold rufous barring on the flanks, making it a King Rail.
We camped on a dirt pulloff in the middle of a vast grassy marshland. At dawn, rails were my quest, but I could not muster my compnions to join me so it was a solo one. I learned very quickly that flushing rails is nearly impossible alone, and without noise-making equipment, reglardless of how many enchiladas I had recently eaten. However, I managed nonetheless to coax a stunning Clapper Rail to take flight. The yellow rail does not submit to such pathetic efforts.
BIRDING ON THE EDGE
Traveling with friends with different levels of patience can be chalenging. A golden path of sparrows can seem boring to some, and in those cases one must decide where to push the boundaries. Although we just drove hundreds of miles to this world-class refuge for the purpose of viewing wildlife, LeConte's and Nelson's sharp-tailed sparrows were worth passing up in order to let Nicole and Francois get on with the rest of the day. I consider it like holding onto my tokens for the next ride.
THE TOKENS PAY OFF
The habit of rushing away from good spots turned out to be fortuitous for Dominic and I as we were about to experience the best observation in our naturalist careers. Since we had not taken the time to see the Sprague's pipits the day before, we returned to the exact field in order to search for them, since we had alot of spare time from leaving the refuge quickly. Dominic and I advanced into the field with scope in hand and optimism in mind. Perhaps 10 minutes had passed when we saw two Sprague's Pipits land. Good looks were had.
Almost ready to turn back, I spotted a Short-eared owl fly over the field and land. "Strange, in the middle of the day" I thought. I decided to walk closer and try to locate its roost with the scope. As I panned the area of short grass, a luxurious beast trotted into the view. Its pelage was rich rufous with white and black tones, its stride noble. A red wolf. This species is said to be extinct in the wild. Update: the biologist I emailed said it was a coyote.
WHAT NOT TO SAY TO A CUSTOM'S AGENT, SECURITY GUARD, FERRY CLERK, WHATEVER
We arrived at the Galveston ferry docks awating boarding.
Ferry security agent: "Where are y'all from?
- Ottawa.
- Where's that?
- Its the capital of our nation, CA-NA-DA. "
Francois: "[by the way] we have two one-litre liquid propane canisters in the car.
- sorry, you're only allowed to board the ferry if they're attached to a cooking device."
- Ok, but we only brough one stove. We can't attach both at the same time.
- Sir, you'll have to properly dispose of one of those cans if you want to board the ferry."
- Ok, where is there a facility that accepts propane canisters?
- There is none.
- Ok, then you'll have to confiscate one from us then.
- We're not allowed to confiscate items."
I'm not even going to go further.
THE FRUGAL BIRDER AND THE PARK WARDEN
After successfully navigating through the Americans, we made it to a lovely campground called Galveston State Park or something like that. The park fee was one of those complicated formulas where it says "pay this fee plus this much extra for how many friends you're bringing, plus this much extra for how many of them are over 8 years old, plus this much extra for how many extra tents you have, plus this much extra for how many shits you're planning to take."
Well screw that then.
Well, the park warden ended up doing his rounds so Nicole payed the fee, gracefully omitting some of our group specifications. However, the true weaselry was up to me on the following night. It was late and I was using the internet next to the office building to send some emails and do a little research. The others were sound asleep. We had decided to camp in a site just outside the park gate in case they decided to shut it on us in the middle of the night, preventing us from leaving to go to the boat tour we'd scheduled the morning. After I'd finished, I leisurely walked back to the campsite, when a truck pulled up beside me, and what appeared to be a warden greeted me:
"Can I help you?
- Um, nope, just going for a walk.
- Can I help you with anything?
- Nope, don't think so, just going for a walk.
- Are you camping here?
- Yup.
- Where's your campsite?
- Over there (large waving motions to a distant place).
- Which site are you staying at?
- Oh I don't know, my friend did the registration.
- What's the site number?
- I never checked, she did all the registration stuff."
Dang, this is trouble. How do I get out of this one? What would mom do? I know! Engage him in a totally off-topic chat!
"Hey do you know much about birds? I'm looking for a certain night bird called a Pauraque, you can find them along roads by shining light in their eyes.
- mmm no I'm not much of a bird guy myself.
- I heard there was some kind of presentation here tomorrow?
- Oh yea! Theres a slide presentation here tomorrow night, so-and-so's coming in, he's an expert birder, he'll be able to tell you where to find those birds you're looking for.
- Great! I think I'll check it out then, thanks!
- Alright you have a good night."
BHAHAHAHAHA that was so easy.
THE CRANE BOAT AND THE KAYAK PIMP
Among the gang as a whole, the highlight was probalby the pelagic. Well, it was like a pelagic but without all the shearwaters and puke. We joined a guided tour out to the shores of Aransas bay, where the truly wild whooping cranes roam.
Our leader was an interesting fellow:
"Y'all like kayaking? Well I'm the kayak pimp!"
He seemed like a pretty normal guy other than that one strange quote.
We saw possibly the biggest flock of ducks we'd ever seen:
And got some great looks at white-tailed hawks:
But our true quarry could not compare:
(look at how puny and pathetic the great blue heron is compared to these white gods)
We watched as they destroyed many blue crabs. According to the guy the blue crab is the main food of the whooping cranes*, which number less than 300 in their global population. The crab population depends on how much freshwater flows into the bay. Strangely, accoarding to our guide there is no current legislation regulating how much freshwater gets taken by people from the rivers.
And as usual, some old lady goes "hey, whats this brown bird, I think I've got a bittern..." And its a Clapper Rail.
*For the record, we did find two distant cranes on our own the day before (if you think taking the boat is the lazy way of seeing them for old rich people).
Next we were headed for Laguna Atacosta Wildlife Refuge.
THE LESSON OF THE ROBIN
In the late afternoon we arrived at the parking lot of the Laguna Atacosta visitors' center. We hoped to use the last few minutes of the day to locate the Rufous-backed Robin that been reported to be coming to a water fountain there. The Rufous-backed is a denizen of Mexican mountain forest, rarely seen in the U.S. Nicole and Dom went for the visitors' center while I walked the trail. I quickly located the Robin and got ridiculous views as it hopped not 3 meters from my feet as I struggled to keep one of my last few pairs of underwear clean. I spotted Dom through some bushes and urgently yet subtly waved him over, as this robin was shy. I was affraid that Dom and Nicole would scare it however, and as they came bumbling around the bent sure enough it took flight. Dom didn't get to see it. Then they got into a fight. I won't get into the details here, but I learned a lesson. Dom didn't try and see the robin, but instead stayed with Nicole and tried to resolve their conflict until they had made peace. Personally at the time, I would have seen the robin, then patched things up afterwards. Perhaps this is where Dominic and I were different. He showed that he was putting his relationship before one of the rarest birds he would have ever seen in his life. In a sort of way, it symbolized my situation with Chantal. I was running off and pursuing this stuff, but neglecting what was most important. In any case here's a really unworthy picture of the robin:
"HE WHO TENDS THE FIG TREE WILL EAT ITS FRUIT..."(Proverbs 27:18)
Before Francois knew it the trip had turned into a quest for a trifecta of rarities: the Rufous-backed Robin (a semi-success), and our next targets: the white-throated thrush and the black-vented oriole (other Mexican vagrants). It was at Estero Llano Grande State Park that for the former we would search. Like the Rufous-backed Robin, it had been seen there for some time, except this bird split time between visiting a water puddle and a large majestic fig tree. To make the story brief, we went in the afternoon and left the puddle 10 minutes before it showed up. But we did not give up. A plan needed to be formulated. A fresh start in the morning. Francois, not being a bird freak, does not particularly enjoy getting up early every day to look at birds. So what we did was, essencially: leave him at the hotel the next morning to go get the thrush! (We agreed to pick him up at check out time). Our plan was this: Me and Dom split half our time between the water hole and the big fig tree. I glued myself to the bench. It was agonizing. Here is a riddle:
What is plain, and really anoying? Answer: Plain Chacalacas.
Dom tended the fig tree, me the pool. Meanwhile, Nicole went rogue, rounding up many great Texas specialities.
As I descended into the depths of boredom and just about wanted to throw several large stones at the Chachalacas, Nicole came running over: "WE'VE GOT THE THRUSH!" I ran like Donovan Baley on steroids and as I gasped for breath there it was, in all its muffin glory. A handsome bird with a white throat with chocolate syrup streaks, pecan-pie-brown back with an almond-cake belly and a spash of whipped cream on the breast. Delicious.
We didn't get a photo but heres a picture on google of one:
http://scienceblogs.com/grrlscientist/2009/01/todays_mystery_bird_for_you_to_123.php
These are some of the things Nicole found us while we were obsessing over the white-throated thrush:
Fulvous Whistling Ducks:
Common Pauraque:
DOM-ISMS:
On viewing laughing gulls: "It just scatched its chin in the air!!"
On wading birds: "Look, white ibis...snowy egret...great egret"
Tim: "That sure evolved quickly"
On Mexican cuisine and beer: "I usually don't fart at all!"
"This is like, how Corona should taste."
On birds: "There are lots of jaegers in the gulf today."
On downtown Guelph: Francois: "Its pretty quiet downtown." Dom: "Thats cause its like 6:30 on a whatever day it is."
FRANCOIS-ISMS:
In the Mexican restaurant on the first day:
Tim: "Let's state our trip objectives."
Dom: "FIND YELLOW RAILS."
Tim: "YES!"
Francois: "I don't even know what a yellow rail is."
Tim: "All the birds we almost never see, are so common here!" Francois:"Its like the safari zone in pokemon."
Nicole: "What were peoples' highlights today?" Francois:"The dead baby dolphin."
THE TRAILER PARK OF DESTINY
The black-vented oriole. A bird that makes all other birds in Texas look like little winged terds. But in order to enter its lair, we needed to venture behind enemy lines. Into a trailer park, that is. As we passed through the ominous gate, we neared the office. "All birders must register at the office" said a sign. Ok, lets go register, but suddenly, wait. Down the road. Hold on, what are those people with binoculars looking at? Holy sriracha sauce, its the oriole!
But it was a mere speck in our binoculars. We began a frantic sprint. "HOLD ON" said a stern commanding woman's voice, freezing us in our tracks. "You need to register.
- yup, don't worry, we're gonna register.
- oh, I WILL WORRY, she replied."
It was the trailer park Manager.
This is not good. But I guess we had no choice. We ran into the office, and waited restlesly for the manager to come sign us in. A framed print of the black-vented one adorned her desk. Comooooon...OK! We're good to go! Buuut, the oriole is gone. hummm. Well, it turns out that people aren't allowed to stand in that spot anyway, because it blocks traffic for the residents. But the manager assured us that there is this other spot which is even better. Well, I guess we had to take her word for it. We followed a trail of cones (yes, to herd the birders!) to a bunch of benches overlooking some beautiful red-flowered coral-bean trees. And the wait began.
"I can't take this! I have to go back to the other spot, just to check it quickly." I said. So I began jogging over, when Francois ran up behind me: "Tim, the oriole is here!" I doubled back, sprinted toward the buiding it was on the other side of, slipped on some mud, flew through the air, got up, gingerly tip-toed around the building, and beheld a most beautiful bird sipping nectar from the red flowers.
To sweeten the victory, the manager kicked out the other birders.
WHEN TO SPLIT UP AND WHEN NOT TO SPLIT UP?
Splitting up can be a good stategy when finding birds, but it can also bite you in the ass. In this case, I staked out the feeders for the Clay-colored thrush, whilst Nicole and Dom ventured down the road. When I joined back up with them (empty handed), they had just seen a Hook-billed Kite, rarest of birds, flush of a snag. Then of course, as we returned to the feeder I'd just spent a couple hours at, there was the clay-colored thrush. Look at the mocking expression on its face.
I guess this is when you say "Now I've got a reason to come back."
A TASTE OF MEXICAN CULTURE
We were in a Mexican Cigar and Liquor shop where we were greeted by a very friendly vendor named Joaquin. "Are you going to mexico? he asked.
- No, I replied, well I was there today."
"He swam, said Nicole.
- Well, amigo, they you and I have something in common!"
He assured us he was joking. In any case, it was something I had to try before leaving Texas.
FRANCOIS' TIME
Doing non-birdy stuff is fun and all, but it does not involve high stakes. However, once the super-birds have been conquered, it is a perfect time to go about more leisurely activities that normal people do. In this case, Francois took us to the Texas State Aquarium, where we reveled in invertebrates and watched one very playfull river otter. Dominic expressed his true utmost dream: "I want it to slide down the slide so bad!!"
Next we visited New Orleans. Here's us walking down the famous Bourbon Street, although not at the most exciting time of day but lots of fun nonetheless.
Before I knew it I was cruising weel in the left hand, half liter of green energon juice in the right. Radiohead, open road, absorbing the aura of 3 great companions after a long adventure (Francois is taking the picture).
An 8-month session of rage is now over. If you are one of the couple of people who've been following this blog, I thank you and I hope you have enjoyed our stories. What has been learned from all this? I have reforged friendships with people with whom I am truly akin. Together we have gone to some of North America's greatest places to see some of the most amazing sights in the world. But in the midst of these adventures I forgot what was truly most important to me, something that does not require epic quests to conquer. On the day I returned, Chantal dumped me on my birthday and our 3 year anniversary.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
The dark passenger
It has been already five months since the black swifts cast their dark magic upon me. For three years, I successfully kept the passenger at bay, enjoying the many aspects of life at college. I even began to court a young woman. Things were going well. Then, there were the black swifts. Spawned in moss covered fortresses of water and rock, these witches are deployed for one purpose: to intoxicate helpless birders with their black spells. Relationships are damaged, funds drained, and friends begin to think you’re a sociopath.
In the words of Neil, “we’re a different subspecies, with distinctly different vocalizations.” When we’re dealing with different vocalizations, a split is always pending. How do we reconcile our dark passenger? What is birding? Just an accumulation of experiences? Is life meaningless?
But birding is the only way we know how to live.
For that reason, all we can do is bird on.
In the words of Neil, “we’re a different subspecies, with distinctly different vocalizations.” When we’re dealing with different vocalizations, a split is always pending. How do we reconcile our dark passenger? What is birding? Just an accumulation of experiences? Is life meaningless?
But birding is the only way we know how to live.
For that reason, all we can do is bird on.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
A tale of Pineapples, F-18's, Steve Howell, 36 baird's beaked whales, the immensly deadly rattle-less rattlesnake, and a whale with diharrea, Part2
TALE OF THE SALTON SEA
We coasted in to the harbour on a cool and fresh 6:30 am. The violet green swallow that landed on the boat the night before, over 100 miles from shore, was gone. We would enjoy this cool breeze while we could, because it was about to get hot. Very hot. We were headed for the Salton Sea. The Salton Sea is an inland body of very salty water near the border of Mexico. It is a place of magical birding. It is also a place where Satan goes on vacation. There are two reactions when one first visits this place. First, "WOW THERE ARE SO MANY BIRDS." Then, immediately upon stepping out of the car, "OH MY GOD, MY NIPPLES ARE GOING TO FRY OFF."
It was 111 degrees with 67% humidity. They say the open ocean is the final frontier of birding, but I say it is the Salton Sea. Could we survive the whole day?
REVENGE OF THE PINEAPPLE
Provisioned with an overdue pineapple of victory and some icy water, we somehow endured. And the birding was good, so I'll just summarize it. One female Ruff, 1 Gull-billed tern, many Yellow-footed gulls, two "large-billed" savannah sparrows, 2 wood storks, Abert's towhees, burrowing owl and common ground doves.
After defeating the Yellow-footed Gull, the Pineapple of Victory was sliced and devoured in its entirety, but left our mouths raw, furrowed and burning while the Salton blasted us with stinky heat.
The birds panted in desperation.
We ended the day photographing a nice one, a white-belted ringtail.
THE TATTLING
The next day, after our recovery, I got up early again. I don't think I've gotten up after 6 am more than 10 times since april. It was going to be a big day. We first headed for a secret beach that Neil covets for its wandering tattlers. We got there and immediately executed the tattling. Two tattlers were stalked and photographed the crap out of.
A drive through orange, and several Ferraris, Porshes and an Aston Martin later, we raided Bolsa Chica Preserve, where an Elegant Tern colony resides. But it was not Elegant Terns we searched for, but a bird much more rare and beautiful. The Sooty Tern. It had been squatting here for some time. But as we scanned the thousands of Caspians, Skimmers, Royals, Elegants, and Forsters, there was no Sooty Tern in sight. We would have to be happy seeing Belding's savannah sparrows and reddish egrets...for now.
But we had not given up. After a couple hours of recuperation by means of In-N-Out burger and a glorious bout of boogie boarding at the beach (my first time doing ever something with Neil that did not involve binoculars), we were back. This time, it submited.
THE GNATCATCHER OF DOOM
In the morning, we relied on the bicycles for our mission. Subaru, you have served us well. To a park with gnatcatchers. We destroyed several birds in one fell swoop. First, the Least Bell's Vireo, still singing. Then, a white-tailed kite. It was on the hills of destiny that we found two California Gnatcatchers.
Then, I nearly met my doom. I stepped off the trail (past the "no leaving the trail sign"), to go after a third Gnatcatcher. It was as I put my foot down that I heard a very pissed off hissing sound, which made me jump backward. It was a Southern Pacific Rattlesnake, and it was very pissed off and missing its rattle, which probably made it even more pissed off. In any case, it was about one and a half feet from my foot, so its a good thing they are reluctant to bite.
At a different park, later, we found another rattlesnake which was much more "friendly."
The next thing I knew I was on a plane to San José, to visit my cousins Nico and Kyle and My aunt Vonny and Unkle Sam. Perhaps its time to slow down and spend some time with family, to do some stuff not involving birds for a change. Plus I've always kind of wanted to go to Point Reyes...
We coasted in to the harbour on a cool and fresh 6:30 am. The violet green swallow that landed on the boat the night before, over 100 miles from shore, was gone. We would enjoy this cool breeze while we could, because it was about to get hot. Very hot. We were headed for the Salton Sea. The Salton Sea is an inland body of very salty water near the border of Mexico. It is a place of magical birding. It is also a place where Satan goes on vacation. There are two reactions when one first visits this place. First, "WOW THERE ARE SO MANY BIRDS." Then, immediately upon stepping out of the car, "OH MY GOD, MY NIPPLES ARE GOING TO FRY OFF."
It was 111 degrees with 67% humidity. They say the open ocean is the final frontier of birding, but I say it is the Salton Sea. Could we survive the whole day?
REVENGE OF THE PINEAPPLE
Provisioned with an overdue pineapple of victory and some icy water, we somehow endured. And the birding was good, so I'll just summarize it. One female Ruff, 1 Gull-billed tern, many Yellow-footed gulls, two "large-billed" savannah sparrows, 2 wood storks, Abert's towhees, burrowing owl and common ground doves.
After defeating the Yellow-footed Gull, the Pineapple of Victory was sliced and devoured in its entirety, but left our mouths raw, furrowed and burning while the Salton blasted us with stinky heat.
The birds panted in desperation.
We ended the day photographing a nice one, a white-belted ringtail.
THE TATTLING
The next day, after our recovery, I got up early again. I don't think I've gotten up after 6 am more than 10 times since april. It was going to be a big day. We first headed for a secret beach that Neil covets for its wandering tattlers. We got there and immediately executed the tattling. Two tattlers were stalked and photographed the crap out of.
A drive through orange, and several Ferraris, Porshes and an Aston Martin later, we raided Bolsa Chica Preserve, where an Elegant Tern colony resides. But it was not Elegant Terns we searched for, but a bird much more rare and beautiful. The Sooty Tern. It had been squatting here for some time. But as we scanned the thousands of Caspians, Skimmers, Royals, Elegants, and Forsters, there was no Sooty Tern in sight. We would have to be happy seeing Belding's savannah sparrows and reddish egrets...for now.
But we had not given up. After a couple hours of recuperation by means of In-N-Out burger and a glorious bout of boogie boarding at the beach (my first time doing ever something with Neil that did not involve binoculars), we were back. This time, it submited.
THE GNATCATCHER OF DOOM
In the morning, we relied on the bicycles for our mission. Subaru, you have served us well. To a park with gnatcatchers. We destroyed several birds in one fell swoop. First, the Least Bell's Vireo, still singing. Then, a white-tailed kite. It was on the hills of destiny that we found two California Gnatcatchers.
Then, I nearly met my doom. I stepped off the trail (past the "no leaving the trail sign"), to go after a third Gnatcatcher. It was as I put my foot down that I heard a very pissed off hissing sound, which made me jump backward. It was a Southern Pacific Rattlesnake, and it was very pissed off and missing its rattle, which probably made it even more pissed off. In any case, it was about one and a half feet from my foot, so its a good thing they are reluctant to bite.
At a different park, later, we found another rattlesnake which was much more "friendly."
The next thing I knew I was on a plane to San José, to visit my cousins Nico and Kyle and My aunt Vonny and Unkle Sam. Perhaps its time to slow down and spend some time with family, to do some stuff not involving birds for a change. Plus I've always kind of wanted to go to Point Reyes...
Monday, August 23, 2010
A tale of Pineapples, F-18's, Steve Howell, 36 baird's beaked whales, the immensly deadly rattle-less rattlesnake, and a whale with diharrea, Part1
Welcome to this final, two-part post of the Raging Birder. It has been an interesting summer which I have salvaged fully and beyond with birding. Whether you have followed the antics post-by-post, or just skimmed over the pictures if you are a lazy reader (in which case you won't be reading this), I hope you have enjoyed a glimpse into the delights and devilments of birding.
Enough! Let me get on with the tale...
On August 16th, one of my dreams came true. After a beautiful 2:30 hours of sleep (damn you greyhound!), I awakened to a now familiar sound: Neil waking me up. Soon I was standing beside my great companion once again. This time, a third matee leaned out from the bow as we set sail on a misty morning through the harbour of San Diego. He was known as Kenny, the third companion.
THE FLIGHT OF THE BOOBY
This was no beautiful tanned mermaid. It was a brown booby, a bird that all people want to see. Unlike white boobies, they come from Mexico.
The pervertedly good view launched us into our 48 hour, 2 night voyage to the high seas, in search of great and mysterious sights. Our vessel: the Grande, a sturdy craft that could carry a full deck of scallywags over 100 miles from land, and plow huge ocean sunfish in its path.
A HUMAN BIRD MACHINE
The booby was not the first pelagic bird seen. In fact, Steve Howell spotted about 100 storm petrels and shearwaters before any other person saw one. Then the lower, earthly people spotted them, one by one. A pink-footed shearwater, a couple black storm petrels. A least storm petrel flew by. The lifers were stacking up.
(Black Storm-Petrel, courtesy of Bob Doe)
WILL WE GET SCURVY?
"So, what did you bring for us to eat this time, Neil?
- Peanut butter and banana burritos."
So you slather some Jiffy peanut butter on a tortilla and wrap it around a banana. Thus, the Banito was born. Over the course of the journey, we came to love and hate the Banito. Luckily he had some trail mix also.
DAWN AT SEA
The next day I woke up in a tiny bunk just as the sun was about to come up. It was dark and I could feel the sea wind blowing through the open door into the quarters. I could already hear people talking on the deck, so I dragged myself out and joined the onlookers. There was a flock of Sabine's gulls with red-necked and red phalaropes circling the boat. They just circled and circled, who knows why. To add to the bizarery, a common yellowthroat was doing laps of its own.
Not only does a pelagic offer a long span of time in which to see rarities, it also allows for immense periods of boredom in which to contemplate seeing rarities. Then, when you least expect it, a bird sitting on some kelp is a south polar skua!
Often, the boredom, or long lazy conversation is violently broken by chaotic YELLING!. TROPICBIIIRD!!!!!!!!
(photo courtesy of Bob Doe)
And everyone lunges to the side of the boat, bashing into eachother to get by. Even elderly ladies that look like they might normally have trouble walking are plowing through the bodies, and not afraid to throw a couple bows for a bowel-loosening view. Hold onto your diapers!
Such situations are also a prime opportunity to scan the cabin for left scraps. Like skuas, we searched for pancake remnants, but were unsuccessfull, except half an unfinished pancake I managed to scrounge up.
TERRY HUNNEFELD AND THE BAIRD'S BEAKED WHALES
We were graced with having a exuberant leader on the captain's stand, the amazing Terry Hunnefeld. He graced us with some inspiring words on the intercom, after viewing 36 Baird's Beaked Whales. "The North American coast population is estimated to be around 400 Baird's Beaked Whales, so we just saw about 10 percent of all the Baird's Beaked Whales in North America!...they typically remain submerged when they dive...A truly unforgettable experience, and one that I will remember, for the rest, of my life."
And we will.
THE AIR FORCE CAME
Occasionally, after hours of scanning the naked horizon, it is beneficial to relax in the cabin to avoid starting to spot birds that aren't really there. One such time, my conversation with Neil and Kenny was interrupted by a massive and violent noise screaming over the boat. We ran outside to see if we were under attack. It appeared we were. An F-18 had just done a low pass right over our boat, and was coming back. It headed toward us again, then banked steeply. Then it circled around the boat, pulled up, and flew straight up into the low clouds and off into the distance.
THE EXCREMENT OF THE WHALE
After an exceptionally long period of boredom, Steve Howell spotted a whale blow ahaid of us that "looked like a blue whale". He told Terry to tell the captain to steer our course left and head full throttle to try and intercept it. It was a mile away. There was little hope of accomplashing this, but we floated around the target region anyway. As we were about to give up...SPPPLLLUUUSSHHHH! BLUE WHALE! Then, a second whale spouted, and its extremely long back arched out of the water and it lifted its tailfin in the air as if to waive goodbye. Terry informed us on the intercom that a blue whale's heart is as big as a VW beetle.
We could not see the whales anymore, but we could see a large orange mass. "Is that krill" someone asked. So we got closer, and saw that it was an orange chunky raft with a sharp odor to it. There probably was some krill in there.
As the last albatross sailed into the sunset, so we started our overnight journey to shore. I reclined in my lawn chair until it was dark, reflecting on the awesome journey.
For a different take on things, click here:
http://ocbirding.blogspot.com/2010/08/two-seas.html
More to come in Part 2.
Enough! Let me get on with the tale...
On August 16th, one of my dreams came true. After a beautiful 2:30 hours of sleep (damn you greyhound!), I awakened to a now familiar sound: Neil waking me up. Soon I was standing beside my great companion once again. This time, a third matee leaned out from the bow as we set sail on a misty morning through the harbour of San Diego. He was known as Kenny, the third companion.
THE FLIGHT OF THE BOOBY
This was no beautiful tanned mermaid. It was a brown booby, a bird that all people want to see. Unlike white boobies, they come from Mexico.
The pervertedly good view launched us into our 48 hour, 2 night voyage to the high seas, in search of great and mysterious sights. Our vessel: the Grande, a sturdy craft that could carry a full deck of scallywags over 100 miles from land, and plow huge ocean sunfish in its path.
A HUMAN BIRD MACHINE
The booby was not the first pelagic bird seen. In fact, Steve Howell spotted about 100 storm petrels and shearwaters before any other person saw one. Then the lower, earthly people spotted them, one by one. A pink-footed shearwater, a couple black storm petrels. A least storm petrel flew by. The lifers were stacking up.
(Black Storm-Petrel, courtesy of Bob Doe)
WILL WE GET SCURVY?
"So, what did you bring for us to eat this time, Neil?
- Peanut butter and banana burritos."
So you slather some Jiffy peanut butter on a tortilla and wrap it around a banana. Thus, the Banito was born. Over the course of the journey, we came to love and hate the Banito. Luckily he had some trail mix also.
DAWN AT SEA
The next day I woke up in a tiny bunk just as the sun was about to come up. It was dark and I could feel the sea wind blowing through the open door into the quarters. I could already hear people talking on the deck, so I dragged myself out and joined the onlookers. There was a flock of Sabine's gulls with red-necked and red phalaropes circling the boat. They just circled and circled, who knows why. To add to the bizarery, a common yellowthroat was doing laps of its own.
Not only does a pelagic offer a long span of time in which to see rarities, it also allows for immense periods of boredom in which to contemplate seeing rarities. Then, when you least expect it, a bird sitting on some kelp is a south polar skua!
Often, the boredom, or long lazy conversation is violently broken by chaotic YELLING!. TROPICBIIIRD!!!!!!!!
(photo courtesy of Bob Doe)
And everyone lunges to the side of the boat, bashing into eachother to get by. Even elderly ladies that look like they might normally have trouble walking are plowing through the bodies, and not afraid to throw a couple bows for a bowel-loosening view. Hold onto your diapers!
Such situations are also a prime opportunity to scan the cabin for left scraps. Like skuas, we searched for pancake remnants, but were unsuccessfull, except half an unfinished pancake I managed to scrounge up.
TERRY HUNNEFELD AND THE BAIRD'S BEAKED WHALES
We were graced with having a exuberant leader on the captain's stand, the amazing Terry Hunnefeld. He graced us with some inspiring words on the intercom, after viewing 36 Baird's Beaked Whales. "The North American coast population is estimated to be around 400 Baird's Beaked Whales, so we just saw about 10 percent of all the Baird's Beaked Whales in North America!...they typically remain submerged when they dive...A truly unforgettable experience, and one that I will remember, for the rest, of my life."
And we will.
THE AIR FORCE CAME
Occasionally, after hours of scanning the naked horizon, it is beneficial to relax in the cabin to avoid starting to spot birds that aren't really there. One such time, my conversation with Neil and Kenny was interrupted by a massive and violent noise screaming over the boat. We ran outside to see if we were under attack. It appeared we were. An F-18 had just done a low pass right over our boat, and was coming back. It headed toward us again, then banked steeply. Then it circled around the boat, pulled up, and flew straight up into the low clouds and off into the distance.
THE EXCREMENT OF THE WHALE
After an exceptionally long period of boredom, Steve Howell spotted a whale blow ahaid of us that "looked like a blue whale". He told Terry to tell the captain to steer our course left and head full throttle to try and intercept it. It was a mile away. There was little hope of accomplashing this, but we floated around the target region anyway. As we were about to give up...SPPPLLLUUUSSHHHH! BLUE WHALE! Then, a second whale spouted, and its extremely long back arched out of the water and it lifted its tailfin in the air as if to waive goodbye. Terry informed us on the intercom that a blue whale's heart is as big as a VW beetle.
We could not see the whales anymore, but we could see a large orange mass. "Is that krill" someone asked. So we got closer, and saw that it was an orange chunky raft with a sharp odor to it. There probably was some krill in there.
As the last albatross sailed into the sunset, so we started our overnight journey to shore. I reclined in my lawn chair until it was dark, reflecting on the awesome journey.
For a different take on things, click here:
http://ocbirding.blogspot.com/2010/08/two-seas.html
More to come in Part 2.
Friday, August 13, 2010
WHITNEY
"This may be the most badass thing I've ever done", said Nick, as we began our expedition to climb to the summit of the highest peak in the lower 48 states. A massive jagged rock whose top is at 14,496 feet, a feat not for the whimpy. Which is why it needed to be done.
THE FIRST STEPS TO GREATNESS
Mary let us borrow the Toyota beater truck for a last weekend, allowing us to go to Mineral King, and clearly telling us NOT to go to Mt. Whitney. "You don't have proper gear, you need a permit..." etc. Which is what everyone said. "There's a quota for the trail, you have to reserve months in advance!" said a certain professor. Well everyone can CHECK THIS OUT!
THE SUMMIT
August 12, 2010. 9:38 am. 10.7 miles, 6,000 ft. climbed.
A GLORIOUS DESCENT
21.4 miles complete, we finished at a leisurely 4:22 pm on day 2.
Moral of the story: when given a choice, climb the bigger mountain!
THE FIRST STEPS TO GREATNESS
Mary let us borrow the Toyota beater truck for a last weekend, allowing us to go to Mineral King, and clearly telling us NOT to go to Mt. Whitney. "You don't have proper gear, you need a permit..." etc. Which is what everyone said. "There's a quota for the trail, you have to reserve months in advance!" said a certain professor. Well everyone can CHECK THIS OUT!
THE SUMMIT
August 12, 2010. 9:38 am. 10.7 miles, 6,000 ft. climbed.
A GLORIOUS DESCENT
21.4 miles complete, we finished at a leisurely 4:22 pm on day 2.
Moral of the story: when given a choice, climb the bigger mountain!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
A Mountain Journey
So Mary says: "I gave you guys both 3 days off so you can borrow the rental and go on a trip somewhere". WAW!
Two bird dudes, 3 days, and a car. Unlimited freedom. A recipe for some epic birding.
But it was more than just birds which we seeked. Our whirlwind journey sought grizzly giants, crippling cascades and trees older than Christ. Lustrous coppers, mountain lupines, the gems of the mountains were within our reach.
The journey began after work. The plan was to get to the famous Wowona Meadow (famous amoung great gray owl enthusiasts), before dusk to try and find this rare phantom. Unfortunately, like bono gazing to the horizon among the joshua trees, I did not find what I was looking for. Simply, it is my arch-nemesis of all birds. Of course, one needs fresh quarry for the next adventure...
We stayed at the luxurious Wowona Hotel, conviently across the street so that at dawn we could look once more. (well actually, we car camped in the parking lot). Nick forgot to set his alarm...
After the fail, we decided to look for something requiring less strategy, the Gy-mungulus trees in the Mariposa Grove. Upon ariving, however, it was more than trees that we found. I heard a familiar tapping up the hill. Luckily the air was still because the tourists were still in a deep sleep. We followed the sound to a burned area and behold! A black-backed woodpecker. Many search for this rare carpenter of the Sierra. Many fail.
We soon discovered that we had entered not only the domain of the black backed, but a fortress of woodpeckers! There was:
1 Pileated
2 Flickers
2 Red-breasted sapsuckers
1 white-headed woodpecker
1 hairy woodpecker
1 black back
We walked like tiny ants through a forest of ancient giants. And holy mother, there it was. The Big Daddy of all trees: THE GRIZZLY GIANT.
Back at the parking lot, there were 50 cars! The tourists had woken up.
We spent the rest of the day in the Yosemite Valley, hicking many miles and visiting 5 jumbo waterfalls. Bridalveil falls was the first, which was saturated with tourists, some of them exceptionally stupid:
On to Vernal falls, then Nevada falls. We felt the strange presence of being near a black swift fortress, but despite our vigilance saw only the also awesome but less ranked white-throated swift.
The greatest falls required a very trudgy zig-zag up the side of the valley, from which we saw one of the tallest waterfalls in the US, the Upper Yosemite Falls and the more lowly Lower Yosemite falls. I practiced what I would exclaim if a black swift flew over when a very high black swift-like white-throated swift flew over.
More car camping in Tuolomine Meadows, still throngs of people. Cold! That was fine with me. We got up real early this time and had some excelent birding, including a female hermit warbler at 9000 feet!
Tioga pass is the east gate of Yosemite. I scoped out a real nice trail up to the land where only the hardiest tiny plants grow. First, 2 red crossbills flew over. Clarks Nutcrackers bellowed in the hills. The alpine meadows were full of great flowers, which had surprisingly few butterflies but some good ones, such as this beauty, a lustrous copper:
Up higher, it got rocky, and a squeak caught my attention. I found the originator, a Pika! Pikas are are actually a type of rabbit, sort of.
A little higher, I spotted 2 rosy finches flying in the distance with their distinctively strange calls. Then all of the sudden, about 20 flew in and started feeding on the ground in front of us!
We reached the crest of the ridge, which was quite high (11-12000 feet or something). There were very few birds up there, except a prairie falcon whiched zipped over the ridge.
The way back down had more of the same stuff, an icy stream drink, ~50 more rosy finches and the sounds of a Blue Grouse.
Heading down the mountain, I found this real beauty but have no idea what it is?
We have reached the sagebrush, a very neat habitat that sort of gets boring quickly. Destination: Mono Lake. Mono is a terminal basin for several mountain streams, so it has become super salty and alkaline. The water feels quite weird. The shorebirding was very disapointing here (killdeer and wilson's phalarope), so we didn't spend much time. We did drive around the sage and picked up brewer's sparrow (it was touch explaining to nick that it has NO field marks, he couldn't understand that), sage sparrows, and Sage Thrashers (lifer!). More than could be shaked at with a stick. The next stage of our journey was to be the most anticipated segment yet.
The ultimate target for this trip was Greater Sage-Grouse. Really hard to find other than in March when they're lekking (displaying on traditional displaying grounds). So basically they're just walking around somewhere in here:
Many advised not to bother looking for Sage Grouse. They're just too hard to find, they said. That didn't stop us. My strategy was to drive a lap around Crowley Lake in the evening, since this area is well known for its sage grouse (ebird, birds of California). Then, if we didn't get 'em, which I really didn't think we would, get up really early and do the lap again. We did not find them that evening, although 50 common nighthawks were amazing. Nick really wanted to sleep in a campground for some reason so I let him at least try to find one that was not full, which was impossible plus way too expensive (20 bucks!), so we wasted some gas and then went with my original desire of sleeping in the sage beneath the stars. While Nick stayed in the pseudo-protective coccoon that is the tent, I fell asleep to some world-class stargazing. When I woke up, it was freezing. We slugged ourselves out at 510 and started slowly driving around the lake. It was that magical time, that calm time at the break of dawn when you feel like anything could be just walking out on the road, like these:
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
To the White Mountains! The final stage of our journey: to enter the most ancient forest in the world, the bristlecone pine forest. The trees there have growth rings only a fraction of a milimeter thick. They grow in a place thats at about 10-11000 feet, and get maybe 5 inches of rain per year. They are REALLY old. One is about 4800 years old actually, and many are older than Christ.
We headed out of the sage and into the Pinyon-Juniper forest. We found some neat White mountain specialities like Juniper Titmouse, Pinyon Jay and Plumbeous Vireo. While driving I spotted a soaring raptor. It was a beefy adult goshawk! We pulled over and watched in amazement as it circled over us.
The ancient pine forest was one of the most strange and awesome places I've ever been. It was just amazing, my life is a tiny blink of an eye compared to these geezers.
The birding wasn't bad, either. Lots of gray flycatchers, pygmy nuthatches, mountain bluebirds and a ruby-crowned kinglet.
So we birded back down the mountain and our journey faded to a satisfying end. Some birds we didn't see. Some we did. The trip complete, I can now say that even without the skills of Neil or Matt, this trip was well executed. 110 species and 2 lifers, plus Pika (an honorary bird).
Next time, for our final voyage, Neil and I will be sailing to mysterious waters in search of deep-sea wanderers from the distant reaches of the Pacific. Cook's Petrel, prepare to be destroyed.
Trip list: 110 species
Yosemite/white mountains Aug 3-6
1. Great egret
2. Great blue heron
3. Cattle egret
4. Canada goose
5. Mallard
6. Cinnamon teal
7. Turkey vulture
8. Osprey
9. Cooper’s hawk
10. NORTHERN GOSHAWK
11. Red-tailed hawk
12. American kestrel
13. PRAIRIE FALCON
14. California quail
15. GREATER SAGE-GROUSE
16. SOOTY GROUSE
17. American coot
18. Killdeer
19. American avocet
20. Spotted sandpiper
21. Wilson’s phalarope
22. California gull
23. Caspian tern
24. Mourning dove
25. Eurasian collared dove
26. Rock pigeon
27. Band-tailed pigeon
28. Great horned owl
29. Burrowing owl
30. Common nighthawk
31. White-throated swift
32. Rufous hummingbird
33. Anna’s hummingbird
34. Hairy woodpecker
35. White-headed woodpecker
36. BLACK-BACKED WOODPECKER
37. Red-breasted sapsucker
38. Northern flicker
39. Pileated woodpecker
40. Western wood-pewee
41. Willow flycatcher
42. Dusky flycatcher
43. Gray flycatcher
44. "Western" flycatcher
45. Ash-throated flycatcher
46. Loggerhead shrike
47. PLUMBEOUS VIREO
48. Western scrub-jay
49. PINYON JAY
50. Clark’s nutcracker
51. American crow
52. Common raven
53. Steller’s jay
54. Horned lark
55. Tree swallow
56. Violet-green swallow
57. Cliff swallow
58. JUNIPER TITMOUSE
59. Mountain chickadee
60. Bushtit
61. White-breasted nuthatch
62. Red-breasted nuthatch
63. Pygmy nuthatch
64. Brown creeper
65. House wren
66. Canyon wren
67. Rock wren
68. Ruby-crowned kinglet
69. American dipper
70. Golden-crowned kinglet
71. Mountain bluebird
72. American robin
73. Townsend’s solitaire
74. Hermit thrush
75. Northern mockingbird
76. Sage thrasher
77. European starling
78. Orange-crowned warbler
79. Macgillivray’s warbler
80. Yellow warbler
81. HERMIT WARBLER
82. Black-throated gray warbler
83. Yellow-rumped warbler
84. Western tanager
85. Lazuli bunting
86. Black-headed grosbeak
87. Spotted towhee
88. Green-tailed towhee
89. Chipping sparrow
90. Brewer’s sparrow
91. Sage sparrow
92. Savannah sparrow
93. Fox sparrow
94. Song sparrow
95. Lincoln’s sparrow
96. Dark-eyed junco
97. White-crowned sparrow
98. Bullock’s oriole
99. Western meadowlark
100. Yellow-headed blackbird
101. Red-winged blackbird
102. Brewer’s blackbird
103. Brown-headed cowbird
104. GRAY-CROWNED ROSY-FINCH
105. Red crossbill
106. Cassin’s finch
107. House finch
108. Lesser goldfinch
109. Pine siskin
110. House sparrow
Two bird dudes, 3 days, and a car. Unlimited freedom. A recipe for some epic birding.
But it was more than just birds which we seeked. Our whirlwind journey sought grizzly giants, crippling cascades and trees older than Christ. Lustrous coppers, mountain lupines, the gems of the mountains were within our reach.
The journey began after work. The plan was to get to the famous Wowona Meadow (famous amoung great gray owl enthusiasts), before dusk to try and find this rare phantom. Unfortunately, like bono gazing to the horizon among the joshua trees, I did not find what I was looking for. Simply, it is my arch-nemesis of all birds. Of course, one needs fresh quarry for the next adventure...
We stayed at the luxurious Wowona Hotel, conviently across the street so that at dawn we could look once more. (well actually, we car camped in the parking lot). Nick forgot to set his alarm...
After the fail, we decided to look for something requiring less strategy, the Gy-mungulus trees in the Mariposa Grove. Upon ariving, however, it was more than trees that we found. I heard a familiar tapping up the hill. Luckily the air was still because the tourists were still in a deep sleep. We followed the sound to a burned area and behold! A black-backed woodpecker. Many search for this rare carpenter of the Sierra. Many fail.
We soon discovered that we had entered not only the domain of the black backed, but a fortress of woodpeckers! There was:
1 Pileated
2 Flickers
2 Red-breasted sapsuckers
1 white-headed woodpecker
1 hairy woodpecker
1 black back
We walked like tiny ants through a forest of ancient giants. And holy mother, there it was. The Big Daddy of all trees: THE GRIZZLY GIANT.
Back at the parking lot, there were 50 cars! The tourists had woken up.
We spent the rest of the day in the Yosemite Valley, hicking many miles and visiting 5 jumbo waterfalls. Bridalveil falls was the first, which was saturated with tourists, some of them exceptionally stupid:
On to Vernal falls, then Nevada falls. We felt the strange presence of being near a black swift fortress, but despite our vigilance saw only the also awesome but less ranked white-throated swift.
The greatest falls required a very trudgy zig-zag up the side of the valley, from which we saw one of the tallest waterfalls in the US, the Upper Yosemite Falls and the more lowly Lower Yosemite falls. I practiced what I would exclaim if a black swift flew over when a very high black swift-like white-throated swift flew over.
More car camping in Tuolomine Meadows, still throngs of people. Cold! That was fine with me. We got up real early this time and had some excelent birding, including a female hermit warbler at 9000 feet!
Tioga pass is the east gate of Yosemite. I scoped out a real nice trail up to the land where only the hardiest tiny plants grow. First, 2 red crossbills flew over. Clarks Nutcrackers bellowed in the hills. The alpine meadows were full of great flowers, which had surprisingly few butterflies but some good ones, such as this beauty, a lustrous copper:
Up higher, it got rocky, and a squeak caught my attention. I found the originator, a Pika! Pikas are are actually a type of rabbit, sort of.
A little higher, I spotted 2 rosy finches flying in the distance with their distinctively strange calls. Then all of the sudden, about 20 flew in and started feeding on the ground in front of us!
We reached the crest of the ridge, which was quite high (11-12000 feet or something). There were very few birds up there, except a prairie falcon whiched zipped over the ridge.
The way back down had more of the same stuff, an icy stream drink, ~50 more rosy finches and the sounds of a Blue Grouse.
Heading down the mountain, I found this real beauty but have no idea what it is?
We have reached the sagebrush, a very neat habitat that sort of gets boring quickly. Destination: Mono Lake. Mono is a terminal basin for several mountain streams, so it has become super salty and alkaline. The water feels quite weird. The shorebirding was very disapointing here (killdeer and wilson's phalarope), so we didn't spend much time. We did drive around the sage and picked up brewer's sparrow (it was touch explaining to nick that it has NO field marks, he couldn't understand that), sage sparrows, and Sage Thrashers (lifer!). More than could be shaked at with a stick. The next stage of our journey was to be the most anticipated segment yet.
The ultimate target for this trip was Greater Sage-Grouse. Really hard to find other than in March when they're lekking (displaying on traditional displaying grounds). So basically they're just walking around somewhere in here:
Many advised not to bother looking for Sage Grouse. They're just too hard to find, they said. That didn't stop us. My strategy was to drive a lap around Crowley Lake in the evening, since this area is well known for its sage grouse (ebird, birds of California). Then, if we didn't get 'em, which I really didn't think we would, get up really early and do the lap again. We did not find them that evening, although 50 common nighthawks were amazing. Nick really wanted to sleep in a campground for some reason so I let him at least try to find one that was not full, which was impossible plus way too expensive (20 bucks!), so we wasted some gas and then went with my original desire of sleeping in the sage beneath the stars. While Nick stayed in the pseudo-protective coccoon that is the tent, I fell asleep to some world-class stargazing. When I woke up, it was freezing. We slugged ourselves out at 510 and started slowly driving around the lake. It was that magical time, that calm time at the break of dawn when you feel like anything could be just walking out on the road, like these:
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
To the White Mountains! The final stage of our journey: to enter the most ancient forest in the world, the bristlecone pine forest. The trees there have growth rings only a fraction of a milimeter thick. They grow in a place thats at about 10-11000 feet, and get maybe 5 inches of rain per year. They are REALLY old. One is about 4800 years old actually, and many are older than Christ.
We headed out of the sage and into the Pinyon-Juniper forest. We found some neat White mountain specialities like Juniper Titmouse, Pinyon Jay and Plumbeous Vireo. While driving I spotted a soaring raptor. It was a beefy adult goshawk! We pulled over and watched in amazement as it circled over us.
The ancient pine forest was one of the most strange and awesome places I've ever been. It was just amazing, my life is a tiny blink of an eye compared to these geezers.
The birding wasn't bad, either. Lots of gray flycatchers, pygmy nuthatches, mountain bluebirds and a ruby-crowned kinglet.
So we birded back down the mountain and our journey faded to a satisfying end. Some birds we didn't see. Some we did. The trip complete, I can now say that even without the skills of Neil or Matt, this trip was well executed. 110 species and 2 lifers, plus Pika (an honorary bird).
Next time, for our final voyage, Neil and I will be sailing to mysterious waters in search of deep-sea wanderers from the distant reaches of the Pacific. Cook's Petrel, prepare to be destroyed.
Trip list: 110 species
Yosemite/white mountains Aug 3-6
1. Great egret
2. Great blue heron
3. Cattle egret
4. Canada goose
5. Mallard
6. Cinnamon teal
7. Turkey vulture
8. Osprey
9. Cooper’s hawk
10. NORTHERN GOSHAWK
11. Red-tailed hawk
12. American kestrel
13. PRAIRIE FALCON
14. California quail
15. GREATER SAGE-GROUSE
16. SOOTY GROUSE
17. American coot
18. Killdeer
19. American avocet
20. Spotted sandpiper
21. Wilson’s phalarope
22. California gull
23. Caspian tern
24. Mourning dove
25. Eurasian collared dove
26. Rock pigeon
27. Band-tailed pigeon
28. Great horned owl
29. Burrowing owl
30. Common nighthawk
31. White-throated swift
32. Rufous hummingbird
33. Anna’s hummingbird
34. Hairy woodpecker
35. White-headed woodpecker
36. BLACK-BACKED WOODPECKER
37. Red-breasted sapsucker
38. Northern flicker
39. Pileated woodpecker
40. Western wood-pewee
41. Willow flycatcher
42. Dusky flycatcher
43. Gray flycatcher
44. "Western" flycatcher
45. Ash-throated flycatcher
46. Loggerhead shrike
47. PLUMBEOUS VIREO
48. Western scrub-jay
49. PINYON JAY
50. Clark’s nutcracker
51. American crow
52. Common raven
53. Steller’s jay
54. Horned lark
55. Tree swallow
56. Violet-green swallow
57. Cliff swallow
58. JUNIPER TITMOUSE
59. Mountain chickadee
60. Bushtit
61. White-breasted nuthatch
62. Red-breasted nuthatch
63. Pygmy nuthatch
64. Brown creeper
65. House wren
66. Canyon wren
67. Rock wren
68. Ruby-crowned kinglet
69. American dipper
70. Golden-crowned kinglet
71. Mountain bluebird
72. American robin
73. Townsend’s solitaire
74. Hermit thrush
75. Northern mockingbird
76. Sage thrasher
77. European starling
78. Orange-crowned warbler
79. Macgillivray’s warbler
80. Yellow warbler
81. HERMIT WARBLER
82. Black-throated gray warbler
83. Yellow-rumped warbler
84. Western tanager
85. Lazuli bunting
86. Black-headed grosbeak
87. Spotted towhee
88. Green-tailed towhee
89. Chipping sparrow
90. Brewer’s sparrow
91. Sage sparrow
92. Savannah sparrow
93. Fox sparrow
94. Song sparrow
95. Lincoln’s sparrow
96. Dark-eyed junco
97. White-crowned sparrow
98. Bullock’s oriole
99. Western meadowlark
100. Yellow-headed blackbird
101. Red-winged blackbird
102. Brewer’s blackbird
103. Brown-headed cowbird
104. GRAY-CROWNED ROSY-FINCH
105. Red crossbill
106. Cassin’s finch
107. House finch
108. Lesser goldfinch
109. Pine siskin
110. House sparrow
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