tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52559040880590532892024-03-13T15:59:07.470-04:00Birding Et CeteraA chronicle of my birding and ornithological ventures across the globeAndyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-46307742634643753462013-03-16T11:30:00.000-04:002013-03-16T11:30:46.075-04:00NANPA Summit - Jacksonville, FL<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVqDIkrcq8Oak-X2HatT3I0kB1PHW3dxIFvAaYiFx1gSWuot4rJR3t5Uj5F08qqcOie0Ae_UozPedYumTSrXw3_YUaoablUf4S0as5PJdbiq_bEsJeuBphMewfq83T-QJT8fPx2hCPtd2/s1600/IMG_0064+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVqDIkrcq8Oak-X2HatT3I0kB1PHW3dxIFvAaYiFx1gSWuot4rJR3t5Uj5F08qqcOie0Ae_UozPedYumTSrXw3_YUaoablUf4S0as5PJdbiq_bEsJeuBphMewfq83T-QJT8fPx2hCPtd2/s400/IMG_0064+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Least Sandpiper</td></tr>
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Conferences have the potential to change your life - if it goes well, you come home inspired and you've met great people -- maybe even someone who you're excited to keep in touch with for the rest of your life. It can be totally thrilling. I knew that when I heard that I'd been selected to attend the North American Nature Photography Association's (NANPA) Summit in Jacksonville, as part of their College Scholarship Program - but those few days vastly exceeded my expectations.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD09Rn2y7mR6TJKfviBK8Ej8JaC9nftvfxnt7-p3d9gfvAmlIFVmz9zncrgyTe3zcHrfFql5U3sG7qD-w9dfHa6iNKJ5wZTpEuGCKPwELs5N5P4Z8wHhXAavDMvSkNBw4TBKflzCOCcfll/s1600/3U9C0787.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD09Rn2y7mR6TJKfviBK8Ej8JaC9nftvfxnt7-p3d9gfvAmlIFVmz9zncrgyTe3zcHrfFql5U3sG7qD-w9dfHa6iNKJ5wZTpEuGCKPwELs5N5P4Z8wHhXAavDMvSkNBw4TBKflzCOCcfll/s400/3U9C0787.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Twelve of us, graduate and undergraduate students from across North America, eventually converged on Big Talbot Island, after a series of flight delays and cancellations. For the first part of the week, we would be staying in a house owned by the North Florida Land Trust, and spending all of Wednesday and Thursday shooting people and places on the island. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWgu-Jn0Dt_YIwFH5tAWqAEe0P9-qLwZXitVfrmbcdg4QodR_rTRGcplL77LO3WNqXrSES0uzhty_RPOcfsP9ZoSDb6omkIpmlROj4oInoPbZy-AxZ9g5vTBLexG4ZOQfoMOEZvzTNSLnP/s1600/IMG_0573+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWgu-Jn0Dt_YIwFH5tAWqAEe0P9-qLwZXitVfrmbcdg4QodR_rTRGcplL77LO3WNqXrSES0uzhty_RPOcfsP9ZoSDb6omkIpmlROj4oInoPbZy-AxZ9g5vTBLexG4ZOQfoMOEZvzTNSLnP/s400/IMG_0573+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tricolored Heron</td></tr>
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Big Talbot Island is one of several state parks in the Jacksonville metro area, which together comprise the largest urban park system in the country - a whopping 28,000 acres. Big Talbot itself is unique in many respects. It stands as one of the last undeveloped barrier islands on the eastern seaboard, and consequently hosts an exceptional diversity of habitats. Its eastern beaches bear the brunt of the Atlantic's relentless weathering, a fact evident in the scattered skeletons of dead oaks and rapid dune erosion along the beaches' length. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi28vEO036aApEv49vO5VwOLXgPEEyM7IfVF9Y4d3i8caxCIQPdQA7uRdQI_-iviz_o73q7dvbVd529l-CmG17YXLf3lMSbqWxvdC7VXTwOUVmFz7r3P-nB79ZxDFFYWGyBpdfsfc1PKUr/s1600/3U9C0890+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi28vEO036aApEv49vO5VwOLXgPEEyM7IfVF9Y4d3i8caxCIQPdQA7uRdQI_-iviz_o73q7dvbVd529l-CmG17YXLf3lMSbqWxvdC7VXTwOUVmFz7r3P-nB79ZxDFFYWGyBpdfsfc1PKUr/s400/3U9C0890+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dead Tree Beach</td></tr>
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As a barrier island, Big Talbot serves to protect the mainland from these same eroding forces, a function which may become increasingly valuable in the face of rising seas and more frequent hurricanes. With diminished wind and salt damage, the leeward side of the island reminds one of the Florida that early settlers and Timucuan Indians would have recognized: a rich, subtropical ecosystem dominated by old growth oak forests draped in spanish moss. The island also allows a vast saltmarsh system to exist on its western side, which in turn acts as a nursery for migratory shorebirds and waterfowl and local wading birds, as well as huge fisheries which carry significant economic value to the Jacksonville area. Big Talbot Island is just one of seven state parks within driving distance of Jacksonville's 1.3 million residents. That's a lot of people, and a lot of potential for popular support of these protected areas.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9d1Y_0DrJ9q69ntGK8H-xBpaR9FZATDCo0gtrXydNcD7l3vGBLs_KTWzV31461Ejc8W7WVIb91qtJdbpPpg1G1y5cbJiA0hWVhW-L5D4l-_shAdlqo9RpXdwXf_5FcOvfRkacmMZd6GSr/s1600/3U9C0968.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9d1Y_0DrJ9q69ntGK8H-xBpaR9FZATDCo0gtrXydNcD7l3vGBLs_KTWzV31461Ejc8W7WVIb91qtJdbpPpg1G1y5cbJiA0hWVhW-L5D4l-_shAdlqo9RpXdwXf_5FcOvfRkacmMZd6GSr/s400/3U9C0968.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Live Oak forest along the northeast shore of Big Talbot</td></tr>
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During our two days on the island, we explored this diverse array of habitats, interviewed a diverse array of people who enjoy them, and collected as many photographs and video clips as we could to tell a story about the Island's importance to the Jacksonville area. During the following days at the NANPA Summit, we compiled our work and edited the story. Between shooting, attending talks, and editing, this amounted to about four hours of sleep each night. It was completely exhausting, and entirely worth it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz68IGkp3KBueToHcyEAfodf1-ZBaJoIcz40bIUv45ubVolNVuBzC1ngGzK1Ik48GLwqtuiTRbrRzgt36t8bxncUPe-M3oZc1RcESTgNgoaIkVKjnRacRsyzCfcNwT-1nsPVcG5QjtMpSJ/s1600/BTIsland+2905.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz68IGkp3KBueToHcyEAfodf1-ZBaJoIcz40bIUv45ubVolNVuBzC1ngGzK1Ik48GLwqtuiTRbrRzgt36t8bxncUPe-M3oZc1RcESTgNgoaIkVKjnRacRsyzCfcNwT-1nsPVcG5QjtMpSJ/s400/BTIsland+2905.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Filming interviews on Big Talbot Island - Photo © Mark A. Larson</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vtE009UOVgXZG2o3d6VBZxk_ReYVkW7lzY_8zgWd2w0-VqY4sJCmWmNY1pqA_RT3vv1kwRx0rVKgfLbQ24GWExtvNLnzXrWspCzxkiGN7RtP6RkZKGWVXEx9qvWYUsgkUFUHyOmJ2tWe/s1600/NANPA+3105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vtE009UOVgXZG2o3d6VBZxk_ReYVkW7lzY_8zgWd2w0-VqY4sJCmWmNY1pqA_RT3vv1kwRx0rVKgfLbQ24GWExtvNLnzXrWspCzxkiGN7RtP6RkZKGWVXEx9qvWYUsgkUFUHyOmJ2tWe/s400/NANPA+3105.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last minute edits - Photo © Mark A. Larson</td></tr>
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Shooting at Big Talbot Island was an awesome experience, learning to coordinate the efforts of a dozen people to get the coverage we would need to tell a story. But the Summit itself was incredible, too, thanks so much to the team of mentors and coordinators of the College Scholarship Program. We had amazing opportunities to meet with some of the world's leading wildlife and conservation photographers, and talking through project ideas with the people who have found ways to make these things work in fabulous ways was truly inspiring.<br />
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If you or anyone you know has an interest in a career in nature or conservation photography, do not miss the chance to apply for this scholarship! The information you need is <a href="http://www.nanpa.org/students/app_process_co.php">here</a>.<br />
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Below is the short video that we produced for the North Florida Land Trust and Florida State Parks.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm now sitting in the Syracuse
Airport, less than two weeks after the NANPA Summit, headed off to the Mojave
Desert and surrounding areas in southern California, as part of a Cornell Lab
of Ornithology expedition to film and record high desert breeding birds and
their environment. More on this soon, hopefully!</span>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-74299412870710893942013-01-03T18:18:00.001-05:002013-01-03T18:18:23.886-05:00Trumpeter Swans<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Each year, there's a group of Trumpeter Swans that winters along a stretch of the Huron River within Nichols Arboretum, in Ann Arbor. Growing up, this was my always favorite local place to go birding. It has a wide variety of habitats -- hills with conifer stands, open meadows, a small grassland, and of course the river, skirted with hemlocks, willows, and a variety of small fruiting trees -- and enough space to make each visit different. For the last several years, I've been able to watch and photograph this same group of abiding Trumpeter Swans, and during the winter months, when the skies are steely and the river is black and clear, dotted with rocks that are just high enough to support smooth, wind-sculpted domes of pure white snow, there's no more attractive sight than a trio of huge white swans flying slowly and powerfully up the river, honking softly. <div>
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After last winter's criminal lack of snow, the half foot of virgin powder that greeted me on a cold December morning was a clear sign that the swans had to be visited. And this time, I'd finally bring along a tripod, in hopes of gathering footage of these once-endangered birds for the collection at Cornell's Macaulay Library. Not many regions offer such obliging views of this largest and most regal of the world's waterfowl, yet their elegant forms and mannerisms would make for beautiful footage even in a far less conducive situation. So here's a <a href="http://andyjohnsonphoto.com/p902831089/h50d08f94#h50d08f94"><span style="color: #0b5394;">short video compilation</span></a> of the morning's work, where my exploration of the new snow was promptly interrupted, as I'd hoped, by the sound of Trumpeters coming in to land along the river.</div>
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Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com1Nichols Arboretum, 1610 Washington Heights, Ann Arbor, MI 48104, USA42.2799544 -83.721241942.268206400000004 -83.741411899999989 42.2917024 -83.7010719tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-49940743030822911322012-11-14T01:14:00.001-05:002012-11-14T01:35:01.151-05:00Tracking a Marathon Migration: Churchill's Whimbrels<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk6pX_xeuBCCp3GRxwT6FNf1sL-CM8T42osd7lzgKvPmINNfBZvnvuNcnBizJJ9GixUQKqSqm82ryOPqaUfgvdy2FTCCUOMoq229OznJo0xptIQsdqfSzV3sKJE5B2babatZlV9JsM9ZhH/s1600/WHimbrel+JM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk6pX_xeuBCCp3GRxwT6FNf1sL-CM8T42osd7lzgKvPmINNfBZvnvuNcnBizJJ9GixUQKqSqm82ryOPqaUfgvdy2FTCCUOMoq229OznJo0xptIQsdqfSzV3sKJE5B2babatZlV9JsM9ZhH/s400/WHimbrel+JM.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">Flagged Whimbrel, "JM"</td></tr>
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It’s been a crazy semester this fall, and the Churchill
season that I never finished writing about feels incredibly far gone now. It’s late at night in the middle of a
busy week, but physics homework was easier than I thought, so what better time
to recall a great summer?</div>
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After Alaska, I had a few days back in Ann Arbor to regroup
and gear up for the 2012 field season.
I was particularly excited, as this was my first season with my own
project, studying the migrations of Whimbrels and filming the process (not to
mention the 25 beautiful little geolocators that had just shown up in the
mail). After gathering hip waders,
knee boots, other boots, clothes for everything from 0-80˚F over the next two
months, tripods, camera equipment, and the scattered notes I would need to
finish up my last final term paper en route, I was off.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiumC0HFaHfX8_obh4Ds3zrMNwp6-UpWSMzwJjYhWnbsC6X4-B8gblV_HiuLEjtF6fXZrR3xSgwa-KR7sbN-Bpt0Q4xqtW-TOqNLQFHM3Z3S7nlbdZIzdDb1tIBpw_TE4gXRhk-IX4KJ3S3/s1600/Screen+shot+2012-11-14+at+1.08.14+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiumC0HFaHfX8_obh4Ds3zrMNwp6-UpWSMzwJjYhWnbsC6X4-B8gblV_HiuLEjtF6fXZrR3xSgwa-KR7sbN-Bpt0Q4xqtW-TOqNLQFHM3Z3S7nlbdZIzdDb1tIBpw_TE4gXRhk-IX4KJ3S3/s320/Screen+shot+2012-11-14+at+1.08.14+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A light-level geolocator, weighing just 0.65 grams!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a flight to Winnipeg and a night in a sketchy hotel, I
was boarding the train on a rainy morning, headed for Churchill with nearly
fifty hours of tracks ahead of me.
The train, ViaRail 693, comprised three passenger cars, a dining car,
and a sleeper; all this for about four passengers and as many crew. I found myself loving the solitude of
the train – long hours to sit watching the scenery fly past, to think, to read,
and to write the lingering term paper that grabbed at my ankles like a skeleton
reaching out of a grave as a frightened protagonist frantically grasps for a
tree root. But I got a good grip
on the root, soon freed myself from the zombie paper’s vice grip, and found
time to jot down some notes on this new adventure:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
May 30<sup>th </sup>--</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“It’s wonderfully
quiet now, with the whole car practically to myself, and the tracks’ uncertain
condition curbing our pace. The
car sways gently, like a big Cadillac on rolling back roads; the soft creaking
between cars and the muffled rhythm of the tracks add weight to my eyelids,
still reluctantly open as my eyes jerk right to left, following the passing
scenery. Surely I’ve scanned many
treetops that have known the touch of a Hawk-owl’s feathered talons, and the
blankets of spindly spruces, peppered with creeks, ponds, and boggy clearings
certainly suggest that these predators are plenty. Nevertheless, none revealed itself today as this enticing
landscape flew past my panoramic window. It’s nearing midnight, and still a
pale blue lingers between the chaotic fingers of silhouetted spruces filing
past in the west, and in the east, a gibbous moon is peeking in and out of
otherwise invisible clouds.” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The landscape began to take on the familiar (and deeply
missed) look of the far north, with dense walls of short, spindly spruces
lining the tracks, shading a rich understory of lichens and Labrador tea. A few shorebirds here and there, as
clearings in the forest became more frequent – small groups of what were
probably Pectoral Sandpipers, the occasional Lesser Yellowlegs, and as we
passed a large open stretch of tundra, a Whimbrel stooped to a landing near the
tracks after declaring the bounds of his new territory. Churchill was close.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjplAcjC6NX4qHy3DH_a9DL-rDk5osdvQBn7HfTXGNxL1F_SXpSrtpwaW4QpNHpVDK2vHp0lRLSM_Hz39QVScVcacvB7mkROuVbDOxhMbwZRJevVUzFOQL1EPO6omMdT-KjUayuS17-PTxs/s1600/Hudson+Bay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjplAcjC6NX4qHy3DH_a9DL-rDk5osdvQBn7HfTXGNxL1F_SXpSrtpwaW4QpNHpVDK2vHp0lRLSM_Hz39QVScVcacvB7mkROuVbDOxhMbwZRJevVUzFOQL1EPO6omMdT-KjUayuS17-PTxs/s400/Hudson+Bay.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hudson Bay, breaking free of ice in early July </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I won’t try to describe my fascination with Churchill’s
subtle landscape yet again, but it is just as striking every year, and every
day (and surely the train’s careful pace only heightened the
anticipation). After settling into
the Churchill Northern Studies Centre, I had a chance to wander the study sites
on foot, scoping out a few old Whimbrels in the immediate vicinity (I resighted
JX about 50 meters from his 2010 nest cup). </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year I was working with Johanna Perz, a masters student
at Trent University. We teamed up
in the field to work on some common objectives, but each of us has our own
project. Johanna is focusing on
demographics and habitat use: resighting flagged individuals to determine
whether Whimbrels’ longevity can make up for the high predation and low nesting
success typical here, and whether different habitats have different nest
success. My focus is on migration,
so I was eager to find enough nests to deploy all 25 geolocators before
season’s end. These tiny data
loggers, attached to the Whimbrel’s legs, record ambient light levels to
determine the timing of sunrise and sunset each day of the following year. From these data, we can calculate the daily
latitude and longitude of the individual carrying the logger, and trace their
exact routes to the wintering grounds (typically the northern coast of South
America). Identifying the specific
stopover sites and wintering grounds these birds use will be a crucial first
step towards protecting this species, already seeing significant population
declines.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9lk7RbHN8O3QR6NQ8SlYvBa6_kUcWMQ0xCg4MhSH7hcFCfXi3glPMicfueTIfcvhDhHPd5WedlocxE0U-tvgtP6wLJp8RUquGcNDTB3oEL7eafHy-f-sCggOg3nfG2dd8OP0VfiF0vhmt/s1600/Whimbrel+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9lk7RbHN8O3QR6NQ8SlYvBa6_kUcWMQ0xCg4MhSH7hcFCfXi3glPMicfueTIfcvhDhHPd5WedlocxE0U-tvgtP6wLJp8RUquGcNDTB3oEL7eafHy-f-sCggOg3nfG2dd8OP0VfiF0vhmt/s400/Whimbrel+.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whimbrel at a nest.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIIzRyNJsFC5-S4_hvROvzWl0uLwLgr6c4Pd785psrIl3CYFp4iz34bC9rFsgp9mylXdnEMp3_pm1rRSx10r6JMyf70PENY7j6shHnCJaTSL1bHi0V4xmyy2UhXvwQAlrMgFgu7LFus-fY/s1600/IMG_3814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIIzRyNJsFC5-S4_hvROvzWl0uLwLgr6c4Pd785psrIl3CYFp4iz34bC9rFsgp9mylXdnEMp3_pm1rRSx10r6JMyf70PENY7j6shHnCJaTSL1bHi0V4xmyy2UhXvwQAlrMgFgu7LFus-fY/s400/IMG_3814.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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To my surprise, we deployed our last geolocator on June 26<sup>th</sup>,
and had found 52 nests by the middle of July (far exceeding my optimistic hopes
of 30-40). So for the last few weeks
we kept busy with detailed habitat surveys at each of the nests, and trying to
film any last footage I would need before heading south. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After the field season in Churchill concluded, I spent
August in Ithaca, working on an internship at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s
Multimedia Department to compile all the footage and produce the short film. It was an awesome experience to plan,
write, design, and edit the project, from start to finish – something I’d only
casually experimented with on my own before. I learned a ton from the Multimedia group, and am very
grateful for their help and feedback – the final version can be viewed here: <a href="http://andyjohnsonphoto.com/p785051760/h483ce246#h483ce246">http://andyjohnsonphoto.com/p785051760/h483ce246#h483ce246</a></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLS629YBqrre6e46M_mDB_0SiKCoW84fT5kZ7YesOhzpbOawicPCV6JJTwQjZAo6zl8oK4GLkyoue2sR7guvfu5FxUG7VrHRljsrjarNvMEE1Rwlr0QiSsA4RLxFJGHqV5ymfWQIFHTxzH/s1600/IMG_5195.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLS629YBqrre6e46M_mDB_0SiKCoW84fT5kZ7YesOhzpbOawicPCV6JJTwQjZAo6zl8oK4GLkyoue2sR7guvfu5FxUG7VrHRljsrjarNvMEE1Rwlr0QiSsA4RLxFJGHqV5ymfWQIFHTxzH/s400/IMG_5195.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Whimbrel takes flight; these wings will carry her more than 10,000 miles in the coming year.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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And after all this time reviewing the season through video,
and now a few stressful months removed from Churchill, I can’t wait to go back
next year to retrieve the geolocators and see where “my” birds have gone. North American Whimbrels’ wintering grounds
are well mapped, but perhaps not as precisely as we’ve previously thought. Some flocks linger along the Atlantic and
Gulf coasts of the United States, and many winter in the islands of the
Caribbean, or in northern South America; the western breeding group (Alaska
& Yukon) winters along much of the Pacific coast, from Oregon to southern
Chile. But recent satellite tracking
studies of Whimbrels have shown some birds from the <i>western</i> arctic flying out over the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, en
route to Brazil, sometimes flying closer to Africa than the Americas! With these surprising findings coming
out now, it’s especially exciting to speculate about the Churchill birds, which
have not yet been specifically tracked to their wintering grounds. Beyond the universal intrigue of
following any individual bird’s international migrations, there is plenty to
learn about the specific ranges of these populations (and plenty to look
forward to filming in the coming years!). </div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTPAZ6MUVmWHjha0du4T8SR6wd7FdZAvo-M58ksWaK5Wbzb317nhFywNHaC8yMt4xkHBMxHAUrnlaAx5QbFQPWnwDhPqCkDEL8yqJct4gOJPQVsFnY_Gx9gS8-3MeVaHmWFEvCnHz2Qine/s1600/Smith's+Longspur.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTPAZ6MUVmWHjha0du4T8SR6wd7FdZAvo-M58ksWaK5Wbzb317nhFywNHaC8yMt4xkHBMxHAUrnlaAx5QbFQPWnwDhPqCkDEL8yqJct4gOJPQVsFnY_Gx9gS8-3MeVaHmWFEvCnHz2Qine/s400/Smith's+Longspur.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A male Smith's Longspur, neighbor of the Whimbrels in Churchill.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<!--EndFragment-->Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com0Churchill, MB, Canada58.7684112 -94.16496458.7025467 -94.3228925 58.834275700000006 -94.0070355tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-16164618586999050252012-06-17T02:26:00.001-04:002012-06-28T00:06:03.160-04:00Hovering Around 60˚<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigsW_wErevoScSvWXKcB_uVlKRE2v0Mgmr437dXMP3o0sPxYYqcotOVCvkzpYeUFVuK-4AOvoZ0D662laa3QNe4LHJV1_zYtiUx2zD6EuFBxcG8KQ0PcSlveYA3K7nJQfgGTpdNvkvYAcU/s1600/IMG_9470.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigsW_wErevoScSvWXKcB_uVlKRE2v0Mgmr437dXMP3o0sPxYYqcotOVCvkzpYeUFVuK-4AOvoZ0D662laa3QNe4LHJV1_zYtiUx2zD6EuFBxcG8KQ0PcSlveYA3K7nJQfgGTpdNvkvYAcU/s400/IMG_9470.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Early May is always a long time in coming. Between the last of autumn’s migrants
and the lingering snow drifts of March, the landscape truly thirsts for
birds. Sure, there are birds in
the winter, and cool ones, too, but in Ithaca or Ann Arbor, the emptiness
between them looms larger than the birds themselves. Early April lends a few new birds to the mix, like Phoebes,
Hermit Thrushes, and a spattering of <i>icterids</i>
that are only sufficiently appreciated in these few days of limbo, when even
their ubiquitous summer presence has been missed—but really, April just enjoys
toying with us. She brings the spring
migration fever to a boil, but doesn’t deliver too much to satiate the cravings. So these cravings have festered since
the first snowfall, and by mid April, the yearning is tangible. It drips from the trees where warblers
ought to be, and where a deceitful mind detects the phantom movements of such
would-be, wayward warblers. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year was the same…save for a few big differences. The anticipation was growing, with
promise of good birds, but this time, I wouldn’t be seeing many warblers, and
the balmy weather that brings so many migrants would have to wait; instead of
hovering around 60˚F, I’d be hovering around 60˚N: Anchorage, Homer, Beluga,
and finally Churchill – so no qualms about the weather this time. This winter I heard that I was the
recipient of the Tim Schantz Memorial Scholarship, courtesy of a foundation
established by Mike and Tom Schantz in honor of their late brother, Tim, who at the
age of 36, had died guiding a birding tour to St. Lawrence Island, Alaska. Tim loved Homer and the Kachemak Bay
Shorebird Festival, so fittingly, the scholarship brings a college student each
year to give a presentation there at the festival in Homer. But before heading for Anchorage on May
8<sup>th</sup>, I had four exams in as many days, another to take with me to
Alaska, term papers, and of course, a presentation to prepare for. So in that first week of May, the
amount of stress embedded in my head didn’t leave much extra space for the
volumes of excitement that normally accompany May. But that all changed when I boarded a flight for Alaska – a
flight many years in wait.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I met Mike Schantz at baggage claim late the following
night, and headed to our host for the night’s beautiful home, situated on a
small rise overlooking Cook Inlet—at least, that’s what I had heard, and I was
excited to see the view for myself the next morning. We would be driving from Anchorage, southeast around
Turnagain Arm—a finger of the Inlet with sharply rising mountains on either
side and the prospect of Dall Sheep clamoring among the high rocks—and then
back along Highway 1, eventually travelling southwest the length of the Kenai
Peninsula to reach Homer. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid773trQ-yRTaUrw_kBJlREPHBcW3DCrWdZuWPBXQA8jqBTunSlsAIGTY_HhNywewe79uYcGaP6h6j7hAr7G17tdX6e8G9MzmuoBaGeP60aRiXfSEj1CoCQWq-3-ZnVZZh1lb0Oyn3cZvw/s1600/IMG_9676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid773trQ-yRTaUrw_kBJlREPHBcW3DCrWdZuWPBXQA8jqBTunSlsAIGTY_HhNywewe79uYcGaP6h6j7hAr7G17tdX6e8G9MzmuoBaGeP60aRiXfSEj1CoCQWq-3-ZnVZZh1lb0Oyn3cZvw/s400/IMG_9676.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
As the road crested a hill and banked left, a view of the
mouth of Kachemak Bay panned across the windshield to the south, its entrance
guarded by the long, narrow peninsula of stony beach and quaint restaurants and
charter offices known as the Homer Spit.
A drive along the Spit ends at a hotel and restaurant known as “Land’s
End,” and from here, one can walk along the point’s rocky shore, perched
halfway across the bay, looking out to the Kenai Mountains. Following a winter with twice the
average annual snowfall, May still gripped these mountains with snow down to
their coniferous feet, until they plunged abruptly into Kachemak’s frigid
waters. The sky above these cold
mountains was similarly bleak, but its smooth, deep gray was in stark contrast
with the mountains’ rugged, gleaming walls. On this overcast evening, as I walked along the beach past
weathered driftwood, smooth stones grinding under foot, I watched thousands of
Common Murres flying towards open water on rapid wings, hugging the waves in
tight flocks of a few dozen to a few hundred. This exodus of hardy birds seemed endless, headed for what
seemed an uncertain fate as they disappeared on a foggy horizon. But this daily flux of Murres in and
out of the Kachemak Bay is far from uncertain; sunrise would witness an equal
and opposite movement when the birds returned to these protected waters for the
day, as predictably as the sunrise itself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM01I9IEOlHIyd89RsZhPIYrOgwviZogDTA460Sfs6PkwPoJlsv_9G42ZhGYQhkyUwwPIivdxjOWNaY02wnbLm1dyiaJonrxyg5ZHfl9C1_tR7wpKyUY3PLC6wYf8B7z1tG-iMgOZBcNPy/s1600/IMG_9650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM01I9IEOlHIyd89RsZhPIYrOgwviZogDTA460Sfs6PkwPoJlsv_9G42ZhGYQhkyUwwPIivdxjOWNaY02wnbLm1dyiaJonrxyg5ZHfl9C1_tR7wpKyUY3PLC6wYf8B7z1tG-iMgOZBcNPy/s400/IMG_9650.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Common Murres</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC2rzVLegkB9mRyegfYkJZPs-70cKCTHnVqZp9KSd9-nsJyE65ocs2_H7noiS2hnweeiX3jj5aZGG75PE15XFA-F6J-taevTfsbr7mxPvYF4rGyzBAj73UCcAJejsMv6TcKLU-biJPY5HZ/s1600/IMG_0548.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC2rzVLegkB9mRyegfYkJZPs-70cKCTHnVqZp9KSd9-nsJyE65ocs2_H7noiS2hnweeiX3jj5aZGG75PE15XFA-F6J-taevTfsbr7mxPvYF4rGyzBAj73UCcAJejsMv6TcKLU-biJPY5HZ/s400/IMG_0548.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Common Murres coming in to Gull Island</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4MPFkNYa68zNVXr-ro5Mir6ZDUIfyfzJEZoOSS66Xa2eywJS6NeVvRsNIbfxxRtYJxbNZpAh5lpQl6aAFeE1Lsb3dc1xK233xbGz7onqqhZNSwfGkO2WuyvGLU7ommdQEAgd-i48jqDl/s1600/IMG_9684.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4MPFkNYa68zNVXr-ro5Mir6ZDUIfyfzJEZoOSS66Xa2eywJS6NeVvRsNIbfxxRtYJxbNZpAh5lpQl6aAFeE1Lsb3dc1xK233xbGz7onqqhZNSwfGkO2WuyvGLU7ommdQEAgd-i48jqDl/s400/IMG_9684.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Land's End"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS5CshoaPu7kfsCJ81wQHr84mYwiq45bgswR-QwVgqbPeZl4i-mrruDFQlfvENx9n8ZO4MW_a689BDVVM3iLCLlcSKwPKtMBzUwoe8O5tVNPPvCVVRZAkC3_q08U9a-Qf0fRt9KDh71MHK/s1600/IMG_0510.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS5CshoaPu7kfsCJ81wQHr84mYwiq45bgswR-QwVgqbPeZl4i-mrruDFQlfvENx9n8ZO4MW_a689BDVVM3iLCLlcSKwPKtMBzUwoe8O5tVNPPvCVVRZAkC3_q08U9a-Qf0fRt9KDh71MHK/s400/IMG_0510.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Red-faced Cormorant shared a rock with his Pelagic brethren at Gull Island</td></tr>
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Where we were staying on a hill overlooking the bay, this
particular sunrise revealed several inches of fresh snow blanketing the lawn
and the broad arms of the conifers that ringed the yard, reminiscent of a clear
day in January. A red-breasted
nuthatch bleeped from the tops of these firs, a fox sparrow sang from the very
top of another, a song as rich, full and sweet as any; and a varied thrush
uttered its dissonant, even-pitched whistle from the shaded recesses of a fir’s
heavy trunk, in thorough concealment, as if tired of sharing his good looks
with the world.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrwp2UXH-8EeuaSFkKpKLktbERJYzymaKwpMtT83OiEesMAvsGhHvMwW2EkwEHK2532O8RswC_FOGkMWXZP0lw1I6E41vLYiaF3o9CsdBeEqGRjLXltjnmcpKnA-uNfa1GvteXuik2JgTS/s1600/IMG_9845.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrwp2UXH-8EeuaSFkKpKLktbERJYzymaKwpMtT83OiEesMAvsGhHvMwW2EkwEHK2532O8RswC_FOGkMWXZP0lw1I6E41vLYiaF3o9CsdBeEqGRjLXltjnmcpKnA-uNfa1GvteXuik2JgTS/s400/IMG_9845.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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While shorebirding along the Spit that morning, a call came
in reporting a bristle-thighed curlew at the Anchor River mouth, just a 20-minute
drive to the north. Tom Schantz
and I immediately left for Anchor Point, willing it to stay while we
drove. The light was fading fast,
and when we arrived, Tom and I were alone. Given the bristle-thigh’s considerable rarity and incredible
life history, I was expecting an exodus of festival participants to converge on
the reported curlew (the first here in about a decade), but inexplicably, the
task of refinding the bird lay solely with us. These large shorebirds, tawny brown with a striped head and
a distinctive patch of bright buff on the rump, breed solely in the lower Yukon
delta and Seward Peninsula in remote western Alaska. As its Latin name <i>Numenius
tahitiensis</i> suggests, this high arctic breeder is equally (if not more)
familiar with tropical beaches and atolls of the South Pacific, where it was
first described in Tahiti during James Cook’s expeditions in the 18<sup>th</sup>
century. But it was not until more
than one hundred and sixty years later that the curlew’s nest was first
discovered in 1948, during an expedition led by Henry Kyllingstad, Warren
Peterson, and Arthur Allen. On a
tundra plateau outside of Mountain Village, the team had arguably one of the
most rewarding experiences any human has even had under any circumstances, and
it’s worth reading a full account here (<a href="http://arctic.synergiesprairies.ca/arctic/index.php/arctic/article/view/4006/3980">http://arctic.synergiesprairies.ca/arctic/index.php/arctic/article/view/4006/3980</a>). But since this well known
discovery, representing one of the most recent discoveries of a North American
bird’s nest, recent work with surgically implanted satellite transmitters has
revealed a more detailed picture of the birds’ incredible journeys. From Alaska, they fly at least 2,500
miles (4,000km) nonstop to Laysan and nearby islands in the western reaches of
the Hawaiian archipelago, and may continue south to winter in Fiji, Tuvalu,
Tonga, and other island nations of the South Pacific. </div>
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As we hiked north, we came to a low ridge, with the river
snaking to its mouth on our right, running parallel to the shoreline on our
left. Here, at a small oxbow in
the river was a large patch of thick beach grass, matted down by wind and rain,
a perfect spot for a curlew to nestle down for the night. Sure enough, nearly the first thing my
binoculars met was a good-sized, brown bird, hunkered low in the grass, sitting
still. The scope revealed a bird
very similar to a whimbrel, but with a slim bill and buffy scalloping on the
back. But without any whimbrel
present to compare with, I was worried that my hopes of seeing this wanderer en
route to his remote summer home were making me too quick to call it a curlew, especially
in fading light and without any views of the diagnostic rump. Soon, and to our relief, several people
who had had previous experience with this species were making their way down
the beach, and the eager but cautious conversation that made its way through the maze
of scopes and tripods was leaning towards a bristle-thighed curlew – it looked
good, but notes and photos would need to be reviewed against references. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtkPh6etIcXw-fcaC_N2M1VsU5jFyquFs2WmmcHx4XfQp1ah7gb2XovyEbjo6lrZCzvJKoxbQjQR0biVILONJWb-o2uo5ah0Lk53kAjsClP0XEqqWhlkCl4O8FthO0feLEfKIkArHp1cy5/s1600/IMG_9881.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtkPh6etIcXw-fcaC_N2M1VsU5jFyquFs2WmmcHx4XfQp1ah7gb2XovyEbjo6lrZCzvJKoxbQjQR0biVILONJWb-o2uo5ah0Lk53kAjsClP0XEqqWhlkCl4O8FthO0feLEfKIkArHp1cy5/s400/IMG_9881.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bristle-thighed Curlew </td></tr>
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So the next morning, our first stop was the Anchor River mouth
– it would be hard to leave Alaska without being completely convinced of this
bird’s identity. As Tom and I
walked out the beach, we were again alone. I heard a whimbrel calling as it flew up from the oxbow
where we had watched our so-called bristle-thighed curlew last night – and just
like the “curlew,” the whimbrel was alone. I was quickly beginning to doubt, as painful as it was, that
our sighting the evening before had been anything out of the ordinary – save
for extraordinary levels of probably unwarranted excitement. But then another whimbrel flew up from
the beach ahead of us, among others, and I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I
had heard a soft “piu-weet,” the clear flight call of a bristle-thighed curlew. Then
Tom’s arm flew up as he exclaimed, “There! That one’s got a bright rump!” I snapped a few record shots as it fled
further down the beach, and then, as another whimbrel flew past, I thought I’d
get a comparison shot – but as I found it in my viewfinder, I realized this
second bird also had a pale rump!
There were two bristle-thighed curlews, and here we were with no one to
share them with – one for each of us!
We followed them slowly down the beach to the river mouth, where they
crossed and foraged comfortably within a short distance. In this new day’s light, and with a
flock of whimbrels to compare them to, there was no question this was a very
different bird. The buffy
scalloping on the upperparts stood out plainly compared to the whimbrels’ even, brown tones; the bills were thin at the base, and seemed to curve more sharply
downwards. I was ecstatic, and
when I spotted a bar-tailed godwit joining the flock along with a small group
of long-billed dowitchers, I simply couldn’t believe my eyes. The godwit is another bird usually only
seen in remote western Alaska in North America, aside from rare records along
both coasts, and this bird had probably just flown from New Zealand and Japan
or Hokkaido. Shortly after, a group of birders made their way down the beach, and we rushed them onwards to share this incredible spectacle that lay in wait at the end of a long walk.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtTdcWM8TE_0BKvboEsTGNMyoyt3emqHqw_ovzu7VuyTC-uXo8ELF7kBQRlmuGs_HBKyoY3biUctVzDJipZnCnRytf-9Tq_CquQTnpSrZDRbKnOwrBokaIFTMmjiKU12aDkI_fp770fI7n/s1600/IMG_9908+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtTdcWM8TE_0BKvboEsTGNMyoyt3emqHqw_ovzu7VuyTC-uXo8ELF7kBQRlmuGs_HBKyoY3biUctVzDJipZnCnRytf-9Tq_CquQTnpSrZDRbKnOwrBokaIFTMmjiKU12aDkI_fp770fI7n/s400/IMG_9908+(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bristle-thigh's buff rump patch, which Whimbrels lack</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_M9-FCiaJZdMynTn5gWmOGspErdx0iCLJ4vvltMHbUOu7aQzOkrbW-39dD8p2lqeB8XkLSU4PpAxPH9NWfYg6Zt3snqqbcNd67-EeR9rn1NKGRndc18Q3ehU7fIsutf1SzlMtdlLTYmbS/s1600/IMG_2152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_M9-FCiaJZdMynTn5gWmOGspErdx0iCLJ4vvltMHbUOu7aQzOkrbW-39dD8p2lqeB8XkLSU4PpAxPH9NWfYg6Zt3snqqbcNd67-EeR9rn1NKGRndc18Q3ehU7fIsutf1SzlMtdlLTYmbS/s400/IMG_2152.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bar-tailed Godwit with two Bristle-thighed Curlews and a Whimbrel (front) </td></tr>
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Throughout the next two days, I was able to spend several
hours with these birds, including another lonely evening where a flock of
eleven whimbrels, the two bristle-thighed curlews and the bar-tailed godwit
landed a few dozen yards in front of me, with soft “piu-weet”s floating over
the beach among the melancholy tremolos of the whimbrels. On this calm evening, there was no wind
to stir the ocean or ruffle the birds’ tired feathers, feathers which had just
carried them thousands of miles over the open water whose cold fingers were now lapping
softly at my feet. I looked out past these purpose-driven globetrotters, toward a horizon of snow-capped peaks
extending to the right and hazy emptiness to the left. These three birds – the godwit and his
curlew companions – had certainly seen worse days over that ocean, now as
docile as it was when it was named.
But here they were, alive and breathing, readying for their last quick
jaunt to the breeding grounds, and here I was, sitting in the sand not twenty
feet away as they settled in to sleep for the night.<br />
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That Sunday I left Homer for Anchorage, where I would take a
Cessna 207 to Bleuga, a small settlement west of Anchorage, built chiefly
around the Chugach Electric power plant, situated over a gas reserve and
powering about half of Anchorage.
I was here to visit another field site for Nate Senner’s Hudsonian
Godwit research, the project I’ve spent two summers in Churchill working
on. On our way there, we dropped
into a viallge called Tyonek, a few miles past Beluga. We dropped casually into a dirt landing
strip, where the pilot promptly began handing out packages to locals: “Is Joe
here? This is his. Maria? Here you
go. Grandma?” and so on…certainly a small town feel, to say the least. He hopped back in, closed the door, and we were immediately
bouncing down the runway again, gaining speed – no taxiing around to gates or waiting for fuel trucks. This is
the way to fly!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRVQfrj3EDS7A0mpcJ_iHMBj6D6oHMNpmJVFAp0tgAqXw4z8Cik2TZP-YFC52sz0oyo4hXeoyR7ZC4I5HJ3pUxSOesF8InTNUjTiXX2deiy_ZzMiA_fOr2W1gufJRWNK06W-xKlN9I6hFh/s1600/IMG_0069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRVQfrj3EDS7A0mpcJ_iHMBj6D6oHMNpmJVFAp0tgAqXw4z8Cik2TZP-YFC52sz0oyo4hXeoyR7ZC4I5HJ3pUxSOesF8InTNUjTiXX2deiy_ZzMiA_fOr2W1gufJRWNK06W-xKlN9I6hFh/s400/IMG_0069.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig3FNJVC18qZdiAeCdbScCtBLSm_ntzQEMUDmPS637S9eRoUC1WHI7_pI11L8k-ICTym9ReIQUbyex_1agp0m-zXgEtSwyvTSpV2BJkiATnLDfBquc455_Xq3J06GT40CL0rW-oLeDF-hp/s1600/IMG_0107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig3FNJVC18qZdiAeCdbScCtBLSm_ntzQEMUDmPS637S9eRoUC1WHI7_pI11L8k-ICTym9ReIQUbyex_1agp0m-zXgEtSwyvTSpV2BJkiATnLDfBquc455_Xq3J06GT40CL0rW-oLeDF-hp/s400/IMG_0107.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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I could write plenty about Beluga, but given that you now
represent the maybe 5% of readers who have made it this far, I will
refrain. It was, however, a very
cool experience to see this disparate breeding area for the godwits, especially
after seeing them on wintering grounds in southern Chile and working with them in the eastern arctic – I have been
incredibly fortunate to have followed so much of this far-flung species’ annual
cycle. By the end of their season
this year, the Beluga crew had recaptured 24 geolocators, a truly incredible
number (as compared to our abysmal 2 from Churchill in 2011)! Hopefully, I can have a small fraction
of that success in the summer of 2013, when I return to Churchill to recapture
some of the 25 geolocators I will be deploying this summer on Whimbrel (more on
that in a later post). </div>
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And last, but not least, after visiting Beluga, Hope
Batcheller, Nate Senner, John Fitzpatrick and I drove back to Homer, once
again, to attend Chris Wood and Jessie Barry’s wedding – an awesome event that
brought together some of the country’s most ridiculous birders, all sweeping the Kenai peninsula, undoubtedly with centuries of collective experience behind their eyes, affording many
great looks at the lingering bristle-thighed curlews, yellow-billed loons, Kittlitz's murrelets, and so forth. Many thanks and huge congratulations to Chris and Jessie! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38fW6SL_j6AsiLW6d6ouRBPly5FUw8eOaQQ8I1KhfHQN4J3B4kL9297acsDpAy_OQidYEjaSWqDtolkSyhExBPQ7Y04pNzi7SlB9Kc0TT3j82wHHJpgR67e0Bk5N9GUBok1CwVu7__OkM/s1600/IMG_0795.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38fW6SL_j6AsiLW6d6ouRBPly5FUw8eOaQQ8I1KhfHQN4J3B4kL9297acsDpAy_OQidYEjaSWqDtolkSyhExBPQ7Y04pNzi7SlB9Kc0TT3j82wHHJpgR67e0Bk5N9GUBok1CwVu7__OkM/s400/IMG_0795.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<o:p> </o:p> </div>
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After a quick drop to some 42˚N, I’m now back at 58˚, in
Churchill, Manitoba, starting work on a project with Whimbrels – birds with an always-pleasant
resemblance to a certain pair of neatly patterned Pacific wanderers. More on them soon! </div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com3Homer, AK, USA59.6425 -151.548333359.578301499999995 -151.7062618 59.7066985 -151.3904048tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-84736792618087578592012-03-04T11:51:00.001-05:002012-03-04T12:47:42.215-05:00Chile Expedition - Part II<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhid3vf63mLIVJCsFwNlOQEhnbsc3ZMZeHZpFuFSg2NQ5YbaAV4t7qLFvIL3CskdO93cYCyTbnRHOHpjhdfMz6J6vGJ6P7gUaHYMb_Yr8WywTL2Qav359-mY8eKZB8mqN8zWNyK17HxjtOM/s1600/IMG_8569+-+Version+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhid3vf63mLIVJCsFwNlOQEhnbsc3ZMZeHZpFuFSg2NQ5YbaAV4t7qLFvIL3CskdO93cYCyTbnRHOHpjhdfMz6J6vGJ6P7gUaHYMb_Yr8WywTL2Qav359-mY8eKZB8mqN8zWNyK17HxjtOM/s400/IMG_8569+-+Version+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The Yeso Valley has to be the most incredible place I’ve
ever seen. On this late January
evening, the sun drew its last sharp rays across the peaks encircling us, and
Andean Condors made their last rounds before going to roost. At over 8,000 feet of elevation, our
campsite was on a flat, alpine meadow, nestled among several snow-covered
peaks, some of them reaching another 8,000 feet higher still. We were just a few hours’ drive east of Santiago, a dense, smoggy metropolis of over 7 million
people – but it felt a world away.
Because here, we were in the company of one of the world’s most
enigmatic and captivating shorebirds, the Diademed Sandpiper-plover (<i>Phegornis mitchelli)</i>. Restricted to peat bogs and alluvium in
the high Andes, the Sandpiper-plover is considered near-threatened, due to its
small, declining global population and restricted range. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLVLX-CE1asif-53ltAqCH-ElVGXR8Sry4tXUBenaoB_1FT24pRWSdu5gR7J5v1BJuf3JuY_x9WSQClul2-w9-P4MLN6TfcIFzCVCAdMgTNBcCwD8pHbhjWKQSKypE8KRfY3oOy_2izipo/s1600/IMG_7945.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLVLX-CE1asif-53ltAqCH-ElVGXR8Sry4tXUBenaoB_1FT24pRWSdu5gR7J5v1BJuf3JuY_x9WSQClul2-w9-P4MLN6TfcIFzCVCAdMgTNBcCwD8pHbhjWKQSKypE8KRfY3oOy_2izipo/s400/IMG_7945.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Yeso abode, frequently grazed by goats, horses, and cattle</td></tr>
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But our lack of knowledge about the basic ecology of this
species compounds their vulnerability – and that’s what had brought us here. We met up again with Jim Johnson and a crew of
Chilean biologists, this time to help out with and shadow their research on this amazing bird. Jim, an Alaskan shorebird biologist who’s been studying
migratory Whimbrel and Godwits on their Chilean wintering grounds, and Chilean
master’s student, Andrea Contreras, are working to better understand this
species’ life history and develop a proactive conservation plan. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxRa6ClW5MTya5_PLbn7odDtJ8wJI25F3v-5ugirqd-XdL-aI__QblHKjthk1iDx8lpH0sB8bA3EfwDaKjw6BBFt8kBaMgHvQ0TBsg230F2WPbZZ1jVAl6P3iyD3AQgyIy8Y5mCKwSJj82/s1600/IMG_9065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxRa6ClW5MTya5_PLbn7odDtJ8wJI25F3v-5ugirqd-XdL-aI__QblHKjthk1iDx8lpH0sB8bA3EfwDaKjw6BBFt8kBaMgHvQ0TBsg230F2WPbZZ1jVAl6P3iyD3AQgyIy8Y5mCKwSJj82/s400/IMG_9065.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diademed Sandpiper-plover </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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This study began last January during the austral summer,
when the upper reaches of the Yeso Valley are spared from constant snow and
wind. In this second field season,
Jim, Andrea and crew would continue work to find nests, band birds, and
evaluate breeding success, all the while hoping to glean something of the
refined taste <i>Phegornis</i> has for
Andean bogs – and exercising their own for Chilean wines. The particular habitat requirements of
the Sandpiper-plover are poorly understood, and the birds inexplicably shun many
bogs that appear suitable to the human observer; even their seasonal movements
and winter havens remain uncharted.
There is however, the suspicion that these birds overwinter in the
Valley, contrary to earlier hypotheses that they migrate north and join other
populations. This would be a
crucial discovery for the species’ conservation, as it would indicate very
small, isolated populations at even greater risk of local extinction.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_7xYZ5E6DJUNYUdW-Gn2gSANHQSIn-W18PA2GfpRZUc2sUYqEdisqRza9-2Ccrb2w71jr9mhwwYF8C4JrxlbcpD8i0OkpkURhSASinHpoQXjOfhF7sEtTGUHq7TCcMg8bMRO4x49TYbwd/s1600/IMG_8880.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_7xYZ5E6DJUNYUdW-Gn2gSANHQSIn-W18PA2GfpRZUc2sUYqEdisqRza9-2Ccrb2w71jr9mhwwYF8C4JrxlbcpD8i0OkpkURhSASinHpoQXjOfhF7sEtTGUHq7TCcMg8bMRO4x49TYbwd/s320/IMG_8880.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White-browed Ground-tyrant</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Earlier that day, we awoke before dawn to traipse the
valley, recording and filming the bird life here: Ground-tyrants,
Earthcreepers, Hillstars, Cinclodes and Condors, a menagerie of high elevation
specialists. These former figments
of my imagination were now flitting before my lens, alive and breathing. And all this, contained within a most
stunning and humbling fishbowl between mountains: the Yeso Valley, a product of
many millions of years of geology, was towering over me in its apparent
permanence, reminding me that all I’ve ever known is contained within a mere
snapshot of time. But of course,
this snapshot I was living had another 12 hours of daylight, and we were here
to make the most of it. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipL7MGoG6B5OqFuHUTgVpFs6O5drWKFZscV6ymZ2MSoSSAyzwIiObL_cvYy1eUufguZiwceIhDTTJtOIYNZuqLuSRVbLoi-mcs93b2eZi8e5W5tgiMstSuTnQC6l_soXfTZvxMx3veqYDC/s1600/IMG_9244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipL7MGoG6B5OqFuHUTgVpFs6O5drWKFZscV6ymZ2MSoSSAyzwIiObL_cvYy1eUufguZiwceIhDTTJtOIYNZuqLuSRVbLoi-mcs93b2eZi8e5W5tgiMstSuTnQC6l_soXfTZvxMx3veqYDC/s400/IMG_9244.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White-sided Hillstar</td></tr>
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The crew had split into a few groups and dispersed
throughout the valley, revisiting productive sites from the 2011 season in
hopes of resighting banded birds and finding new nests. Luckily, one of the first pairs we
encountered was kind enough to lead us to the goal – two splotchy, olive eggs
nestled atop a small, grassy mound.
Spending some time with this pair, I was able to film an adult returning
to the nest to incubate, a sequence I had been visualizing over and over since
we began planning the expedition months prior. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj51kAoCyqoG8jb-znvZuyQX8iOvtBK5V-qWqHVJ4pysngjpJjqMcvHiNIP-TiXlFeIz5KPZcZv_xLM41pwzhOrFlIBgxgJXo3Aqe5fL7EZ-GrCSaGgKmK3tSDYUfnfDuddl-zdqCwEpkW5/s1600/IMG_9124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj51kAoCyqoG8jb-znvZuyQX8iOvtBK5V-qWqHVJ4pysngjpJjqMcvHiNIP-TiXlFeIz5KPZcZv_xLM41pwzhOrFlIBgxgJXo3Aqe5fL7EZ-GrCSaGgKmK3tSDYUfnfDuddl-zdqCwEpkW5/s400/IMG_9124.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spreading out in search of a nest</td></tr>
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Throughout the remainder of our all too brief three days in
the Valley, we had many amazing opportunities to shadow this project, filming
and participating in the capture and banding of chicks and adults, and
searching for nests. We were able
to capture some of the first high-definition video of this species, a diverse
portrayal of their life histories: adults vocalizing and foraging, incubating
nests, brooding chicks, and accompanying fledglings. In the week following our departure for the Altiplano of
northern Chile, the team went on to find a staggering 18 nests. The Sandpiper-plover crew’s research is
just beginning, but already yielding invaluable information that will help
direct the conservation of this fascinating denizen of the high Andes. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWRJxDCV7aXkUTQGCBmotERyLJAeT_K6EN7tsP3tMJHBjBjuAC30_ppExF-eglrRf-GhcPTMdA_bJswXyCBikngvMaIIvElG1XaXARz2NB80wwQuxZPFyNEBZPx-1u1_-BKm_-d301Bf4b/s1600/IMG_9135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWRJxDCV7aXkUTQGCBmotERyLJAeT_K6EN7tsP3tMJHBjBjuAC30_ppExF-eglrRf-GhcPTMdA_bJswXyCBikngvMaIIvElG1XaXARz2NB80wwQuxZPFyNEBZPx-1u1_-BKm_-d301Bf4b/s400/IMG_9135.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The early days of Sandpiper-ploverhood</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-8433461015746420372012-02-03T22:34:00.003-05:002012-02-05T23:24:47.972-05:00Chile Expedition - Part I<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNmKE1fKh8qjqDFIkei2oDTmXpOqC08mi2wiVj7-Dcsrp8rnyqXImgN3laqTlH6stSQHSWrze1IT0kiEObG_0qgWcVW0ZDd6XOeFRI4PEo8u-5ly0SZ5vQXUWgmskjkafOElU3QSlDb8d4/s1600/IMG_1996.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNmKE1fKh8qjqDFIkei2oDTmXpOqC08mi2wiVj7-Dcsrp8rnyqXImgN3laqTlH6stSQHSWrze1IT0kiEObG_0qgWcVW0ZDd6XOeFRI4PEo8u-5ly0SZ5vQXUWgmskjkafOElU3QSlDb8d4/s200/IMG_1996.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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I've tried and failed to understand how extremely fortunate I've been to be one of many undergraduates involved in the Cornell Lab of Ornithology's vast array of research and outreach. Most recently, this past January, I had the amazing opportunity to carry out a video and audio expedition to Chile that another sophomore, Hope Batcheller, and I proposed this Fall. We would join Nathan Senner, a Ph.D. student <a href="http://birdingetcetera.blogspot.com/2011/06/subarctic-secrets.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">studying the migrations of Hudsonian Godwits</span></a>, to resight some of our banded birds on their wintering grounds in south-central Chile. But noticing a dearth of recordings and videos from Chile in the Lab's Macaulay Library collection, we figured it would be worthwhile to extend our stay and visit an array of Chile's unique habitats to remedy the situation. Luckily, the Lab (and generous donors) agreed, so there we found ourselves, in a little cottage on Isla Chiloé, along with a team of Alaskan biologists to resight flagged shorebirds. For the past few years, the team has worked here resighting birds from Alaskan and Canadian study sites, as well as <a href="http://slybird.blogspot.com/2010/07/cannon-netting.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">cannon-netting and banding</span></a> large numbers of wintering birds there on the island. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkEW8flCuGeU2P3ebNg7I7uX2zwODJRi5_b8_6jZoHZUZm6JjUxNNpJfv_lao33Z20YWZpxFI6f-KIA12Ek0RCPa_4jFiphaf7JaIhQPwdrz066HIy32loN8fLyk1jyyMaqTmAbB6zlmlZ/s1600/MVI_7654.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkEW8flCuGeU2P3ebNg7I7uX2zwODJRi5_b8_6jZoHZUZm6JjUxNNpJfv_lao33Z20YWZpxFI6f-KIA12Ek0RCPa_4jFiphaf7JaIhQPwdrz066HIy32loN8fLyk1jyyMaqTmAbB6zlmlZ/s200/MVI_7654.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cabañas de Llau-Llao</td></tr>
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On Jaunary 6th, Hope and Nate picked me up from the Puerto Montt Airport and we drove south to the ferry for Chiloé. It was a balmy 60-70 degrees most of the time there, but my first two days were full of rain - enough rain to put our resighting work on hold. Birding in the rain is fine, but when you have to read a three-letter code engraved on a small plastic flag on a bird's leg from a few dozen yards, a little rain on your scope's lens can go a long way. Thankfully though, our last couple days on the island were more than productive enough to make up for it, as the team ended the week with more than double the number of resighted birds as in previous years! Essentially, we drove around the island to a select series of mudflats preferred by the birds at different times of day, slowly approaching any flocks we could find. While this was mostly a leisurely, therapeutic task, it sometimes involved pulling our boots through dense, silty mud up to our knees, only to watch the apparently threatening silhouette of a Southern Caracara fly by and spook the feeding flock across the bay. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieVx8oBhcw40lFywKNw4h63wtdNUK8FsoKI6ac_utxpF2epH8e-t7ErnJO2JOj3Jw27dMlG915gzWy6n9fb-UvF5OnZOXhhURIqcV7IJunOyadxf4U0oevKhSxcvxHX6NczCEm8dZipFC_/s1600/IMG_8025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieVx8oBhcw40lFywKNw4h63wtdNUK8FsoKI6ac_utxpF2epH8e-t7ErnJO2JOj3Jw27dMlG915gzWy6n9fb-UvF5OnZOXhhURIqcV7IJunOyadxf4U0oevKhSxcvxHX6NczCEm8dZipFC_/s400/IMG_8025.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Putemun, one of our primary study sites </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSV7Z02vHxnwX2ocJZ9IQq_mxtjWsUPbYIi_LJXgh8FNvA0bM0leLGRilyagtF9BMQj-QIPBXcQ85IlyF6U-Iz0P5oqA9oYLjC7bRfaW_1KPjX_UiGcJYhuCJZUNdszGowh9antFtBiPmz/s1600/IMG_8077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSV7Z02vHxnwX2ocJZ9IQq_mxtjWsUPbYIi_LJXgh8FNvA0bM0leLGRilyagtF9BMQj-QIPBXcQ85IlyF6U-Iz0P5oqA9oYLjC7bRfaW_1KPjX_UiGcJYhuCJZUNdszGowh9antFtBiPmz/s400/IMG_8077.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A large flock of Hudsonian Godwits and Whimbrel, in the Pullao inlet </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKoe1hl1v8uZwuLmRsoAuB3ekHCiRH_6WuR1KE8wHXaAUInEJGeyeeXXH-xG3tXWAqJiS2jJMZ53MJ77eUfOsrLeCDHEZhbL5VZq67WY79SdFWliPmqx1ezqyEe_h32iI7rjKIiUy-1wpf/s1600/IMG_8202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKoe1hl1v8uZwuLmRsoAuB3ekHCiRH_6WuR1KE8wHXaAUInEJGeyeeXXH-xG3tXWAqJiS2jJMZ53MJ77eUfOsrLeCDHEZhbL5VZq67WY79SdFWliPmqx1ezqyEe_h32iI7rjKIiUy-1wpf/s400/IMG_8202.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chimango Caracara, a ubiquitous raptor, often seen feeding <br />
on mussels alongside shorebirds</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGTzt1fcp97MNcEctlAjcRu35wHPukIGqMjtWjXd1RUBJ7ZhI62XHp07XR6xLweLJoWnEgEDJrMSL5O6equphaVYgCpntkMrZLkk5YUmxvLsnvyT5n3mB9sMx2M9emqPGT4Oa0gUdeRbp_/s1600/IMG_8475.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGTzt1fcp97MNcEctlAjcRu35wHPukIGqMjtWjXd1RUBJ7ZhI62XHp07XR6xLweLJoWnEgEDJrMSL5O6equphaVYgCpntkMrZLkk5YUmxvLsnvyT5n3mB9sMx2M9emqPGT4Oa0gUdeRbp_/s400/IMG_8475.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hudsonian Godwit, in "winter" garb </td></tr>
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It was fascinating, too, to watch some of the current proceedings of the team's on-the-ground efforts to conserve the areas most important to these birds. When imagining birds built to endure the arctic tundra spending their winters on a beach, feeding endlessly under blue skies, and a light breeze, it's easy to imagine they've got it pretty good– that they're getting a wonderful taste of a Florida retirement each and every year, without a care in the world. But it would certainly be an illusion. First of all, consider the 10,000 miles they cover to get there, and even more astonishing, the fact that most will accomplish 6,000 of them in one, non-stop marathon, with the next 4,000 chomping at the bit. I've known these numbers and been amazed, but when I experienced just how excruciatingly long it took for a 757 (Aeroplanus boeingii) to fly to Chile, I realized just what little of that magnitude I could really comprehend. But beyond their journey, these seemingly elysian mudflats are rapidly losing their ability to harbor large concentrations of shorebirds. Much of this is due to direct human traffic and interference with the birds' feeding and roosting patterns. Everywhere we set foot, dozens of Chiloé residents were following the tide, busily hunched over collecting seaweed for the production of algae-based biofuels. The island's aquaculture trade is also continuing to expand rapidly, filling many of the inlets with hundreds of cages for fish and mussel farming. The waters there are a shared resource, and with Chile's growing economy and drive for energy independence, that's not going to change anytime soon. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik92hvsZQnRZojqclqqV0OHMn9gTYHtO_6L48g04eDtejHmIsGh2iACU2lqAKiZxJmosoG_GJ-7HcggNpsMSNUu03Dz52CysWwXTHkvmtmpiZ7_0iayclWIR4pxI7FS5yxA7EdMGP2M-oB/s1600/MVI_8040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik92hvsZQnRZojqclqqV0OHMn9gTYHtO_6L48g04eDtejHmIsGh2iACU2lqAKiZxJmosoG_GJ-7HcggNpsMSNUu03Dz52CysWwXTHkvmtmpiZ7_0iayclWIR4pxI7FS5yxA7EdMGP2M-oB/s400/MVI_8040.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Algae collector passing by Whimbrel </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9aNIYQEnkvWLBxZDa9tiTj1yIpP9RmjHgGjvTDsR96T6RFgvle351k1k0_MP0mJZXQn3uV2mXEQeeAUdrTSeAK9DlfnlS1FZ9BIT6v9nRMibgu-iHByBSWSqAZmxXRZ8Mm8FVs5bXG-5/s1600/IMG_7932.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9aNIYQEnkvWLBxZDa9tiTj1yIpP9RmjHgGjvTDsR96T6RFgvle351k1k0_MP0mJZXQn3uV2mXEQeeAUdrTSeAK9DlfnlS1FZ9BIT6v9nRMibgu-iHByBSWSqAZmxXRZ8Mm8FVs5bXG-5/s400/IMG_7932.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dark-bellied Cinclodes, a common inhabitant of Chiloe's shorelines</td></tr>
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In turn, the island is rapidly developing in other sectors as well, as evidenced by the beginnings of a new airport (Chiloés first, with service direct from Santiago) in the city of Castro, and large new neighborhoods springing up next to previously undisturbed inlets. It's a daunting pattern that's become all too familiar. Fortunately, however, a collaborative effort by the Manomet Center for Conservation Sciences, WHSRN (Western Hemisphere Shorebird Reserve Network) and CECPAN (Centro de Estudios y Conservación del Patrimonio Natural) is underway to acquire the land needed to protect the sites most critical to these birds' delicate populations. Of course, it's always a much more complex and volatile process than meets the eye...especially the American eye. It's Chile's rapid development and energy initiatives that have made it unique among Latin American countries on track to join the "First World." So the notion of Western organizations buying up foreign land for conservation, but also in opposition to "renewable" practices, such as biofuel production and wind farms, is an extremely intriguing practice, and it's history and current state in Chile will hopefully be one of my research focuses this coming summer...but that's another story.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0onmWlCVCjuajelNeDJgxJv7Asi-R0isvNx-Dj7VY7ddYKkARj9__8A5liETWRiHDDVbuYJil3hjqhcM8QLfRQGkCSOzwW1bl_6MFEZ0FfR8SJqnUwpvO_YJXyOofmM98748ihh2T10M6/s1600/IMG_8303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0onmWlCVCjuajelNeDJgxJv7Asi-R0isvNx-Dj7VY7ddYKkARj9__8A5liETWRiHDDVbuYJil3hjqhcM8QLfRQGkCSOzwW1bl_6MFEZ0FfR8SJqnUwpvO_YJXyOofmM98748ihh2T10M6/s400/IMG_8303.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Stay tuned for Part II, the portion of our expedition devoted to filming the breeding biology of the unique Diademed Sandpiper-plover and other Andean specialties, like Flamingos!Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com2Ignacio Serrano 502-568, Castro, Los Lagos Region, Chile-42.48014 -73.762414-43.9794695 -76.2892695 -40.9808105 -71.23555850000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-52849020922742223042012-01-05T00:01:00.002-05:002012-01-05T10:17:00.164-05:00To Chile...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QajiOylwj_4/TwUqfLGAnDI/AAAAAAAAAmI/pC9X2Hr-C-8/s1600/Screen+shot+2012-01-04+at+11.10.12+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QajiOylwj_4/TwUqfLGAnDI/AAAAAAAAAmI/pC9X2Hr-C-8/s1600/Screen+shot+2012-01-04+at+11.10.12+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="222" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QajiOylwj_4/TwUqfLGAnDI/AAAAAAAAAmI/pC9X2Hr-C-8/s400/Screen+shot+2012-01-04+at+11.10.12+PM.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A</b>: Isla Chiloé, <b>B</b>: Santiago / Valle del Yeso, <b>C</b>: Arica / Lauca NP</td></tr>
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Tomorrow I leave for two weeks in Chile, and that falls into the "holy dear God this is not real" category of fun facts, despite the nearly 24 hours in planes and airports standing between me and the great Bird Continent. I will be travelling with Hope Batcheller and Nathan Senner, spending the first few days on Isla Chiloé, resighting the Hudsonian Godwits Nate banded in Alaska (unfortunately, this won't include any of the birds we banded in Churchill– but we'll cope).<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tCUenMwfBxk/TwUtuXV8vwI/AAAAAAAAAmc/mcNaGn_-zr8/s1600/Screen+shot+2012-01-04+at+10.58.36+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="131" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tCUenMwfBxk/TwUtuXV8vwI/AAAAAAAAAmc/mcNaGn_-zr8/s200/Screen+shot+2012-01-04+at+10.58.36+PM.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view down the Valley</td></tr>
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Afterwards, we'll be heading back to Santiago, giving a quick presentation...in Spanish (i.e. the foreign language that none of us really knows...it's good for stories though, and as you can see, I'm preemptively milking it for all its worth). We'll then be camping a few nights in the El Yeso Valley, at about 9,000 feet. Here we officially embark on a video/audio expedition for the Lab of Ornithology's <a href="http://macaulaylibrary.org/" target="_blank">Macaulay Library</a>, where we'll be joining a field crew studying Diademed Sandpiper-plovers to intimately document this species' breeding biology and spectacular bofedal habitat (high elevation cushion bogs).</div>
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From there, we'll grab a 1:00AM flight a little over 1,000 miles north to Arica, near the Peruvian border. We'll be driving east from there, toward Lauca National Park, abutting Bolivia. The snowy cone of the Parinacota Volcano dominates this barren landscape, jutting almost 20,000 feet above sea level, but we'll be after the flamingoes, sierra-finches, and ground-tyrants populating the foreground.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YyohwgPfM-M/TwUtsZTKh0I/AAAAAAAAAmU/SJ9jR0Wzhiw/s1600/Screen+shot+2012-01-04+at+10.56.13+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YyohwgPfM-M/TwUtsZTKh0I/AAAAAAAAAmU/SJ9jR0Wzhiw/s400/Screen+shot+2012-01-04+at+10.56.13+PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Volcán Parinacota and Lago Chungará, the highest lake in the world.</td></tr>
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After a quick jaunt back to Santiago for another long series of flights back to the Not-so-birdy Continent, we'll get a chance to sleep before classes start again! So stay tuned for updates from the field and hopefully many photos and videos to show for it.</div>
</div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-84904533934726817132011-10-29T11:12:00.000-04:002011-10-30T10:10:35.122-04:00Revisiting the 1000 Islands<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJPtjmp9oO-Lltcf4xXxXN63aUljqngsrPezYH40bLgGBj0dVchr5xe4J4KYiJyObDYpytlvoN9pite44FA7gNaVs8u7pgTwEC16wZR-QvHz_rlg0rtxMmA2rJs7ThXktSyKAwkAMIQ9A/s1600/IMG_4948.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJPtjmp9oO-Lltcf4xXxXN63aUljqngsrPezYH40bLgGBj0dVchr5xe4J4KYiJyObDYpytlvoN9pite44FA7gNaVs8u7pgTwEC16wZR-QvHz_rlg0rtxMmA2rJs7ThXktSyKAwkAMIQ9A/s320/IMG_4948.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camelot Island</td></tr>
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Camping and sea kayaking over a long weekend in the midst of busy classes is no doubt a welcome escape. I took a sea kayaking class last fall break in the 1000 Islands of southeast Ontario, where the St. Lawrence meets Lake Ontario, and enjoyed it so much I decided to train to help teach the course this fall. On our fall break, from October 8-11, I finally got the chance to return and repeat the trip. The 1000 Islands region is beautiful in the fall, a place not surprisingly rampant with small islands of mixed deciduous and coniferous woodland and rugged, rocky outcrops. The trip also coincides with the tail end of the fall warbler migration, and the beginning of some of the bigger, open water birds' passage, so when the weather's nice, it's a great time to be paddling. And the weather couldn't have been better.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVFgYom5x99N1hdZUJIvRkxHVV9hBnMqz4l6pAvgNqkGu6BWyW_wltUZNoNkl0acuAAip2R4iWKXtXHZ13uqd6FfQd517vVgqE1sRtIKm2E4gxw0iPVR81tvDNWA1-bnrQ0uIkN5j_Chrc/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-10-15+at+6.58.55+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVFgYom5x99N1hdZUJIvRkxHVV9hBnMqz4l6pAvgNqkGu6BWyW_wltUZNoNkl0acuAAip2R4iWKXtXHZ13uqd6FfQd517vVgqE1sRtIKm2E4gxw0iPVR81tvDNWA1-bnrQ0uIkN5j_Chrc/s320/Screen+shot+2011-10-15+at+6.58.55+PM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1000 Islands region where we paddled, with the east end of <br />
Lake Ontario just visible in the SW corner</td></tr>
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After a few evening classes in preceding weeks, we were finally loading up the van and trailer on Friday afternoon, and driving north to spend the night at our put-in, Misty Isles, near Gananoque, ON. The next four days would have temperatures hovering around 60 and blue, cloudless skies. Saturday morning gave the first indication that the forecast might be true, and Sunday, Monday and Tuesday soon proved it. But I don't want to write a day by day trip report, and most people wouldn't want to read that either, so I'll just recall some highlights.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9dH10jHJZxEMWat50sJeb94cdTNsswDhVEyChJyvYp9Xyv-d6rXXy1H5iZ7pEr4cvel_w9Slgsb49dmUqncZkpzF87Ye8jn2-iG0N15Qzjm4dtScRreq6-rcqiELdjrme2Fsp-xh0rnVQ/s1600/IMG_5074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9dH10jHJZxEMWat50sJeb94cdTNsswDhVEyChJyvYp9Xyv-d6rXXy1H5iZ7pEr4cvel_w9Slgsb49dmUqncZkpzF87Ye8jn2-iG0N15Qzjm4dtScRreq6-rcqiELdjrme2Fsp-xh0rnVQ/s320/IMG_5074.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
1. The weather. We're coming from Ithaca, let's remember, a place where I recently experienced one of the most beautiful, clear, cool mornings in recent memory, only to watch a single white cloud appear on the horizon, indicating 100% chance of precipitation. The precipitation, needless to say, didn't fail to come in the next hour or so, and it was soon "Ithacating" (most accurately, a combination of precipitation and defecation from the skies of Ithaca) all over what could have, and frankly, should have been a truly gorgeous day. So to see a 4-day streak of forecasted bliss actually come true!? That was heavenly. And of course, weather that makes you giddy to be alive and breathing undoubtedly sets the stage for a weekend full of greatness (like, when you get to sleep outside under the stars every night).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ETH2hLZ0R1ehmzJfUa-DCAWn1SXyr2QNhODACMhO8515gD-OI8H4RMpECuEjVpIIlBTAgnWanRItP0OWGQ_Gker5L85aOjDDV3ckHRpWeGovme2pxi4hp3o7fwFxAsGwPe6hdF-TqwXt/s1600/IMG_5240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ETH2hLZ0R1ehmzJfUa-DCAWn1SXyr2QNhODACMhO8515gD-OI8H4RMpECuEjVpIIlBTAgnWanRItP0OWGQ_Gker5L85aOjDDV3ckHRpWeGovme2pxi4hp3o7fwFxAsGwPe6hdF-TqwXt/s320/IMG_5240.jpg" width="213" /></a>2. Our class of excellent paddlers. Like the weather, this blessing of a condition allowed for its own slew of subsequent highlights. Because the students were so quickly adept at slicing through the St. Lawrence, we had oodles (doesn't that work just...make you feel a little uncomfortable?) of free time that we normally wouldn't have. For example, working with an itinerary based on many prior trips to the same set of islands, we took about two hours to drift half of our last full day's route, while singing and basically napping on the open water, which still got us to our destination around 1:00, with many hours to spare before needing to cook and set up camp in earnest. This allowed for plenty of extra, more advanced paddling practice, like working with rolls, and the unusual opportunity to just explore the islands extensively ("birding").<br />
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3. Pacific Loon. According to eBird, the last Pacific Loon to be seen on the eastern half of Lake Ontario was 1991. Now, that's presumably a history full of holes in that region-- there's no way they're that rare on such a body of water-- but, nonetheless, I was excited to see that when I got back. This map summarizes the bird's reported distribution around Lake Ontario, with each purple block representing one or two individuals in this case. I spotted this handsome bird from a ways off, and with binoculars and camera stowed in the hatch, assumed it was a Common. But then it surfaced within 50 feet of our pod of kayaks, and stayed calmly at the surface for a while, allowing good views of its comparatively diminutive bill, and the sharp, vertical separation of its clean gray nape and white throat and face. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoh7yLXA0vb0Q1dOR48eDE1j9ikJRJJUrAKK1p0Zv1S94yAUD6V-kZbf_y-cz2uumROi9hs92rbE-HC9hjMDHFqjXlmxjpktW4y-mPhgkjFoZZOOWu0Zy8I2LD7C8sD05nNnl29bEH87yt/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-10-29+at+9.36.50+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoh7yLXA0vb0Q1dOR48eDE1j9ikJRJJUrAKK1p0Zv1S94yAUD6V-kZbf_y-cz2uumROi9hs92rbE-HC9hjMDHFqjXlmxjpktW4y-mPhgkjFoZZOOWu0Zy8I2LD7C8sD05nNnl29bEH87yt/s400/Screen+shot+2011-10-29+at+9.36.50+AM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This map shows the Pacific Loon's distribution over Lake Ontario, with each purple block, in this case, representing only one or two individuals, from 1991 to 2011.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjT30VYefx_xc5NNUSQnAP8KbzZ3x2vip79FwMHOTLpmlA6qRyFXv6tclQKFgF-_KC8jsYYfFzBW_lBnRW4gPE7RpwQ0JN2k705_0qJi-uVyDJyvifYJW8AnczH8E4hm3rD8hf2H2oFZ5u/s1600/Heimlich-%2522Butterfly%2522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjT30VYefx_xc5NNUSQnAP8KbzZ3x2vip79FwMHOTLpmlA6qRyFXv6tclQKFgF-_KC8jsYYfFzBW_lBnRW4gPE7RpwQ0JN2k705_0qJi-uVyDJyvifYJW8AnczH8E4hm3rD8hf2H2oFZ5u/s200/Heimlich-%2522Butterfly%2522.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heimlich</td></tr>
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4. Ruffed Grouse. We had a lot of time on Gordon Island, our last campsite of the trip. I used it to bird. There was a fair amount of activity on this small island, and lots of fallen logs. Each time I passed one of said logs, a frighteningly frightened grouse (or two) exploded into whirring flight, like I imagine the caterpillar, Heimlich, from <i>A Bugs' Life </i>would fly if he were capable of breaking the sound barrier. Not as unexpected as the loon by distribution, but far more startling, every time. The other really cool part about birding several of these contained islands during a small window of fall migration, was seeing how consistent the relative abundances of warbler species was at each locale. Gordon was actually one of the larger islands, at about 0.4 miles long and less than 0.1 across, and had 73 Yellow-rumped Warbler, 10 Blackpolls, and 5 Pines. While most Islands were smaller and had somewhat fewer individuals and species, the ratios were similar throughout, which just gave a neat glimpse into exactly what was passing through on that window of dates-- a clean little cross section of migratory space-time! It seems that if I had as much time on the other islands as I did on Gordon, the data on the other warbler species would be more representative.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPoFAznaQgwbtr6uKPqdzLi5nLpMWm0_meKLbqvSA3KAzdmq5l3SVX0pDkXB-dDzWGnlR_hWiSta4IralrCwwEPmH3rXGbCK6TDd3wdG34p8f7hTVgkYGxX8kW8812mGOLCKB1BAWg5GP/s1600/Warblers1000Islands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPoFAznaQgwbtr6uKPqdzLi5nLpMWm0_meKLbqvSA3KAzdmq5l3SVX0pDkXB-dDzWGnlR_hWiSta4IralrCwwEPmH3rXGbCK6TDd3wdG34p8f7hTVgkYGxX8kW8812mGOLCKB1BAWg5GP/s320/Warblers1000Islands.jpg" width="280" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Relative Warbler Abundance</td></tr>
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5. Eastern Screech-owls. On Camelot Island, I also had the chance to take a slow loop around the island, and came across a good bunch of birds, including a Northern Parula, some Swainson's Thrushes, several Blue-headed Vireos, and a Pileated Woodpecker (which surprisingly had a presence on all of the small islands we stayed at). That afternoon, while imitating a screech-owl to check out these massive flocks of mostly yellow-rumped warblers, an owl called back. So, after finding the tree that it was roosting in, I offered to take some people that evening if they were interested in seeing an owl (which none of them had ever done). Our entourage left camp after dark and trekked across the island, under the light of a very full moon (and some creepy floating lights flying slowly about a hundred feet above the water...maybe some sort of flying lanterns? No, probably aliens). We finally made it to the spot, and after several minutes of whistling, nothing happened. We were standing under a low hanging bough of a white pine at a dead end in the trail, about to give up, when something uncharacteristically clumsy came literally crashing through the branches to alight just in front of our waiting eyes, staring at us from barely more than an arm's length. Someone put a headlamp on it, and it stayed there calmly, and called back. In awe, we started to realize that there were at least four more owls calling back from all around us, all within fifty feet and coming to check us out. We backed up the trail to a small clearing and watched as several screech-owls literally came out of the woodwork to see what was going on, and each of them allowed everyone in our group of six or more to get binocular views under the light. It was really something else, and certainly quite an experience for your first owl.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Dv1OecCAC4ttWdE0ocWziUdCuhgfg_MZhtNih69x-xdUhfeB9xZC6fQ_7-IKcrFKXLwJv3GoxUkuBWtxHF3hn4iSUAoTXlKH6O8n8AmR82VWGu98lpl2JPrP8GHd-yR1gHr0CJlhL_la/s1600/IMG_5276.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Dv1OecCAC4ttWdE0ocWziUdCuhgfg_MZhtNih69x-xdUhfeB9xZC6fQ_7-IKcrFKXLwJv3GoxUkuBWtxHF3hn4iSUAoTXlKH6O8n8AmR82VWGu98lpl2JPrP8GHd-yR1gHr0CJlhL_la/s400/IMG_5276.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gordon Island, after sunset. A long exposure of waves lapping at the rocks</td></tr>
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6. Sunrise Paddle. On Tuesday morning, we awoke on Gordon Island well before 5:00 and started packing the boats and eating a hasty granola bar breakfast before sliding into the glassy still, moonlit water. Again thanks to our extremely efficient group, we had a solid chunk of time to just soak in the silence and stillness of this predawn paddle, instead of our normal frantic paddle, trying to get around an island to glimpse the morning colors before the sun peeked out. But on this cold morning, we just floated through the dark, bows and paddle blades piercing the liquid glass without a sound. And it was perfect. As we watched the massive moon drop below the trees on the now shrinking Gordon Island, we could turn and see the purple beginnings of the approaching dawn. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfV2jH-9jdprSeXYe9AfQTNUSUDeGyACdWtGwMdVTepoL6ZtI4SBKGqXwyh6ZibI9Iyi9Giw1nWxIhH-Y6kwJ3ztZ6rMIF1_g-yCMFB_MC19u2SVw2qb0JQsTYOVkoLs0SYt5BBQ_-gYga/s1600/IMG_5341.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfV2jH-9jdprSeXYe9AfQTNUSUDeGyACdWtGwMdVTepoL6ZtI4SBKGqXwyh6ZibI9Iyi9Giw1nWxIhH-Y6kwJ3ztZ6rMIF1_g-yCMFB_MC19u2SVw2qb0JQsTYOVkoLs0SYt5BBQ_-gYga/s400/IMG_5341.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-35016245284119852482011-08-01T15:30:00.000-04:002012-01-05T17:47:33.343-05:00Reflections on a Landscape<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Lx2tLD41FLdfoKtz3SIrjeemUnAKml1fDtIyl2DsHugm2uMd-6wWwkxLNvybXI42Mfp2fGyDRnsduN_XlIR0cDACjM-tTNlvBM_XgWbUkmis1diyo5bUNcHCLDDXJI83SyqKCI1WAtNj/s1600/IMG_3166.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635738828435129170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Lx2tLD41FLdfoKtz3SIrjeemUnAKml1fDtIyl2DsHugm2uMd-6wWwkxLNvybXI42Mfp2fGyDRnsduN_XlIR0cDACjM-tTNlvBM_XgWbUkmis1diyo5bUNcHCLDDXJI83SyqKCI1WAtNj/s320/IMG_3166.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 229px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a> <br />
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I’m now at home in southern Michigan, roasting in 80-90˚F heat, and lamenting that I could not still be in the (slightly) cooler Churchill, Manitoba. Compared to the spindly spruces and ground-hugging shrubs of Churchill, the towering, green foliage of temperate broadleaf forests in the south is almost claustrophobic and oppressive. Every time I look out the window, the immense amount of green refracted through the glass makes me think I’m looking at the calm before a severe storm, but I always catch an obstructed glimpse of clear blue skies and a sweltering sun, and am left to reminisce about the openness I have become accustomed to over the last months. </div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The subarctic North is incomparable country. The land is flat to the horizon, and seemingly barren. The skies are vast and dynamic, with afternoon storms building under the soft light of prolonged twilight. The wildlife is keen and curious. Arctic Foxes and Polar Bears both come close to investigate a passerby (hopefully from the safety of a vehicle for the latter), and outlandishly large Arctic Hares feed calmly at an arm’s length, plucking the buds off </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Dryas</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> flowers with outstretched lips and munching sublimely, but always watching with panoramic eyes; ptarmigan coolly (and rather stupidly) patrol the tundra nearby, with a slow gait and humorous clucking, and only seem alarmed when herding a new clutch of chicks.</span></span> </div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPrze7A1bTEEGzHhUvhUBmLkEcpXJscymVb-PJCZxuVpVeZ4_ob6u2g_DscrPo67uY7IS5BHWcJrHJe8NV60KBksP_yqguoF7YHNUuLc4sSX5JcSzq31sKmMGI-5JeZJOMKcMbt69B8ebD/s1600/IMG_5661.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635738824106216690" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPrze7A1bTEEGzHhUvhUBmLkEcpXJscymVb-PJCZxuVpVeZ4_ob6u2g_DscrPo67uY7IS5BHWcJrHJe8NV60KBksP_yqguoF7YHNUuLc4sSX5JcSzq31sKmMGI-5JeZJOMKcMbt69B8ebD/s320/IMG_5661.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72KrU75v5_t-GXb4puu4V8_U71FpyEYqjJ2rSwql1BW5T8r-mKm6M8iqXQA_anjbhlvH9rFSyQXXLYM_58Ll6PWbueYEGXqhNUjfMlvRvWFUIql1gd5rrjNMvpMJheWA87_M3qQET_1Wc/s1600/IMG_1474.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635738813718228770" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72KrU75v5_t-GXb4puu4V8_U71FpyEYqjJ2rSwql1BW5T8r-mKm6M8iqXQA_anjbhlvH9rFSyQXXLYM_58Ll6PWbueYEGXqhNUjfMlvRvWFUIql1gd5rrjNMvpMJheWA87_M3qQET_1Wc/s320/IMG_1474.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgru0FEXQ88L5dY2YdD-_gKkomaiFOpl8jjkrUNhvoqrx7XJOTJe3xKlvXn-95NfP6xk8hMHBrdj5jPmHQ-NwHobI8lToHOBRlPkU9iLwvuoRbgsyvEnGmAEjiwu8i2hL2xEuKboUBxb3d6/s1600/IMG_1004.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635738801315103426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgru0FEXQ88L5dY2YdD-_gKkomaiFOpl8jjkrUNhvoqrx7XJOTJe3xKlvXn-95NfP6xk8hMHBrdj5jPmHQ-NwHobI8lToHOBRlPkU9iLwvuoRbgsyvEnGmAEjiwu8i2hL2xEuKboUBxb3d6/s320/IMG_1004.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 180px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a> <br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Willow Ptarmigan</span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The plants are very different from those of the south as well.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There are patches of dense and lush boreal forest, carpeted with a generous layer of soft lichens and mosses, creeping all the way up the craggy trunks of the predominant White Spruce, over an understory of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Ledum groenlandicum</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">decumbens</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, Labrador Teas with strong, fresh scents.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Then there are the sedge bogs and fens, where as you tread across a spongy substrate of moss and peat laid over permafrost, you can kneel to find more than half a dozen species of sedge in one square yard, among a plethora of other berries, wildflowers and insects.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The composition and distribution of these plant communities, then, is foreign to a southerner, but even watching these plants blow in the wind gives one the impression of a remote and austere land.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Instead of the therapeutic swaying of branches and rustling of leaves, the dwarf shrubs and short wildflowers twitch in these winds, yielding no such sign of warmth.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Staring at the windswept tundra and the twitching of hardened plants, you feel as if you are watching a time lapse, as if all is passing in fast forward—maybe a fitting impression for the abbreviated passage of the fleeting arctic summer.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So much vibrant life is densely spread over the course of a few short summer months. The birds arrived en masse throughout May—huge flocks of snow geese filled the cold skies and shorebirds passed through the bogs and mudflats along the Churchill River, all in a frenzy to reach their breeding grounds. Throughout June, the fen was alive with the outlandish songs of shorebirds establishing territories, as nests were built and eggs were laid. With rising temperatures, plants and insects alike bloomed, and the multitude of eggs hatched in accordance, so as to take full advantage of the plethora. Likewise, the predators rose to face a similar plethora of young, flightless birds on gangly, weak legs.</span> </span> </div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82G6ELluc1s1sqv_wlI7oFTAp-TXQi3lq6D-kA-avStFdZLFQxNGYPr-qgOshmyYPfD0xHMJKADDmnIPBbvDjAhCgyJcuWTNKKqaq3dlPfazRr_GTgx1IlRDxQXTjzPNYH-IkIi-m87gP/s1600/IMG_1288.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5635738791940289362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82G6ELluc1s1sqv_wlI7oFTAp-TXQi3lq6D-kA-avStFdZLFQxNGYPr-qgOshmyYPfD0xHMJKADDmnIPBbvDjAhCgyJcuWTNKKqaq3dlPfazRr_GTgx1IlRDxQXTjzPNYH-IkIi-m87gP/s320/IMG_1288.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 214px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Red Fox kits</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Some birds survived their first month, however, and then it was time they left for the southern hemisphere.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Come the end of July, the fen had cleared so thoroughly it was eerie.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The sounds of so many birds we had grown accustomed to were already silenced; the birds which had arrived later than breeders in the south had also left sooner than those of more temperate climes.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Many of them are now well on their way south to the wintering grounds, some (like the Godwits) travelling to the southernmost outposts of the western hemisphere, in Tierra del Fuego.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There is no rest for these birds it seems; they are carried across the globe by the play of seasons, by the Earth’s orbit, as naturally and thoughtlessly as...wait for it...dust in the wind.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br />
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</div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-29987369460912101212011-07-31T23:37:00.001-04:002011-11-05T11:38:26.939-04:00A Moving Image<div class="MsoNormal">
Spending more than a decade devoted to watching birds can change a person (well, let’s be honest—all it takes is one quick glimpse). Anyways, I picked up photography simply because I wanted to document the birds I was seeing, and in recent years, it has become quite a passion. Reading Harry Potter can also change a person, however, and this is when I realized pictures could move! I was amazed that the wizarding world had found a way to make this possible. It’s not all that surprising, in retrospect…they’ve managed cooler things. But when I realized muggles had found out about this, and called it “video,” it rocked my world. I now have a DSLR that can capture HD video, and have just begun experimenting with it in earnest. </div>
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I’m starting to see that video is like photography, except better in so many ways. It’s also a lot harder to do. You can’t just snap off a bunch of pictures and pick the sharp one later, and crop it to your liking. You have to have the bird’s movements in mind, ideally, even before the bird does. And every minute move you make behind the lens is recorded in your extended composition—the shuffling around of the focus as the bird moves, the panning of the lens, your fingers scuffing about the mic, the tiniest swish of clothes, and your breath breathing. So, with this in mind, I am hoping to gradually acquaint myself with the finer points of this closely related but significantly different technique. And in the meantime, my videos will comprise short clips with poorly controlled audio interspersed with the humbler, kinder medium of days past: photographs<sup>1</sup>.</div>
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Below is my most recent project, a collage of footage and photos recounting a transition into an unfamiliar summer– a subarctic summer. A summer whose sun never rests for more than a few hours, whose June is still flecked with deep drifts of snow, whose July is clouded with thick masses of mosquitoes, and whose every change is closely paralleled by its wild residents. As the snow melts, revealing vast areas of muddy bogs and leaving open water, Snow Geese pass by the thousands, making whirlwind stops to fuel their northward journey to the high arctic; as the brown and green tones of the tundra are slowly unveiled, Willow Ptarmigans follow suit, molting their snow white feathers in favor of a mottled brown, and stand out awkwardly as their patchy transition trails behind the seamless recession of snow. As temperatures rise and migrant passerines and shorebirds arrive on their breeding grounds, they begin to court and build nests, so as to hatch chicks in accordance with the peak in insect abundance. While the birds are pouring their existence into rearing young, predators take advantage of the propensity of eggs; Parasitic Jaegers descend on incubating birds and fiercely defend future meals from other would-be predators, like Herring Gulls; Red and Arctic Foxes prowl the bogs and tundra, sniffing out meals for their kits. This is the scene that I wanted to capture, on a new level that I have not yet explored, and here is the result:</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Z2gx-H7rqgk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">(HD viewing may only be available by clicking the "youtube" icon in the lower right)</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">1</span></b><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Disclaimer– I still, of course, have the utmost respect for photographs and their unique ability to convey a message or an emotion via a still image– they will never be obselete. <o:p></o:p></span></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-11629335519007694572011-07-03T11:52:00.011-04:002011-07-03T13:08:55.279-04:00King of the Arctic<div><div>My heart was pounding and I was frantically (and visibly) shaking with excitement. I simply could not believe what I was seeing– it was so surreal that even now, three days later, I still can’t wrap my head around it. But let’s back up a bit. Let’s imagine I was having an incredible day birding (and this really is conjecture, because I wasn’t). Maybe I was driving down Goose Creek Road, a hotspot in Churchill, and I was lucky enough to see a Red Phalarope, Little Gulls, maybe a flyover Pomarine Jaeger, and then an American Three-toed Woodpecker flew across the road in front of me. Then maybe I made a stop at Cape Merry, an overlook at the Churchill River mouth, and picked out a Black-legged Kittiwake, and– we’ll just go crazy here (why not?)– a Northern Wheatear frolicking on the coastal bluffs. At this point, on my way back along Launch Road to the Studies Centre, I would happily joke that, given my luck, there should be a Gyrfalcon sitting by the side of the road– ideally perched on that lichen-covered rock right there. And then I might be so crazy as to imagine this bird being cooperative for photos, and sitting there on the lichen-covered rock on the Hudson Bay, just minding its own, hard-core Gyr business while I watched to my heart’s content. And then– no, never mind, I wouldn’t even dare to torture myself with imagining it was a white morph.</div><div><br /></div><div>And this is the point (after another utterly failed attempt to photograph Pacific Loons) where my heart nearly stopped. In fact, had I eaten a Big Mac that day and clogged up my arteries just a bit more, I’m convinced I would have immediately died of cardiac arrest. Because as I glanced over my left shoulder to take yet another casual gaze at the beautiful, hazy blue Hudson Bay, I happened to notice a large, white falcon, sitting aloof on a lichen-covered rock, in a bed of coastal wildflowers, not twenty feet from the road!</div></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAhbv_x7v5Hxo6JwkZBYEUVa43S5X-zd7EZZnkfHUpHFkvYElnFB6AzLd-N3HdYpxGyo8n4fZVDBxDiiBE7winST38q3ftP5VGaLPRSuxPEt0Lf5XKjJAYZkKZuFLoEmBOhGqUyvkaAecx/s1600/IMG_1162.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAhbv_x7v5Hxo6JwkZBYEUVa43S5X-zd7EZZnkfHUpHFkvYElnFB6AzLd-N3HdYpxGyo8n4fZVDBxDiiBE7winST38q3ftP5VGaLPRSuxPEt0Lf5XKjJAYZkKZuFLoEmBOhGqUyvkaAecx/s400/IMG_1162.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625172946266604418" /></a><div><!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language: EN-USfont-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I slammed on the brakes (gently, of course) and frantically cranked the window down.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I clumsily stuck my lens out the window to grab a quick record, hoping it would stay put for another split second.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Then I took another picture, and another.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Then I took the time to adjust my awkward, twisted position behind the wheel, and was amazed to see the falcon still watching me, unamused.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I slowly got out of the opposite side of the car, crept around to the back, and gradually made my way across the road, settling on my own lichen-covered rock, leaving just enough room in the frame to allow a flight shot, should it suddenly take flight.</span></span><!--EndFragment--> </div><div><u><br /></u></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivTDc9zGz6soPlWacPy6ZPERODA5jCAAs0GrstHThs1ayoNO-YuLZJ9x7E8dTQ16XSrxfWSYK7NpnxYwvlkKeu6tGFgVndK16yaWla36Thc-6Bk0C4LLc7Ax-atYiRUDpOW26ki9Td3h8-/s1600/IMG_1162.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivTDc9zGz6soPlWacPy6ZPERODA5jCAAs0GrstHThs1ayoNO-YuLZJ9x7E8dTQ16XSrxfWSYK7NpnxYwvlkKeu6tGFgVndK16yaWla36Thc-6Bk0C4LLc7Ax-atYiRUDpOW26ki9Td3h8-/s1600/IMG_1162.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8-R5wuR3WAVQJQeQB6YZqcFd23xmIO27XZpjpdoHVornTIfpytJLfX9O6YGrquzSFui4B-7EJn1NH2ysOzO2dqBAG7Si8l0AnCw7jWYfRRRfbAP4X0Xw5Kubjkof4PN0gxY7buqYPyQlY/s1600/IMG_1255.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8-R5wuR3WAVQJQeQB6YZqcFd23xmIO27XZpjpdoHVornTIfpytJLfX9O6YGrquzSFui4B-7EJn1NH2ysOzO2dqBAG7Si8l0AnCw7jWYfRRRfbAP4X0Xw5Kubjkof4PN0gxY7buqYPyQlY/s400/IMG_1255.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625170533788246146" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz1rt_RV9YFzqFllaFu9hQr27U_X5ntw-Y1OUI7YDDg44N6CY4AXfJb3hyRD12PZlmrGHOqPPATZWNARS8vjky4QLjuA6I4v2cdVnVcZ8bpJSvL4SbSSVEvKKfVBcX8VGBDvBY2e78tKH9/s1600/IMG_1290.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><br /></a></div><div>In the meantime, my friend Madi had biked up to the falcon as well, and was watching from just a bit down the road. A few cars had slowly driven by, and a few stopped to watch for a few minutes. Despite all of this, the magnificent, white Gyr held his ground, absolutely unfazed. He was unstoppable, he knew it, and it showed. He sat, lifting his talons to clean the large weapons with his bill, watching flies and mosquitoes pass by, and occasionally sizing up one of the eight, young Bald Eagles circling overhead, or maybe one of the heavy Eiders zipping past. To behold this king of the far north, basking in its slot on the top of the food chain, was a rare and humbling experience.</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0BFzq73u4eYDhWQiSnQ9uMGtxBBrDx9S_a2m2bawUiX1ILgri2vmxG3QV1kJ8JIiofTegAEcwII8KmQVVE_MxDHwr3zrKgtKEqIhutpDsOXRWvFE4B-tGrWVCEVolXitEU1rXGqzcB0jU/s1600/IMG_1394.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0BFzq73u4eYDhWQiSnQ9uMGtxBBrDx9S_a2m2bawUiX1ILgri2vmxG3QV1kJ8JIiofTegAEcwII8KmQVVE_MxDHwr3zrKgtKEqIhutpDsOXRWvFE4B-tGrWVCEVolXitEU1rXGqzcB0jU/s400/IMG_1394.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625170137556180178" /></a><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj63jVoztQLCC0eSWtDbRuhRcWrkw6oSxGMG564JhgkNi1L4I2St9JuRksddhh22K-BlvJfTNCVI2cEaXLaBqTzeD6n8x8REb2t3U7IorPhcno-LImzQIfQPk1x-K9ZaBHd7jsFf-bZp7Gr/s1600/IMG_1422.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj63jVoztQLCC0eSWtDbRuhRcWrkw6oSxGMG564JhgkNi1L4I2St9JuRksddhh22K-BlvJfTNCVI2cEaXLaBqTzeD6n8x8REb2t3U7IorPhcno-LImzQIfQPk1x-K9ZaBHd7jsFf-bZp7Gr/s400/IMG_1422.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625169759700291362" /></a> <!--EndFragment--> </div></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-49102090163776853212011-06-25T21:56:00.019-04:002011-06-27T19:39:54.688-04:00Subarctic Secrets<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdfhkEAPU_o65Qh4PL06mfVgtC11u09TISPAGL7TUJEIaljMK2jDOU3HYtZ2qNLAqGGzGEgcOUpLMXiH34nv6ITZ7oJ5OqEyO9OR5U0Iw1BUII7pYQ-7_eUdFxwbyg6nTM4eL1X4g_d7x7/s1600/IMG_0370.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdfhkEAPU_o65Qh4PL06mfVgtC11u09TISPAGL7TUJEIaljMK2jDOU3HYtZ2qNLAqGGzGEgcOUpLMXiH34nv6ITZ7oJ5OqEyO9OR5U0Iw1BUII7pYQ-7_eUdFxwbyg6nTM4eL1X4g_d7x7/s400/IMG_0370.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622349548442819602" /></a> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">F</span></span><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">or nine weeks this summer, I am lucky to have the amazing opportunity to return to work in Churchill, Manitoba, on the western shores of the Hudson Bay. Churchill is situated at the convergence of multiple biomes, with the boreal forest to the south, the low arctic tundra to the north, and Hudson Bay’s inland coastline to the north and east. This subarctic transition zone is characterized by vast, flat swathes of dry, lichen-encrusted tundra, sedge bogs pockmarked with round, shallow ponds, and seemingly endless boreal forest. At about 58 degrees North, the region represents some of the southern-most habitat of its kind, making it an ideal place for arctic research. Our team is here for the same project as last summer: studying breeding and migratory ecology of Hudsonian Godwits for Cornell Ph.D. student, Nathan Senner’s project.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHrh7Xg-bTS6drFFG_SnyX8EPH6xlio8Gr1BO2AWG7bzT1lNIaH9sDnXAHkAcKwwvwLijTGIdTOy1CB8OwCxaScXJOmpjPvpHs8SRZKvm7DPgisDy-ky41rIxm09mPCAKcUGvJEY4jbD7p/s1600/IMG_0965.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHrh7Xg-bTS6drFFG_SnyX8EPH6xlio8Gr1BO2AWG7bzT1lNIaH9sDnXAHkAcKwwvwLijTGIdTOy1CB8OwCxaScXJOmpjPvpHs8SRZKvm7DPgisDy-ky41rIxm09mPCAKcUGvJEY4jbD7p/s400/IMG_0965.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622349204273816738" /></a> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Countless birds come here to rear young and every fiber in their body, every codon in their genome, is devoted entirely to fledging their young. Their nests are their best-kept secrets, and in order to obtain any information, we need to uncover them. This will be the last of five field seasons with the Churchill population, so our main priority is recapturing birds from previous seasons that have been carrying data loggers. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL4d2m9Yv34qmBDZP-_nw2OBPDxC9CAeNxDeoAZu9MhueIgcr_MfAuuMb_I6nwo4PWO1F1wUTLlN0F4G5wN3cPzLLjyLRnJS8oguTXTIxbi3zyEsDe9MQ-4PIvF98Qit8BYjApUuAqYZjB/s1600/IMG_0751.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL4d2m9Yv34qmBDZP-_nw2OBPDxC9CAeNxDeoAZu9MhueIgcr_MfAuuMb_I6nwo4PWO1F1wUTLlN0F4G5wN3cPzLLjyLRnJS8oguTXTIxbi3zyEsDe9MQ-4PIvF98Qit8BYjApUuAqYZjB/s400/IMG_0751.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622348788235604658" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Female Godwit, well-hidden while incubating.</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL4d2m9Yv34qmBDZP-_nw2OBPDxC9CAeNxDeoAZu9MhueIgcr_MfAuuMb_I6nwo4PWO1F1wUTLlN0F4G5wN3cPzLLjyLRnJS8oguTXTIxbi3zyEsDe9MQ-4PIvF98Qit8BYjApUuAqYZjB/s1600/IMG_0751.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">These are tiny light sensors attached to plastic flags on the birds’ legs, which, after being calibrated, deployed on a bird, and recaptured a year later, can tell us that bird's latitude and longitude at any given time, based on the times of sunrise and sunset recorded by the device. From this, we have been able to map the birds’ astounding (and previously unknown) migrations, which take them from the subarctic to Tierra del Fuego (the southern tip of South America) and the Chilean coast in a matter of days. These birds often fly up to 6,000 miles in a single, non-stop flight, sometimes tripling their body weight before setting off for their distant destinations. The recapturing of birds on the breeding grounds to retrieve this data, however, is where things get dicey (see a post from last year for more detail: </span><a href="http://birdingetcetera.blogspot.com/2010/06/working-with-hudwits.html"><span style="color:blue;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">http://birdingetcetera.blogspot.com/2010/06/working-with-hudwits.html</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">).</span></span><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNHtOhktFfMoHSZz72XnlYGKlwusMWs79PAR_2m5Lzt9ZsgnNkLFu3EG6iPAjBRt27HuP6cdsK0cyy6E9f1iVu2DF2uex0zZMfgoL4e0fp7Od7oCTV1ecZhmcBo2fQ7VajfBOhBonM7l4V/s1600/IMG_0749.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNHtOhktFfMoHSZz72XnlYGKlwusMWs79PAR_2m5Lzt9ZsgnNkLFu3EG6iPAjBRt27HuP6cdsK0cyy6E9f1iVu2DF2uex0zZMfgoL4e0fp7Od7oCTV1ecZhmcBo2fQ7VajfBOhBonM7l4V/s400/IMG_0749.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622348526958927458" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Retrieved data logger!</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO6C4ml0JwrRDmhwrLzdNcmG4cF8tpLan__wiHuA5TYKAeTeGv5ZeIiTDQp_E0nmsSbIHsDGYcPMZkqhV1H8i_M25EWCvuyZ98G79ya5eKrAKO0hS24tNEmpQfCNkb6rfNlqazPdwE5W3Z/s1600/IMG_0481.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO6C4ml0JwrRDmhwrLzdNcmG4cF8tpLan__wiHuA5TYKAeTeGv5ZeIiTDQp_E0nmsSbIHsDGYcPMZkqhV1H8i_M25EWCvuyZ98G79ya5eKrAKO0hS24tNEmpQfCNkb6rfNlqazPdwE5W3Z/s400/IMG_0481.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622348374136643218" /></a> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;margin-bottom: 16pt; "><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Male Hudsonain Godwit, carrying a data logger.</span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So far this season, we’ve seen devastatingly high depredation rates in our godwit nests, and are now down to 3 active nests, of 14 originally found, including re-nests of some pairs. One of the concerns is that the delayed snow melt this season, coupled with high water levels in the fen, resulted in godwits choosing the highest (and consequently most exposed) mounds on which to nest. All but a very few of the nests this year have been placed in grass clumps at the tops of high mounds, instead of under the short, tangled branches of a Dwarf Birch on the lower mounds (which was the case for nearly 100% of the nests last year). From above, these nests are much easier to spot, and the birds subsequently have to deal with a broader range of predators. In addition to foxes and sharp-eyed Northern Harriers, the godwits are jumping off their nests to mob Jaegers and Ravens, revealing their eggs to these predators as well. Last year, it was rare to see a godwit leave its nest for anything other than a low-flying, eyes-prying Harrier. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYskp4ba0W0TXRFJWqypotzyAU_ipW-qmBPFspzBYaz52tuORQNRdC_zYRcJjtSGK4pnRaT5lIHBJ3TxU7H6gA2y4hFm8Xb1Pjrx0s1JQT86Lw9BHQeMUX_MTYN-GZ91vzYw5-lgDNckM3/s1600/IMG_0800.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYskp4ba0W0TXRFJWqypotzyAU_ipW-qmBPFspzBYaz52tuORQNRdC_zYRcJjtSGK4pnRaT5lIHBJ3TxU7H6gA2y4hFm8Xb1Pjrx0s1JQT86Lw9BHQeMUX_MTYN-GZ91vzYw5-lgDNckM3/s400/IMG_0800.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622348027171123970" /></a> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Aside from the near-constant nest-searching, we’ve continued to spend time finding Whimbrel nests and banding and flagging them, as part of the Arctic Shorebird Demography Network’s intensive, pan-nearctic shorebird survey. One of the most amazing things about spending sixty some days in the field in Churchill is having the opportunity to intimately observe the breeding biology of dozens of northern species, many of which are only transient visitors any further south. On Sundays (our day off), I’ve been getting up at 3:00AM to catch the subarctic sunrise at the fen, aiming to capture video of many of the breeders at their nests (details and footage to come soon). These early mornings are truly incomparable. The sun rises very gradually, taking several minutes to fully clear the horizon as it follows a long and low trajectory to finally set just before 11:00. Before leaving to film in the fen one Sunday morning, I watched as this tempered dawn bled across the sky towards the full moon, still sitting against a cobalt twilight in the west, and felt a bit estranged from the familiar confines of a passing day.</span></span></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghWxMSxiPXwzzqHCk3RgASEkzYu4uWADY70ThGsO2Ct8ZHh4vs0cng2hhxR77w5x_AP5-sE6mmId8WWhosbplX-TAKw6v6jJKOOcfRsD7cX3Kgj7FpbahULC6R-2WtSgMjX9yygGFpAMYr/s1600/IMG_9714.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghWxMSxiPXwzzqHCk3RgASEkzYu4uWADY70ThGsO2Ct8ZHh4vs0cng2hhxR77w5x_AP5-sE6mmId8WWhosbplX-TAKw6v6jJKOOcfRsD7cX3Kgj7FpbahULC6R-2WtSgMjX9yygGFpAMYr/s400/IMG_9714.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622347586196127858" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMUtvZ__M9DnAap0WngUhaDJiKsKGsU2-51LnitZUy0K0AcF4TofKVwr6fN-x49LW1HfmVeune5QH3YsaVKW39nbDl36vWgJKorreqzejDiY04gofNw8TftNHGTZ4QeMCScX0IZ0cdwcyL/s1600/IMG_9840.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMUtvZ__M9DnAap0WngUhaDJiKsKGsU2-51LnitZUy0K0AcF4TofKVwr6fN-x49LW1HfmVeune5QH3YsaVKW39nbDl36vWgJKorreqzejDiY04gofNw8TftNHGTZ4QeMCScX0IZ0cdwcyL/s400/IMG_9840.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622347582253282386" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Arctic Tern</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9UVs9t-V92wSqkWymBKD9M9YK3Q478VITEfzWftb_2zOF5oetbOn_S0SKXxxCDTlmUst8WDNVtI2QBMOl2q4baM98w8KpYk9cuJApHYLJL-BH0K9uTZnqGWg_fjAsGjt7obEQnWeADyTb/s1600/IMG_0409.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9UVs9t-V92wSqkWymBKD9M9YK3Q478VITEfzWftb_2zOF5oetbOn_S0SKXxxCDTlmUst8WDNVtI2QBMOl2q4baM98w8KpYk9cuJApHYLJL-BH0K9uTZnqGWg_fjAsGjt7obEQnWeADyTb/s400/IMG_0409.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622345306198229890" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">American Golden-plover</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And now, as the days wear on without new nests, and the many wet socks corrode any surface on which they momentarily reside, Sunday couldn’t come sooner. But the longing certainly isn’t for a want of excitement, as we had our fair share yesterday afternoon. The first polar bear this season meandered down Twin Lakes Road, which neatly bisects the fen where we work most days, from north to south. As we approached the road at the end of a long morning, minds numbed from endless nest-searching and eyes drooping, mesmerized by boots sloshing through bog, Hannah looked up to see a bulky mass of white fur lumbering towards the car.</span></span><!--EndFragment--> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEglMs2r1qOdBGNQX8KKJLKQmus5gY-B1pFmnzHrz2RBLse9kCdlTtjWsvWF6rh05xVleTonhmyBPcBOWjEuSCYtCsei345fMZVVCgSVYxxktwRj_-dcPGQ4KRn108ZzJll9NEC-l8H59_/s1600/IMG_1274.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 285px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEglMs2r1qOdBGNQX8KKJLKQmus5gY-B1pFmnzHrz2RBLse9kCdlTtjWsvWF6rh05xVleTonhmyBPcBOWjEuSCYtCsei345fMZVVCgSVYxxktwRj_-dcPGQ4KRn108ZzJll9NEC-l8H59_/s400/IMG_1274.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622345298105982978" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:16.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We were split into two pairs, and another team of three (working with Dunlin) was to our south when Hannah radioed to alert us of the bear’s presence. We all began to regroup and make our way south towards our car, but so did the bear, continuing along the road. Just as most of us were nearing the second vehicle, however, another truck started down the road, unaware of the bear, which had just laid down in the willows on the shoulder. The bear was then spooked onto the road, and began running towards our car, and so began the foot race. Soon, five of us were at the car, with the bear still hurrying towards us, while Hope and Hannah were still a few hundred meters out on the fen, paralleling the bear as they quickly moved south towards the vehicle. But the bear wasn’t slowing, and once it got fairly close, Hannah and I, from the south and east, respectively, both fired cracker shells to send the bear in a safe direction. Unnervingly, the bear paid no heed to the loud bangs that detonated nearby, and continued trotting in our direction, along the road. I chambered a lead slug and fired a warning shot to the upper left of the bear, which was far louder than the previous cracker shells, and thankfully sent the bear on its way to the west. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We all regrouped safely, with hearts pounding for the next several minutes. It was certainly one of the most exhilarating moments of my life, and in retrospect, a very good experience to have. After spending nearly three months here now, both this summer and last, we never had any sort of dicey encounter away from our vehicles, and while you </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">know</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> that a bear could show up at any time, in any place, its hard to stay truly vigilant all the time; yesterday certainly served as a very real wake-up call. The situation was one I’ve played over in my head countless times while working in Churchill, but I feel much more prepared in the field now, having actually seen such a situation pan out. And in retrospect, it was comforting to see that this bear, like most, was not in the least bit interested in us, but was simply spooked by a passing vehicle, making for an unpredictable situation. All is well, and we’ll be sure to keep things that way in the coming weeks.</span></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> </div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <!--EndFragment--> </div></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-66764854671057622002011-03-29T22:55:00.013-04:002011-06-25T21:56:03.836-04:00Ecuadorian Endeavors<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg_JidnEGXXPJyXCOxejXJX3-VaIVvfXVcMrD3e4nBHhRONQ_WyNgdz-gKuCJ2RJa6xenmfNZMBBbIyCZhAnvESQfzgbLFO9OY3rpixBlW2FB9-s37fBgklbph73zfNqb1kpQfRox2CfCk/s400/IMG_6672.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589714388745526738" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px; " /></span><div style="text-align: left;">School work was now some two thousand miles away, and only fading further into last week. That is, except for the 32 lb chemistry text shoved safely under the seat in front of me, burdening me with guilt as our Boeing 777 approached the continent of my dreams. The thought of the looming exam prompted me to heave the book onto my lap and open it, but I lacked the impetus to read it, and so fell asleep there, watching the late afternoon sun reflect off the distant, rippling Gulf of Mexico, some 36,000 feet below, reminiscent of a beluga whale’s skin to my fatigue-enriched imagination.</div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I awoke with a start, the sun now much lower in the west, and a long strip of land now visible in front of the wing. But as we passed a patch of clouds, I could see another body of water beyond the approaching land. This must be the Panamanian Isthmus, I thought, and sure enough, I could just make out the thin, wandering line of the Panama Canal, and if I pressed my cheek against the seat in front of me and looked back over the wing, I could still see the Gulf of Mexico! With the realization that I was seeing the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans in the same moment, I no longer felt so tired– now I could finish my chemistry readings. Ha. Yeah, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">that</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> happened.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Harold Eyster and I deplaned in Quito and got a ride to the Hotel Sebastian, where we would meet our guide and group early the next morning to head to Yanacocha. The two of us were fortunate enough to win a free Andes Introtour with Tropical Birding at the Biggest Week in American Birding last spring, and we could hardly believe we were actually, finally, setting foot on the Bird Continent. We met for a 5:00 breakfast of fruit and granola, and eventually left with our guide Andrés Vasquez and driver Nico for Yanacocha Reserve, maintained by Fundación Jocotoco and located an hour’s drive from Quito on the slope of Volcan Pichincha. At more than 11,000 feet, this would be our highest point of the trip and we would encounter a unique suite of species.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwW0Tv0ZOun8QhMrURe_rX2l5xFT1To2JBTREYrRYMuYQHNlbfb4oyS47Y6gxsfAdtJoEb0W-u464hfTD7T5cYlIoQzOxgLA20NOgYWWunpysXTkRp4uUXJaMdzy1xflY4TCvvt1ocPg27/s400/IMG_4799.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589714053890405714" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Our group of nine eagerly watched out the windows as the bus crept up the rutted, gravel road to the Reserve, with thick fog making for dramatic, albeit limited, views of the beautiful polylepis forest blanketing the steep slopes. The bus windows were open, with light rain and cool temperatures invading our sleepy bus, arousing our senses; we got tantalizing glimpses of Great Thrushes flying across the road and unknown call notes beckoned from the brush. Andres stopped the driver and listened intently out his window. We all filed out the side door at his signal and gathered around for a glimpse of a skulking Stripe-headed Brush-finch, which gave me my first taste of the difficulty of birding the tropics. You have to take in lifers in little bite sized chunks: a flash of a white throat, then a glimpse of a dark, striped crown, then a flash of dark olive wings. Now we were finally, truly birding Ecuador!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisgr-pQkayehBDxfEgqKBUSU9MsGcsV27oZBwAt3cOiSuUKTGjLivvegkkOTaH9GtjSz2KOJP8LnvowWhXnlXb88AwQkILDdV4_gnb_a10iGWrerCqZrFyAmCgGmafiNMRE8RpMd1vcrFJ/s400/IMG_3839.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589713424669184242" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Yanacocha was simply incredible. We worked our way by foot up the road to the feeding station, drinking in the marvelous scenery. It was a habitat that I have dreamed of seeing for years. We looked down on a valley of polylepis forest, the trees shrouded in fog and laden with bromeliads. Up to our left was a steep, barren slope up to the rocky ridges that enclosed the valley.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6jQNG06XSbExyjpmc0YCgptt4dcu4VSAulYXFcboOo_W_Yhkj6lzHtuv5P0VkcUOg0620G8JgCQtsv2uJ_0NLf-xdokTnd1R8DLTOhx6uyRktXmzJi3Y3YR7XlI1XfNHq8c0kD3n2dG-3/s400/IMG_3901.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589713427299354882" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Scarlet-bellied and Hooded Mountain-tanagers passed by in small groups, and we eventually were able to observe them feeding at a distance. Perched conspicuously were Smoky and Streak-throated Bush-tyrants and an adorable Brown-backed Chat-tyrant. Three Andean Guans sat up in the top of a tree down in the valley, and were framed by the energetic wanderings of a foraging Blue-and-Black Tanager, his electric blue plumage cutting through the fog even at a distance. We got excellent looks at both Tawny and Rufous Antpittas, and the haunting tremolos of Undulated Antpittas, reminiscent of an Eastern Screech-owl, accompanied us along the way. Tyrian Metaltails and Buff-winged Starfrontlets (large hummingbirds with striking, buff-colored greater coverts) were numerous, and we eventually came across a clearing below us that was hopping with birds. We saw spectacular Blue-backed Conebills, Rufous Wrens, Masked Flowerpiercers, and Spectacled Whitestarts, and Barred Fruiteaters called from the slope above us.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIteh1kX7oEG77CGaB7_TQJj-FY6IPlmcpmzTwd57CrG2lEySFOvMv4NuL8s7TI-RUJNtBdgzs-42X2VB06xki435sgBIdiNkfc_9z5HhKfBc_ndiQ3j885UmhbU-AgihQ3oXP8orZb6ez/s400/IMG_4534.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589713718745140194" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Buff-winged Starfrontlet</i></span></span></p> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG0bD4cYMgMp27hH3rcq2CwC_A50GrRSdM4KEmq4KSMASN0JRAymq3QZboeYwRZp8F7uC8pckG_JtiQIE1Q-dh2yKvTmkbUWcfnqnuCGC6wlypsSa8YXEwAruGjRbWSpHEx4_hvYNGy1Ny/s400/IMG_4102.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589713435034841858" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 217px; " /></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Rufous Wren</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF5rHXEv5WR3R-ZmV7em-LhCwyPga1Evejsjuhx5KdFSgdYKienfSyJeOaZZjvRhP8RxHLCpsiJ-XNAY4Ae0oabEJNylL9e5i7st3zrFNTGJgGz9sTKlSJJ_VI0qPp-ShdrdyslDwnOmUX/s400/IMG_4579.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589713716941930066" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 286px; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Masked Flowerpiercer</i></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">At the feeders, we flushed out our hummingbird list for the day. Along with Masked and Glossy Flowerpiercers, the feeders were covered with Sapphire-vented and Golden-breasted Pufflegs, Tyrian Metaltails, spectacular Great Sapphirewings, a Mountain Velvetbreast, and more Buff-winged Starfrontlets. Of course, one of the highlights here was the Sword-billed hummingbird, which aggressively wielded its 5 inch bill. The low hum of a sparring Sword-billed Hummingbird’s wings made for a convincing reenactment of a light saber duel.</span></p> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8z194FvQMY3mYR7KJJ8ufFWQSnwmN8n4BUhVNccErhBZ4EQvSKH5tcKyX4F3yyiFdFR-wP-JidLhw3j6QJHKFY0oB1ekB-VmUxL3Mi1NGQEYnwWVY7cYA3VhCj0n-ZG8wCM0uPvheQ9sF/s400/IMG_4659+-+Version+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589713728241037506" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Sword-billed Hummingbird</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjva9Ws6UN6YKcu_huec4w4ei_X7Z0bwHRYOarCSJ3a-EmR4NPOJFK0LIrlfvgDk-hNhRSz31zkbAj9dVyQ7Q-lBr5E6SyzK9vaMDJRR9qoNmz5ymgOMg91WNRcjm7j5RwiS9hkHR54X4BS/s400/IMG_4485.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589713713483010754" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Sapphire-vented Puffleg</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKxiz_tSNChbLGu5epy6UG7W-5Z-vDq29A60ahrYWXouhgX9kKXFQHSSBaMABUvkIsR9gpnpaPm0Dt4HeP8dEfusLjHg1Iqlisty8mezLwnIfuGzIp64x8qHD0q-2h19aJ4nlkMq6G70i-/s400/IMG_4309.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589713437939243442" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Golden-breasted Puffleg</i></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">On the way back to the bus, we studied White-banded and White-throated Tyrannulets and enjoyed a pair of surprisingly large Streaked Tufted-cheeks and Cinereous Conebills. A highlight at Yanacocha was certainly the very cooperative female Rainbow-bearded Thornbill, a high elevation specialty I was hoping to encounter.</span></p> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY5zcFlt_ZJDNQr__pmldflcA3xLhijmHTVsZY7v9nQDjy3fNXsvBRJzN86dwbbJYUYW8dKnPzDplmndgradZR81-eIBuQ_lRBWQ_H5aS-AjRyvNCINGtNbh0er2nOFLuNeukvgkpSEvQR/s400/IMG_4755.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589714045294038354" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 286px; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Rainbow-bearded Thornbill</i></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">After a picnic lunch, we made our way into the Tandayapa Valley via the Old Nono-Mindo Road, passing through idyllic cloud forest and picking up a few new species along the way. One stop yielded our first Toucan Barbets, brilliantly adorning a tall secropia with unfathomable color, Blue-winged Mountain-tanagers, Golden-naped Tanagers, and a Golden-crowned Flycatcher. But there was still the unremitting song of a Slaty-backed Nightingale-thrush, hidden remarkably (rather, painfully) well, not 15 feet away, and down a steep slope off the side of the road. With some concerted effort, I finally managed to align the sparse gaps in the dense vegetation to get a glimpse of this gorgeous songster. As it sang, the fairly drab bird revealed a stunning orange mouth lining, seeming as though its syrinx was literally igniting with song.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzFjlTy-ZiTLb211n-Ua6s4I7f_kgTTcpQ-FI3wn5vPNwuERxrmxnuACmoRiEsET3YlMvvMEzVQTvrtoS-0lvc1WazRLV53m6dNjS13MesYzS0sloNaf7nlRK2hioSdfwpqJq72igTdZgg/s400/IMG_5230.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589714370502766386" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 286px; " /></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlt2n6tMz-u_leVnzuEEKBdB5j9_k-7UnQhbPJz5mfvTShQhEzdszt0HOMUc960rd-bkBbGZ1rahkA2BbyJ4AtPdATPS9EPJ2zEsnxokyMaTKmfThk65aWl8zf2eE389JEnJX0IQFjiYcq/s400/IMG_5112.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589714059862798418" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 217px; " /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Toucan Barbet</i></span></span></span></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">After braving several treacherous landslides that choked the road to just a foot wider than the bus, leaving an ominous drop on the right as we climbed, we finally arrived at the fabled Tandayapa Bird Lodge. We all made our way up the winding stairs from the parking lot below, and settled in. The feeders on the deck were inundated with brilliant hummingbirds of unimaginable diversity, as they always are, rain or shine, morning or afternoon. The most abundant were the tiny but spectacular Booted Racket-tails and the larger, more aggressive Buff-tailed Coronets, which habitually hold their wings spread after alighting. Others included the amazing Violet-tailed Sylphs, Purple-bibbed Whitetips, Andean and Western Emeralds, Fawn-breasted Brilliants, Green and Brown Violetears, and more. After a long day and a relaxing period of feeder watching, we headed to sleep for another early morning the next day. We were all looking forward to a day birding the trails around the Lodge and the Lower Tandayapa Valley. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTpGbv2ybgSqnbaBsrska2QBmSnQ76qqFYENuVHYvQFWVEMs7iRxXp1Isr33Jcow7l4yT9-OmCJQjgT78jEuP_CeJPiG2SgKQg8DSjAhLPlaxXo3M5Q_Af-I_2Pu4ObllHPeZ5fiNPrUPH/s400/IMG_5679.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589714515244826626" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 286px; " /></span></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Booted Racket-tail</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHRO0r2oWUspH0YxOlNbJh99bsUEpC4oYXrYAmtYzdCQJ9hyphenhyphenhlL-p-iQeL95DG8F1-6hIHjD3DjbIcYRy8bm3r85VRvrITsrsk5AMUkmo0gYy7hwKnlHP__N9hfYDCayBq24eNrZxA5Otl/s400/IMG_6451.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589714381483268082" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Buff-tailed Coronets</i></span></div> <!--EndFragment--> </div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-10317732601592505412011-01-17T22:20:00.003-05:002011-01-19T17:37:03.412-05:00Touring Puget Sound<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE3jqGmaNugrnEsfgDaae-LQUdxgh4Xzuk6oR0OdEPah_L27_D9w4J8tbKwj3rJnkHj40ZXE3BUW3CBRN8_oM1Nsmf-iO2Hz6O1M_KF2_p6MXIo8sFyJERoWlX_Qlx7u2N4UGb2XPemxSk/s400/IMG_2294.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563675967085204834" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 182px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Harlequin Duck</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Thirty-eight days of winter break. Nine hundred and twelve hours of free time. What to do? Some of my most memorable hours this break were spent two thousand miles away, in and around the Puget Sound. Allow me to expound. The Puget Sound is a glacially carved system of fjords, with a shoreline totaling over 1,300 miles, from Deception Pass in the north to Olympia in the south. It is married to the Pacific by the Strait of Juan de Fuca, and to the strait by Admiralty Inlet and Deception Pass. Fed by glacial runoff from The Olympics to the west and the Cascades to the east, the Sound drinks an average of 41,000 cubic feet of water per second, and spits out 2% of that water through the narrow Deception Pass at up to ten knots during peak tidal flow. But enough of the numbers–the region's beauty and intricacy is scarcely reflected by such trivialities.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFZ0c4a6QFaQIVFFMf4BnHh9TmMntmvg2jq2JZkOK_cBZUMGtGayOI20S4omaOESv5kj72kVMrBIL7LdS-_fACrG0XkX1zfilZjdQC8sp-95kv3ysr8hQU5xIh01NtMpXzzUii06ikatf/s400/IMG_0867.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563675577680755298" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Port Madison</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">After ferrying to Bainbridge Island from Seattle, and settling in at my grandparents' house at Port Madison, I managed to get a little birding in before the sun retired. Down at the water, there were Barrow's goldeneye, among their more familiar brethren, along with dozens of American wigeon, mew and glaucous-winged gulls. There was the smell of saltwater, the sound of gulls, wheeling above in full soar, and the sight of lazily nodding boats, lined unevenly and crowded along a weather beaten wharf, the reflections of tall, white masts breaking the tranquility of the evergreen water. Big, dark, Pacific song sparrows "chucked" from the brush along the beach, passed by a flock of six, drab bushtits. Spotted towhees, Steller's jays, and chestnut-backed chickadees combed the neighborhood. I passed a neatly mowed lawn with about a dozen kinglets of both species and a Townsend's warbler foraging in it, allowing me to approach within a few feet.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtHqLc16560gN5CtEVGao7l5uXTXSQ01O2IgxWiwNl6RC4xznrDXdKJAKo1Yc7hOZ1MFD1sAbxzUiPycsxnK5MGNF32jDC-bOliztzhxDcwh7WvtilS9VX5L8htFYCf2-uFXllI85lYrpc/s400/SPTO.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563676964084488210" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Spotted Towhee</span></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); font-size:16px;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRKo3W-ztBJd3vmt9hxczCk5_bQhjJNNFt_iUulvQPPGJzKrPjN3aUoum79mZrNSqg9rxFrPqgk2d1EHE_q_LDa7Aast5_ynv-a7huhHnq0iAEY-JHKaHhOtizU2WXI-j6wpBEktzYMsG-/s400/IMG_1090.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563675581915361682" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 286px; " /></span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Glaucous-winged Gull eating a </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Pisaster</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> starfish</span></i></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Over dinner that night, I received some invaluable suggestions for the coming days from Neil Johannsen, former directer of Alaska Parks, and his wife Hilary Hilscher, who is working on the Great Washington State Birding Trail with the Washington Audubon. Armed with an array of hotspots to visit, we set out early the next morning on a ferry from Kingston to Edmonds, back toward the mainland. We would head north towards the Skagit Valley, a delta of the Skagit River that hosts many thousands of migrating waterfowl.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4Qds6ar7Z-49DaUQVV5oCwtRiMYktR1A8WNlBBno6AU8TwzFRjy_0dWcuvpilOHDKwiTsXHDCofruvX-L0mzYcLIWJMKpti2Nz7Af7jtGmpjSUe07FQIKGQYPMVjyG5M8wB3KMylL69G/s400/Whole+Route-clean.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563676976680092658" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 388px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">An overview of our route</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgohzbQmlaHM6xs2sgA8Be-D6o_vHxwX2_7tBRP-IsbXJurHzzUHWlWOfJdKwaEQKpWQ0oB3VHDgOuIUyUN_HOXeU0OLrvOH9CSbyXemVswA3BtrNfA8iC1HYDLtOkZaVeJGbFWYcOD3TAA/s400/Lower+Puget.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563675973750472386" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 396px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We explored the lower Skagit Valley, driving long roads skirted by expansive, muddy fields–fields that would, in a few months, hold the millions of tulips that make the Skagit famous. But today, as winter reigned, however balmy, a low-hanging carpet of dark clouds stretched seamlessly across the barren mud to the horizon, where only the feet of distant, blue mountains were visible. Expansive land bound sharply by steeply rising peaks, all shrouded in dynamic, ominous skies defined the Skagit during much of our brief stay. The nearly constant overcast skies held a powerful beauty in their own right, but also made the sun's numbered appearances quite dramatic.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">That afternoon and evening were spent at two locations north of where we would be staying in the little town of La Conner. First, we walked into a muddy field which was part of the Samish Unit. Here, as the afternoon wore on, we watched the skies fill with ten short-eared owls, at least as many northern harriers, three bald eagles, and a rough-legged hawk. The owls were amazing to watch, with their elegant, bouncing flight, their long, squared heads craning side to side in search of unfortunate rodents. The harriers and owls mingled freely on this afternoon, seemingly unaware of their vast genetic differences and ecological responsibilities to compete for a niche. Perhaps there was simply too much prey in this field to prompt a feud, or perhaps their particular cuisine preferences were conveniently misaligned. The rough-legged hawk that thought it wise to watch from a distant perch, however, did not seem to be benefitting from the others' peaceable arrangement; he was repeatedly dive-bombed by a pair of both the owls and the harriers. This was surprising, as the harriers and owls feed in a much more similar fashion to one another than either does to the hawk, and subsequently, should be more concerned with one another's presence and competition, and I can't imagine the lazy buteo posing any other sort of threat to the others. But of course, it's the wonder of unpredictability that keeps it all interesting.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm9r6r9INd-xERKotEzQPmxSapQtAvP89DdLeUN6N2tCl3ps5E_6zDp4E4S75yM7v_7IPdZVAwMSNtHFZdOWq4UClYGSPbBbhXEuQa3HXZHCsCR8dIagxHw91QUBT9Lx7kRER67ka41we5/s400/SEOW.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563676781562905698" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px; " /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Short-eared Owl</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We retraced our path south as the light started to fade, hoping to scope the Padilla Bay for waterfowl before sunset. We stopped briefly at Bayview State Park, where a group of some 3,500 wigeon finally included my lifer Eurasian! There were surely more, but distance, wind, and a broken tripod head sapped my will to sift through them further. Another mile or so down the road, we pulled off at the Padilla Bay Trail. Here, the still, darkening water was crawling with waterfowl. I gradually scanned from left to right. There were thousands upon thousands of pintails at first, interspersed with mallards and wigeon. About halfway through the wide arc across the bay, the flock composition shifted toward wigeon, and soon, their green and white heads and brown flanks blended together into a continuous mass, stretching back to the top of my scope field in dense blankets of feather. I counted around 55,000 ducks in the bay before the light was too meager to distinguish one from one hundred. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPq3FoGUzXWSvMMQPoKNbQhlOCqU5cvW3D3A5JXLsnZ5xujtGyVZAfsyv_WDJGRfzI_hurHKnx3X0f7UgSpj99yI3L-wraRmwVLyhblgEHct2f3Vyi8uL80WWbb5_GTSP0elGPnCkjRfdS/s400/IMG_1750.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563759999401998258" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 214px; " /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKbQPZlB4btgcVG5jCUKnVu2-NhUHaLpukMGighlMOEObSZU-OFUPCyefT_BhcGBdeRAw89FbOhgrX747it6sYaqq426MU-KqxiBOeYCjytrLrFsndhWWeJci5jUMvwIegl1t5pPjlrj2n/s400/IMG_1759.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563760003167920066" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 248px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVFDU-UNJDFd9nLFylTZggNJYsOAmdK5_OGIex49weM8uayDAsaZKrzHzVaqHhuX1CEuSpjMNxRAUeU6WTqhw-enIxja0-15oXlDyOokNNyVkgAsH4_tGPeHy3T-3PsuChDwy1Z5gxLWQA/s400/Skagit+Valley.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563676789266036578" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 285px; " /></span></span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;">We spent the night in the quaint Hotel Planter, built in 1907– that's old wood. It stayed up for the short while we were under the roof (and still stands, to my knowledge). We headed out early the next morning, and stopped for breakfast (a belgian waffle with half a cubic foot of strawberries and whipped cream, of course) before re-reouting down Fidalgo Island toward Deception Pass. We were planning to revisit Padilla Bay, but it was still dark and raining at that time, so another while in the car was appreciated by all. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vqikEnIu99rl34_xt9kyIFPDAir3Pw2BLucTpKyijK-KPoWPNf5uivGZ3dyvHVsSbTPFZzw7SER6bKXKi7IYECc8pxYEpqjdqEiAm1AOU-rNxG8ZWC7vtAswVxKgQWJChlWyjMscOeZu/s400/IMG_1790.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563935597714450370" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 286px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Deception Pass</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">We arrived at Deception Pass at slack tide, so there weren't any whitewater riptides. But there were 111 red-throated loons, which made up for the lack of 10-knot currents. We continued down Whidbey Island toward Coupeville, Ebey's Landing, Fort Casey, and eventually the ferry that would take us across Admiralty Inlet to Port Townsend, at the northeast corner of the Olympic Peninsula. </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaO6ZaxiZndiC2mDM-mYNdBLFqm-qyoWQIDBSYAaEUjpuK58UvpmMg0lsuSpDihM5TmJ12sJ7VRnwP9KSmqAlSXF53EI-MffeiR1_lZJ1DT4Rld205jlxo3SbxpWx9Hna56656TjndlPoe/s400/Looping+Back.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563675993210608194" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQr8UD01gcAwfz3Q4h3zXlLVuOo7097FbrSBmJ28QRPtrd9QCxFn1CTViboWTS8pEWrdK9kLAmLIlIOknOxxyxcpL6mm1CZ0MHNisW8FZdt6mnLlr9hycS8_vfQ6vqZraQDkgSo-AQLr4T/s400/Coupeville.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563675253531340834" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Penn Cove, viewed from Coupeville</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">We made a stop at Ebey's Landing to take in the view, across Admiralty Inlet to the Olympic Mountains and out to the Strait of Juan de Fuca to the northwest. As I scanned the surf, picking out the three scoter species, a common loon, red-necked and horned grebes, and "Olympic" gulls, fascinating concoctions of genes from various large gull species in the area, the omnipresent clouds parted, opening a glorious window to the Cascade Mountains in the west.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh68wggC6TqIWsp7k9kaDA3aF6KsNj7yK_vqLkGiZUpfJlDTS6oCHygn12N8AUwz29teeclkkOA8NM9GbGlnxG5gNvCVsDCnJVH6S3WCzW5082dHLkTpLOOb74uSuVr7zJXX5vus_hztu4L/s400/Olympics.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563676773212490658" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px; " /></span></i></div><div>While waiting for the ferry in Keystone, I went over to the guardrail to scope Crockett Lake, where I found a good variety of waterfowl and a nice northern shrike sitting atop a low bush along the water's edge. After we boarded the ferry and waited for our departure, I was able to watch a female Harlequin duck from the bow, and a kingfisher perched on one of the pylons right outside our window; a nice view of a usually skittish bird. Along the way, common murres swam leisurely out of the boat's path, heads held high, and from the bow, leaning into a strong headwind and having my hair permanently Elvissed by the gale force, I watched as streams of tiny black and white footballs of feather whirred by on pointed wings– at least 160 marbled murrelets. And again, we were blessed with spectacular views of the Cascades en route to Port Townsend.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0CVMT6YH8a6XieXsqklDo_VcFNOJws7MS9nFhXJmo86bCVVoT0O97cQdKO3bl0H5Q3WHIfbMt9T3ywIqAWk6TiEeKqAJU0_uJGFNXd-73caL_cJKn0VctlfVtupAFzUTBDnEbYk7I_rV/s1600/Ferry+Olympics.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0CVMT6YH8a6XieXsqklDo_VcFNOJws7MS9nFhXJmo86bCVVoT0O97cQdKO3bl0H5Q3WHIfbMt9T3ywIqAWk6TiEeKqAJU0_uJGFNXd-73caL_cJKn0VctlfVtupAFzUTBDnEbYk7I_rV/s400/Ferry+Olympics.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563677642805446818" /></a></div><div>At Port Townsend, home of the Wooden Boat Festival, and rightly inundated with beautiful sailboats, I had some time before a fantastic salmon sandwich lunch to photograph Harlequin Ducks and Mew Gulls on Hudson Point. </div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0CVMT6YH8a6XieXsqklDo_VcFNOJws7MS9nFhXJmo86bCVVoT0O97cQdKO3bl0H5Q3WHIfbMt9T3ywIqAWk6TiEeKqAJU0_uJGFNXd-73caL_cJKn0VctlfVtupAFzUTBDnEbYk7I_rV/s1600/Ferry+Olympics.jpg"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrXEixCbrPTLBPZ_fSJVbI_WMPYJQFOsTE993ZdIEsQC4PLcTosH4jfO5nXee0eexYwSU_NYp7HBL5hrnbvEquIq13gbcQgo51PBecQFJPC29aYeRLiXGgX9U9-gM9TXI84eQT9oMtNxsX/s1600/MEGU.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrXEixCbrPTLBPZ_fSJVbI_WMPYJQFOsTE993ZdIEsQC4PLcTosH4jfO5nXee0eexYwSU_NYp7HBL5hrnbvEquIq13gbcQgo51PBecQFJPC29aYeRLiXGgX9U9-gM9TXI84eQT9oMtNxsX/s400/MEGU.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563676731163985298" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4tHwPnxi-qLrACm_qnebW7B2-dNIrizh7AhUqRlNcloA97T-ED3Fxll958R-se-nCsDIjSau6ISUA1hkOjt_Xx9TktTycwenuA59njEVGNRcUEtQhkoEzl92Z4PMgxGhB87nAGkTHyudE/s400/HARDmales1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563675275526977570" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 222px; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVHTkQP3e3hnMrAGl8PUpPCtN30_75cKYUnbhNlU_t6NMeN_y2cfjmxoYh9CgdHkw_6tyEPzjaLwKjiE2teEsbC7F81wBL8g-FgM62fLtV8SPyEO4KEBIVqyxcTEd9EOKrVgVsGNXNb7KA/s400/HARDback.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563675265610174498" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 289px; " /></span></span></div><div>After lunch, we took a quick jaunt north, through the retired army base at Fort Worden, and into the Fort Worden State Park, at Point Wilson. Here, the windswept beach grass, craggy, storm-beaten spruces, and the dark blue line of coast which imposed a horizon on the gray monochrome of sea and sky, comprised the perfect, austere environment for a lighthouse. And there it was, watching over the very mouth of the Sound. </div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWsZJZVznttMMIzndSNDZpOTXLpnM1hnVggT17QhERhIj9j5b-svlTaY975Q1aPrSWldg-3eviOHqv8ySyP13_qqxqnP28xQ3F6fr9hmj9eYLU9BYahLXxOtL5wTDx_doRVWwSQdhYUU1/s1600/Lighthouse+landscape.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWsZJZVznttMMIzndSNDZpOTXLpnM1hnVggT17QhERhIj9j5b-svlTaY975Q1aPrSWldg-3eviOHqv8ySyP13_qqxqnP28xQ3F6fr9hmj9eYLU9BYahLXxOtL5wTDx_doRVWwSQdhYUU1/s400/Lighthouse+landscape.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563675990680778546" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-80514289441762565412010-12-12T11:30:00.007-05:002011-04-04T13:51:37.894-04:00Winter Delights<div style="text-align: left;">Snow has finally hit Ithaca, and the notorious winter has begun! We have had nearly two weeks of uninterrupted snow and have since accumulated...wait for it...less than a dusting!! In the midst of suffering through the last of my final exams and the dreadful lack of snow, however, I have gotten some chances to get off campus to look at some interesting birds in the last few weeks.</div><div><br /></div><div>Way back on the weekend of November 14th, Shawn Billerman and I drove east (well...we drove North for about an hour first, but for that explanation, you'd have to ask Shawn: "I swear it looked north on the map!"). We were headed through the beautiful city of Cortland, to the town of McGraw. Ok, I tried, but Cortland is just horrible. Anyways, there was a Summer Tanager visiting feeders in a small neighborhood, and as soon as we stepped out of the car, Shawn began noting the species, "Chickadee...titmouse...tanager. Nice." Perhaps fate felt the need to compensate us for our slight northward (or should I say poleward?) deviation with a quick and easy find; regardless, the bird was quite nice and quite obliging. Thanks to Shawn for the driving and the finding.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho1n-xVm25X3tMb-rHf_AddfnJyCIB6x1A1j6-Hc4vsvjRbP_UX7yyHHmm40-299LeLN3y4tTlCCRh27izH9_JrpXeOfV8ibAKIGBeoPn1OE-_wSEOp4TVlzshZx3zsRIErYkVrKU0m8Xw/s400/IMG_2558.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550926975340963554" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 286px; " /></span></div><div>A couple weeks later, I finally got around to chasing a male King Eider that had been hanging around Cayuga Lake for over a week. Matt Medler and Shawn picked me up Friday afternoon, and we headed over to Myer's Point. Within a few minutes, Shawn spotted the eider a ways off from the marina's jetty. It was a second year male, showing most of the color an adult would, but much duller and splotchier; still a gorgeous bird though, no doubt. We could just make out the two little sail-like tufts on its back. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheidozgxB_IP2bhRQFP_-1jzLjScm330I-byXmVYaWzOl3peqLWZpBj6xtF10Ld2Lq6DMybiSBCG8Rf1n7CjmmhJdYzEmIknb8B4udcZfxvhG3A0UcMIoxc07ZKmv_KIwpzr_ymjVpJf0e/s400/IMG_3512.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550926998162372994" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div>Two days later, on December 5th, I saw pictures posted of the King Eider at its new favorite locale, Stewart Park, just a 5 minute drive from campus. The bird was apparently hugging the shore in a protected inlet, gliding through the calm waters and dining on crayfish. After seeing the photos, I started to wonder if I should abandon my studies that afternoon and try to get better looks–and at that moment I received a very convenient phone call from Shawn, who suggested just that. Cool beans. It was there. Eating crayfish.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGOH72u2Xkkb5QLnAh8nLo7o1aW5m7yN5duzKV0onOUflgXJUjR1f7SyCONj4W425kye9v5aVPKAvXrXqb2kXJC1PRJGh4R62q5Sd41uphPs9bE1f6bMBRT_QPsbY5my_v8ksg1RhEoL9_/s400/IMG_3393.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550926980671914834" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLzPqsG2x3xjC0m3CCdeXFoEgTuP8f1a7Z30bb-xncYJO9COYeKUsydUvNjEgzu4hhunHvbLU7okQJI4ZdpIjMzgaAKCQhgrpKr6pbObqjNK5IbnDlPDvs9tVdE3tiujHFU1zwx4c3UsS0/s400/IMG_3492.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550926985097911730" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></span></div><div>Then, on the following night, I got another wonderful call from Sawn– this time, a Harris's Sparrow visiting feeders in Dryden. Early the morning of December 7th, Hope Batcheller, Tim Lenz, Matt Medler, Shawn and I met up in the Lab parking lot and headed out through the coming blizzard. After some minutes of respectfully creeping on someone's backyard before any of them were awake (with permission, of course), Shawn (seeing a pattern here?) spotted the big, brown sparrow lurking in a row of dense evergreens along the edge of the lawn. It was a first-winter bird, showing limited black in the throat and upper breast, and a plain, sandy brown face with slightly darker auriculars; a dash of black streaks separated the clean white belly from the dusky brown flanks. In the midst of a pleasantly frigid and windy outpouring of snow (none of which accumulated on campus– although that goes without saying), I managed to snap a few blind shots through my wet, fogged viewfinder.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN2pvP0peXyVqRE0FeQOdMnIzzrtIcM9s5SXd9vt0ye_asXsgNUgAjjS75qBv7FeCttjFuJg52i7QKzscm-B2r928o5MRXxLVOwQaBuplk30c_w4zZWakZ9U30Egk2Q_6q9DNedr2KYKwa/s400/IMG_3548.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550927001104265858" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjQ4D5CTPqPDNwu8nZafzF-On4PpPLpJhZJyD-eiOj8nXfYxComMHm35rhUPuhUG_0o-NFKxksLlhmciSpPeFRJS-DOK7Yqf1SMIILwG1IrKc2B84Z1h-SmnMv_Z0UJRcMKKPjk23Gi8-E/s400/IMG_3827.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550930997057515202" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></span></div><div>Finally, on Saturday 11th, after we finished our Spanish exams, Hope and I joined Tim Lenz for a trip around the lake. There wasn't anything in particular to see, but the relatively warm day showed promise. We started at Stewart Park, where we sifted through a flock of gulls to pick out a 1st cycle Glaucous and a Lesser Black-backed. The King Eider was still hanging around the jetty to the west, and we got great looks at a Red-tailed Hawk devouring a Coot on the way in. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdzPzQshS_fgvYbu78BYNATckLX8bpbcv_nBNlWkcubpbIR4MGW4FcAeJn-dxT-IfAQCnP_g1RuojVvMFhcLaE-jQdKCe425tPpgrxUG4b2bC5HCEqCUVFI5m8HvDiTMWHASngXL_nTKDH/s400/IMG_3570.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550927198548092034" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>We continued up the west shore of Cayuga, stopping first at The Creamery to get some delicious, creamy goods. Hope, being the odd and slightly deranged person she is, decided it was far too cold for ice cream and was incredulous at our wisdom. Ice cream is delicious when it's negative 50, why wouldn't it be when it's 35? </div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8_2RNJ8zZlty-0kfN6OJ6aUKhkBsAe4CrTWwC6KuoncoJ9fpNUmk_6bBLbQ_q13xgXwrunNpHbxITqgoSKLqJzuj60iGLlc2uWmBGSw2-ESRZBvbg1LjwyxvahPNzhYbU_8EqS93lPWdi/s400/IMG_3834.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550930999175894690" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>The first of many undertakings for free ice cream</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div>In spite of Hope's poor judgement, we soldiered on, scanning through huge rafts of Canada geese every few hundred yards, picking out loons here and there, little groups of red-breasted mergansers, and a dusky, first year snow goose. A little ways past Sheldrake Point, Hope picked out a small, silvery flanked goose with a stubby bill, short neck, and trapezoidal head, adding Cackling goose to our day list.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYrm5oc52vc3qOr80bAgRgQvRzpufEaTYc6Jl2LJ8zzK8AXDjlY0DVR-ypYAH3kIGhog-8LRyG5WX2lBp3nnqm9APIBhwLT5yTDewQlCgXS6kdbx0rnrtCNLNPqZGnwwBHwd6e5pPaK2Q/s400/IMG_3613.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550927205091651938" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><div>We eventually came to Lower Lake Road, along the northwest shore of Cayuga, just south of where the rest of the rest of lake was a barren ice shelf. There were LOTS of birds here, and it made for an awesome evening on the lake. There were several hundred tundra swans, whooping and dipping their heads to one another amidst a vast sea of Canada geese and assorted waterfowl.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZDKYuCYWRRAn8eE05khpwIM0GS7Zo7uqxSUhyIW8sLhlklfQZZp9fUuNcskdX6Iiw5Z0x7zIjaPqtNLZtpqV2c9jFbdjo6699NsLXdZrlUMTThlTfNE3seUBkUQfghIh4EoFC3rgPR91/s400/IMG_3703.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550927215811190626" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div>Further out and to the left was a raft of about 300 Redhead, interspersed with other <i>Aythya </i>ducks. Out in front of us, nearly on the water's horizon, was a huge line of Snow geese, a flock of approximately 4,500 birds, with thousands more flying overhead as the evening drew on. It was astounding to me that this was our fourth huge raft of snow geese, in addition to drawn out, staggering <i>V</i>s flying over almost constantly–more snow geese than I have ever seen. As the sun dipped into the day's last degrees, the thick line of white gleamed brilliantly on the horizon, in stark contrast with the dark treeline. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukmkYxnj2W6NQYI-1MpiqXJOsQszuTcIDRkjCgUK5k7euX9SG9cNcdc78ieeMSeD4OdZeErKjxNVJ12ShAn9duEdZD_ins4hG3-HytF1ZRbE4_GuxZaWO-gJg3ZcfBal7_KoZKVY16Rgf/s400/IMG_3732.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550927342350990882" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div>But before I talk about the sunset and all that jazz, there are a couple more noteworthy birds that we happened to encounter at Lower Lake Rd. For example, we had an early flock of 16 common redpolls fly over, a red-throated loon foraging a ways out, an unusually high count of 14 Bonaparte's Gulls, and among them– a Little Gull! Tim picked out this tiny white fleck with dark underwings, coursing over a lead of open water on the far side of the lake– quite an impressive nab, I must say. It was a very enjoyable bird, even if it was 13 miles away.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6WlepoqIy9mv_MmqPHXpPH2lHEpl3Cz0eEqKfIqn7lrGtba3n17p7yii7we0dMG2CjOUdh3q_Imzip1pIV4tPZjx8WZOU6pxoLnFRY0KlIaV27S4ll0CBjmfvFM_ra6Hatg440cH-G_RL/s400/IMG_3670.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550927212629024818" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div>Okay, so the sun did its setting business, but we weren't quite finished with the day. On our drive back down the east shore of the lake, we encountered an Eastern Screech-owl poking his head out of a box in the middle of a small pond, waiting for the night to progress a bit more to his liking. Further on, we had a Short-eared owl coursing low over a field, with barely enough light left to follow its graceful, bouncing flight. And finally, a Great-horned Owl on a telephone pole gave us a show– a nice closing act for an awesome day on Cayuga.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRrVSZME9l-QpSXjrKExpW_F7axBBeYa90f9JnnMQ8uKGHFt_z3n87iY8oFe1BdsNwcnCF2J36aYDJJYKFeed50qll6FKwf0ms2EndA0Ni9GJaXf5lsfeBGwIC_T3K9J1w76GkboBjcnQe/s400/IMG_3758.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550927338046866018" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-35230765858785141562010-10-27T10:00:00.000-04:002010-10-27T10:12:26.551-04:00Fall Colors*<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih3fJY61uyhHUAj0ZpAyEbhlSmyin05qMcHr6YBZfMQOSwLqdzG0eekF5fiAtrF-6T1aBSh_jgD49EwJzNOHjEzAurUSjRWEZtkdGBpAz4yaWDyO0jPk0endjh6U7N1veHKr1fa2PILJUU/s1600/5111701368_8560c726c1_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih3fJY61uyhHUAj0ZpAyEbhlSmyin05qMcHr6YBZfMQOSwLqdzG0eekF5fiAtrF-6T1aBSh_jgD49EwJzNOHjEzAurUSjRWEZtkdGBpAz4yaWDyO0jPk0endjh6U7N1veHKr1fa2PILJUU/s400/5111701368_8560c726c1_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532557841457408690" /></a>On October 16th, I joined the Cornell Photo Society on an outing to Taughannock Falls State Park, a twenty minute drive from campus. The upper Taughannock falls tower 215 feet, more than 30 feet taller than Niagara, making it the tallest waterfall east of the Mississippi River. The upper falls spill over the mouth of a "hanging valley," which is a glacier-carved tributary valley of a higher relief than the body of water into which it flows, according to my good friend, Wiki Pedia, Ph.D. Formed by the grating force of receding glaciers, the Taughannock valley has near-vertical cliffs that rise up to 400' above the river, which runs quite shallow over a broad, flat rock substrate below the falls.<div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTvjqsJ5e-OO78x0ABUXBL0lfC-ZGgQRFlFuSAtapkGygdzecUzCKUPWXhb-MJKG9VN-FDkbPPdV_Aqorf6MzUX-zqUQKBqwQaat09g7ga4DCPDtOr-0e0z2k6oJE5WirLqLeN4ZkZIgiq/s400/IMG_2177.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532560216339412210" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHnRbM-uq363HwvR3jMGYM2wM_ToJAzj_fWyrDyZX0wnjgQ1kayUnyZ-4YeNCObltI1pxc8iStnfGG5TSfo-OE_oHrVnAL82HuQBLKQZonEbQ9Jk1pVe73FgtoRes-GIBBZRornJCU66s_/s400/5111099545_e85943d10e_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532557862619597154" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">The upper Taughannock Falls make quite a striking impression framed against the sheer face of the bowl between the two valleys. There's not much more of a story here, but I just wanted to share some of the photos I took that day, and then on the following weekend when I took my parents along during their visit. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJeDtuAkIupFrB6MmTem6wdCDwy9WHu8HSaYeEhYXlAB91Sc26-5Redo1EaRRYplOUG9RGsb_xV-pPmHfixWjjWnp-uZzetLRnf-rvAcB7Jpe8AuRWwjzbG_kHA0OFqUIpxqVApCN6NnG/s400/5088217280_70296b4e02_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532557869387549202" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHXAG-CbRMrxvak4wNoPXZwr1hwwhcfVRQedlITv0U5lHT5HjIYyttEksSyZN3Lzaoo2dahe-9fKOH9K-KjNpOpTf4w0NZ6eJYKt1EyI39Z5IYbH9gwpkDEvpKFWh4YQySUZT120F5fXxO/s400/5111700960_3578c958eb_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532557856549972706" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS50wg7mOvQW09eBq_gRMyy_q9Gaiwa8OQ_yITHzlx5FLdtUmH7b1GppjCNOIWnFlfA93uvRHRZkYckMTYAPE1UJDSDFRgHIE1jPX7gv3D1a5S7-shFCNZhuirVakrO36asZggWQ3m3FfL/s400/5111701154_78345e6dff_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532557850032742786" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhZ2pQ6IqHb8u51d6a8JcgTZtBsPW_Y_xh2WVTIPTzjnaaHF6PpqLs2OeDHsYyTr864JBvoMkw-5wVYDnXUiAkdfIUOITSK5lZP5oz05w1yYUGl6_HHyvZ31DQV2DJWt_THzuS0adWpEl7/s400/5087618385_8fbff78998_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532558113955534850" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG29qZYhc034EImMc-HqgxBlsycpHt5pO75Nsc6Bmbmvg1Uc7eLVhX9QR5jK6DwfM9n3gDn6tnbK_C8N-Y4bpy-EmieFzTpjpU5H7QGRy4lVYAiCm_1h6e-Gw2cOlal3eTq4iBzybdAHl1/s400/5087618285_6d1ea1d597_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532558110110554034" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px; " /></span></span></span></div><div>And although they pale in comparison, the Lower Falls certainly contribute their own bit of beauty to this well-endowed gorge.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzhzAL582cGrwVyG_LRq_iX4ZBb6OeoCVAOKEJIZF0WHtpYX9bnxqxXsAplBV57FXXf5vFTM3dh38fxKJ8OWAzEU_Ol13jtvu5Lafgwff9tQswv8yu8h5GPOWMWs8boCyWB6domy47mhBI/s400/5087618181_160f856172_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532558099413811234" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3i46GpDX8rpXMdbYJDg0QQ_zylkYYTg8YSfhBcwzyNjktmAlsOGXGFY055OJJvO4z0C-0pdTWu-6qg9xim6gnM_6Qh9sTA_EynPihswV4CFPCiVUer3zGQ0wide3Z_0CK0x7d0kc9qCN/s400/5088216938_0f2598968f_b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532558097491159762" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px; " /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">*No pun intended</div></div></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-57327749933497586352010-10-17T20:14:00.006-04:002010-12-15T14:05:34.157-05:00The 1000 Islands<div style="text-align: left;">It's been too long since my last post– unfortunately, time flies when you spend some of your time doing homework and the rest of it thinking about doing homework.</div><div><br /></div>Anyways, on the weekend of October 9th, over our short excuse for a Fall Break, I spent Saturday through Tuesday sea kayaking in the 1000 Islands of Ontario, at the beginning of the St. Lawrence River just east of Lake Ontario–and took care of graduation requirements by doing so! This trip was the culmination of a short PE class offered by Cornell Outdoor Education–it was the first time I had ever been sea kayaking, and it was, of course, an awesome experience. <div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcpvy9-gXRfLakQLPbANl9vCACKJifyxQhVSgYZXbG5Cf0aYTd-rM4q2O8-rL2tGm9NYOl8txvURBEHGQWjjsp95RKPQ9SSaXHgfAaHZZiokn8Woc9VjbQ30__xI8h2SrToAd3aABGRlq6/s1600/IMG_1144.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcpvy9-gXRfLakQLPbANl9vCACKJifyxQhVSgYZXbG5Cf0aYTd-rM4q2O8-rL2tGm9NYOl8txvURBEHGQWjjsp95RKPQ9SSaXHgfAaHZZiokn8Woc9VjbQ30__xI8h2SrToAd3aABGRlq6/s320/IMG_1144.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532550197281149490" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div>I met a really fun group of other adventurous students and had the chance to photograph some cool scenes during the long weekend. We met on friday after classes to load the boats on the trailer, gather our gear, and head a few hours north to the Canadian border, where we marveled at the smuggling potential of 10 empty kayaks strapped so tightly to a trailer that looking underneath them was not worth the effort. We arrived at Misty Isles Lodge, on the river's shore, and pitched our tarps for the night. When dawn came, we were coerced into quickly abandoning our sleeping bags and suddenly entering a 35 degree world in t-shirts and shorts (at least in my case). However, the two pileated woodpeckers that swooped up to grasp the bark of the tree right above my head quickly dispelled any unpleasant thoughts. </div><div><br /></div><div>We had a short paddle that Saturday morning, for people to get acquainted with their boats, and promptly lost most of our group on the small island we stopped at for lunch–not surprisingly, a rather difficult thing to do. Of course, being a tiny island, there was a short, circular path that skirted the shore, and we brilliantly followed each other around the island for several minutes before settling down at different spots without our food. Not to worry; we figured it out eventually.</div><div><br /></div><div>We made our first camp on Beau Rivage Island, a mostly deciduous and fairly busy little island. After spending an afternoon gathering firewood, exploring the island, and watching the sunset, we had to take care of dinner. Of course, in our pre-trip meetings, many people were confident that they would be inhumanly hungry on our trip, so the instructors packed a lot of food, all of which had to be eaten. So, it wasn't the cooking that we had to "take care of"– it was the eating. That night we had about fifteen pounds of beans to split between the twelve of us. Needless to say, that was a relatively unpleasant experience. However, for our valiant (and successful) efforts, we were rewarded with quite the showing from the clear, moonless sky (which subsequently ignited a furious debate about whether the Big Dipper actually appears bigger when closer to the horizon...I was on the winning team: <span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1287535891_2"><a href="http://www.astronomy.com/asy/default.aspx?c=a&id=2194">http://www.astronomy.com/asy/default.aspx?c=a&id=2194</a></span></span>). </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPTMx6RscFidih3XO8KQiZDov5lYTiD08CChr2dGzqUE_TR9hX47nfys-GKC3c0KRCnHi0kM7D3aZ2kY5X35F-W7SQYfPz85kSsWMypE9mNcWBC422esJRvl8x1riPYtIWG6WZSXMxxmZy/s320/IMG_1090.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532550205711142114" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div>The following day, we made an exhilarating crossing with high winds and 2-3 foot swells. Crossing the shipping channel diagonally with the cresting waves was quite exciting, because with waves pushing from behind, keeping straight took a lot of hard paddling; if you do begin to slide sideways, flipping is almost inevitable–eventually, two people flipped on two of our windiest crossings. After regrouping, we set up camp on Camelot Island, a beautiful, secluded island dominated by white pines and raccoons. This island provided us with some of our finest moments. Not only did we have time to take a tranquil afternoon paddle around a few pristine islands, with a loon calling and a pair of surf scoters hugging the shoreline, but one of our group, Robert Chen, provided us with several moments of incredible entertainment... </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg01f5O6ogE6OyoN_YTHi7sfnBhaoEqI6mv3u2mFnDxY_3HY8gEaS7Ef8UBv__49w8flEDF0fYyHnaRL0kDtdRnK6dxZYKw82Thnbm11GRlprdhyRfDgBbGoAv8IFFj84RNVes8plTvxlx2/s320/IMG_1264.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532550216272335330" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 169px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Surf Scoters</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div>...the greatest of which ensued while the other eleven of us were eating dinner. While sitting at a well lit picnic table, talking loudly, we heard from about 100 feet up a hill: "Uhh...guys?" Where was Robert? There was a faint glimmer from a headlamp in the darkening trees. "I can hear you, but I don't know where you are." A brief rescue mission ensued. After a night of fighting off raccoons before going to sleep, and distributing paddles to sleep by for defense (or offense, which admittedly was a much more appealing option), we awoke the next morning to head out for our last full day of paddling. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiysOql_J5ngRSktIzk8t6Cz9e4MBgmg5Rrwn1r3BCEdlf9nNM5zyARhOJH24EbBL3_iLdcARVaL5Kc_KEttGDtoEwLRinvY-OaUxwGSpfsYDaeSu5UnGR8Qzlg0lGWgR0xZdmgKIEUz58p/s320/IMG_1309.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532550202756299170" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisPy5PkpU0eGris05n9fyNC2lMs0m9vWZFtWL6spnkRjwnArXXibB56aHMW_az9Vq7LQC8x6txSnAtpPaEi6KytAZxJQ_hmjDxuKwWCr32L9mfY4VC9NNy2bxPjQSu7NfTtg2BY3JS0XSE/s320/IMG_1352.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532550190197909666" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></span></span></div><div>Monday involved a relaxed paddle back to Gordon Island, near our starting point. There was a big gazebo to sleep under here, so we spent our tent-pitching time watching the sunset instead. That night, after getting all situated under the gazebo, we made a last minute decision to sleep under the stars. For ten minutes or so, we enjoyed several shooting stars and even more stationary ones. Sadly though, we saw storm clouds quickly approaching and again retreated to the gazebo. We planned to get up at 4:30 the next morning to break camp in time to paddle into the sunrise on our way back to Misty Isles. It was really cool paddling by headlamp in the pre-dawn darkness and silence, and we eagerly awaited the sunrise as we started to see a pink line on the horizon. About twenty minutes later, while we were still watching the horizon, we realized the sky above us was already fairly light...the sneaky sun had risen behind a cloud bank that we couldn't really make out at the time. We thought about feeling sorry for ourselves for getting up so early in vain, but then decided against it– a pre-dawn paddle makes for quite a memorable experience regardless of the sun's mode of entrance. Life could be worse :)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-38782260726299644502010-08-20T18:09:00.011-04:002011-07-04T23:45:48.083-04:00Beginning an Odyssey in Ithaca<div style="text-align: left;">Since settling in at Cornell on the 20th of August, I've had about two weeks of classes, done two loads of laundry, walked around Beebe lake a dozen times, and missed about a dozen dozen opportunities to see Buff-breasted Sandpipers, despite my best efforts. Despite that depressing fact, I've been enjoying my classes, especially starting Spanish (it's amazing how quickly you can learn an easy language with immersion from day 1 and 6 years of Latin) and my writing seminar, "International Conservation."</div><div><br /></div><div>The community of birders around Ithaca and at the Lab of Ornithology is quite an awesome one. I'll be working at the Lab on <a href="http://neotropical.birds.cornell.edu/portal/home">Neotropical Birds</a>, an online guide to all the birds that occur south of the States, that is a work in progress. My role is to find and crop photos for the accounts. Since there is a paucity of good photos of neotropical birds on the web, I personally believe it would be much more efficient to send...someone...on a photo expedition to the heart of darkness- but that's just my two cents :)</div><div><br /></div><div>Most of my birding has consisted of wandering around campus, and particularly around Beebe Lake. So far, the more interesting things have included a few Wilson's Warblers, an Ovenbird, Solitary Sandpipers, and diving Ospreys- overall, though, it's been very quiet. </div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkYtaFRh13Is5rWgsBujXsQZISw0oziZBBqs_fXaHrycrvto4TQ7aDdHupSA5mVyNxp1G2S6iUxXsT7Fa_KV1XiGD4HA-lUksLvxAibQBYon7RnDP_ghv6M8xKkYmPJV06UbAdnrU-Wr3Y/s320/IMG_9633.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513924873358071074" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_SBZsUUEOOMiSMAwLYsVdUflgF_c_2Pr8p9NRJNfQNQ6eMs_PaGAf3vXkuD1tfceVZz1GBkI5sCsYc3n1YMebUqoyX70mrYJzzG7LpoT2e_opFCqqtTXjHlRmDzImctyUtWG_RfJhYzNQ/s320/IMG_9471.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513924838981898162" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 198px; " /></div><div>I have had some chances to get off campus, thanks to Jay McGowan and his car. We've spent a couple Saturdays at Montezuma NWR, about an hour north of Ithaca, at the north end of Cayuga Lake. On the past visits, we've been able to enjoy large flocks of pretty good shorebird variety, including many Baird's, White-rumped, Pectorals, and Stilt Sandpipers, Red-necked Phalaropes, Black-bellied and Golden-plovers, Sanderlings and a Red Knot. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RvoyYu7cYKTO00u2GaElaMmYMlZNvDz56Zy9yNyI4gl9E7Sa-QoT8nIH24KvkXL3Pio3WJn70lqwTo_1GqB6mayvP5WKGAf99gjCp1rw9wDK3R4qy4xlGVW7RZnbvA25qaVQbgQwO64r/s320/Birding.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516238318942198562" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>But, wait, there's more! The last time we went to Montezuma (Saturday the 11th), there was more to be seen, including...</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaNBr25dIuaZdqsIEOV_P17Eg2M0UuGs5p77YL3ae1BnxZbt_OqB4BTXxCJKJoH6jpPC6TUKI2luWGJnNUDrHsnx9IhovnzLOEkRLreTGBASZG15MmZj31oakSWHHLdsaAbBALvdfBjeH/s320/Peggy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516238348834552658" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></span></div><div>A sad, one-legged American Golden-plover...</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh79Bj3tee5zLZ3n7N2iUZnhPsDPF1uwEWnIvHHCJwE__ZW6v6unzfTyYohQ8piEn1Glr7kM-1133tXQwRScE671VihFX7RtuUoNGZtWJY59DDeRqkpPm-GHDQpidSbEv9xE2V-XBAOZx7f/s320/BBSA.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516238306107071906" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 228px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">...And more importantly, a very obliging Buff-breasted Sandpiper!! Finally!!</span></span></div><div>(Also exciting was my lifer Ruff- a very pretty Eurasian species, its bright, buffy breast and dark cap, short bill and squat posture visible through distant scope views).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgs7G8QJGTVmg9t46KVjeiV1dD3gkfzHVbxUT7piLvK7FLAdCiyK5JQ6sVfZYUa036gjcXygQl2vgo14QpZrcOMIj2629N1K7HVFRF6c_0S4uealxS_CP7KHqnpkjaikZvX0qteB0DFAks/s320/Bronzed+Copper.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516238335479115330" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></div><div>And, less importantly, a really cool looking butterfly: a Bronzed Copper.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_456bJ35Yfw-V9IwXHuWHJWnyxcV7AZ0wV02EV-jJDXtr9ef1eLPXKM1pZPlazJX7U9fyRytmlYpxditn8fsofAlAV1R8ZsiT5wMQKGEwd1V9zLhKHf8jpC-mqxZqkOq2wkIp3sqszau9/s320/LEYE.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516238345587659794" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">And, least importantly, many, many, many Lesser Yellowlegs. But they're still awesome. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-5467254113125273412010-07-25T10:26:00.011-04:002010-09-05T23:18:19.955-04:00Aurora and More<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZIeRmUcVBn_btxMkj17FnL6C4tem8QaSMFrYP7XL8jcKp7cq4pfyLBMpk3e80SaW3eRVXs2Y4fRfRXBHitmyEOGyqYg6aDv04YYLTRl0udMTKwOqLQ96VLXYYnMzgFtwRUUTzQaZFum5I/s1600/IMG_7972.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZIeRmUcVBn_btxMkj17FnL6C4tem8QaSMFrYP7XL8jcKp7cq4pfyLBMpk3e80SaW3eRVXs2Y4fRfRXBHitmyEOGyqYg6aDv04YYLTRl0udMTKwOqLQ96VLXYYnMzgFtwRUUTzQaZFum5I/s320/IMG_7972.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497856974245629026" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">The night of the 25th was the perfect close to a summer of work in Churchill. For the first time, we had a wonderful, mosquito-free bonfire on the rocks outside the Studies Centre. Of course, it just so happened that it was midnight, and there was a full moon in the southeast and a blue glow lingering on the western horizon, with silhouettes of spruces still plainly visible; there also just happened to be a Pacific Loon uttering its ethereal wails from some unknown pond in the night. It made for an idyllic Churchill midnight, but as we were discussing, the Northern Lights that I had missed by about a week at the beginning of the summer would have to wait until next year. I finally decided I should head to bed, since I still had to get up to band a late Godwit nest the following morning. As I was walking in, I looked back at the moon to see what I thought was a slight greenish haze in the northern sky. Since we were just talking about the Aurora, I assumed I was imagining it- after all, it was <i>very</i> faint. Nevertheless, I started walking back to the fire pit to point it out and see if I was the only one seeing it, but on my way over, they quickly got much brighter. Now there was no doubt- this was finally my Aurora Borealis! We enjoyed the show for another 20 minutes or so, watching the silky green sheets of light slowly wave, seeming to betray some intangible wind. I was giddy for hours, and could hardly get to sleep.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPIxXChg-BLvC7Kj5l9CHEVjX0-CBl41jrwyEV2W1aFL81ct0M-aA4dHT-nqpRzCXMBwgDKhsE3-qnBeLLRIWdEZIc3O0a3ysQW79W5liSmgXMgNf8rp3plaw7yNEkScjNPQMIV9Oo-jZ1/s1600/IMG_7964.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPIxXChg-BLvC7Kj5l9CHEVjX0-CBl41jrwyEV2W1aFL81ct0M-aA4dHT-nqpRzCXMBwgDKhsE3-qnBeLLRIWdEZIc3O0a3ysQW79W5liSmgXMgNf8rp3plaw7yNEkScjNPQMIV9Oo-jZ1/s320/IMG_7964.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497856969305297090" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div>We had also recently taken a Beluga whale watching tour of the Hudson Bay and Churchill River mouth, which yielded excellent views of these enigmatic and intelligent creatures of the Northern seas. Their rubbery, wrinkly white skin appears so other-worldly when they breach, affording us brief glimpses of their bulbous foreheads and arched backs before they slipped back under the surface with as little warning as when they appeared. The guide and driver dropped a hydrophone off the stern, attached to speakers on the boat, which allowed us to listen to the pod's raucous collection of grunts and wails- a cacophony that seemed quite unfitting, given their docile and precocious appearance. </div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz5k21s30Eg5tv_urChCyApNN5X5aH0I79Yad4s8SN-x3Et8F41GLl8tOgLgXTDyc1t9OPWubRcbDxnfvLVVQR9anhXId-JYZrUieQ7EsGfMWwdvCAfkeWVbbnaLq_bb5FUT5P3nFbce8K/s1600/BelugaPan.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz5k21s30Eg5tv_urChCyApNN5X5aH0I79Yad4s8SN-x3Et8F41GLl8tOgLgXTDyc1t9OPWubRcbDxnfvLVVQR9anhXId-JYZrUieQ7EsGfMWwdvCAfkeWVbbnaLq_bb5FUT5P3nFbce8K/s320/BelugaPan.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501678911968028306" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 133px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYjPzTwyrZXJcNva8hAe0iq3YSomhZUBGgd-E47cSxPogXZQI0ttiyXkj_5XoK_RyJigaBRGh2hfhW_S4RoBU_KZBxg5lc3pshjGrb0jW2qraEjVqSEpeMW1JSLZMZPHv4RJY5Q7v2KLnE/s1600/Beluga+head.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYjPzTwyrZXJcNva8hAe0iq3YSomhZUBGgd-E47cSxPogXZQI0ttiyXkj_5XoK_RyJigaBRGh2hfhW_S4RoBU_KZBxg5lc3pshjGrb0jW2qraEjVqSEpeMW1JSLZMZPHv4RJY5Q7v2KLnE/s320/Beluga+head.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501678904493949266" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I realized that I haven't written anything about the Polar Bears, and while I'm on the topic of Churchill's non-bird wonders, I suppose they would be a good thing to mention as well. They came in force at the beginning of July, and although we were told to be cautious since they can appear anywhere at anytime of year, they really became almost a given environmental factor after July 5th or so. We encountered our first bear crossing Launch Road on the way back to the Studies Centre; it was a mother with two adorable cubs, whose round shoulders were less than two feet high. The mother, however, standing a good bit higher than her cubs, was very wary of our truck stopped 75 meters down the road from her; once they had crossed the road and were walking through the willows, we pulled level, and the mother then raised her head above the willows, glaring at us and waving her head about. Let's just say it was a good thing we were a truck and not four delicious meals threatening her babies. After seeing how easily three bears could disappear into a small patch of shrubby willows, let alone one, I was, shall we say, much more cautious when working in the field, and much slower to assume I wasn't being sized up for a meal at any given moment. Luckily, we never had any real encounters while working in the field; there were times when we would see a bear from a great distance, or before we got out of the car, that would force us to work somewhere else, but never did we have to shoot off any cracker shells. But from a safe vantage point, the bears awed us time and again this year, our record being six in one day on an evening drive along the coast. </div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqPMwTwX_qLVKefTSFA95wrM8Tp5_fsnxHVHLNF2I0PzBBBZitiDR-S5_fDDkcW3q95TGGAyPkfXQqTPErl_DJP74cPUhXJ5MX9dKuilAZe0w-lP-7ztqO5hVQ_bUYiF9MLLl84vecaPV/s1600/PBStare.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqPMwTwX_qLVKefTSFA95wrM8Tp5_fsnxHVHLNF2I0PzBBBZitiDR-S5_fDDkcW3q95TGGAyPkfXQqTPErl_DJP74cPUhXJ5MX9dKuilAZe0w-lP-7ztqO5hVQ_bUYiF9MLLl84vecaPV/s320/PBStare.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501681943529639122" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgex0jItOaU-VAP-TQjSSzPFZGp-QtCJzNmN2NiNwI6o6rRnwfuWraxytsyND7qlLUHuwHLGr3quOxvOl73nZJb0ZHf5rhyphenhyphen2bMwMQAJw5BL0-laF6radokZ7g2FD-5DGAU9M5rVeUuTT4ha/s1600/PBlump.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgex0jItOaU-VAP-TQjSSzPFZGp-QtCJzNmN2NiNwI6o6rRnwfuWraxytsyND7qlLUHuwHLGr3quOxvOl73nZJb0ZHf5rhyphenhyphen2bMwMQAJw5BL0-laF6radokZ7g2FD-5DGAU9M5rVeUuTT4ha/s320/PBlump.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501678924737172338" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Walking along the coast requires vigilance</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqAgy0HbCUaag53HCnNF-i6PQ83ltt1V2vF58U8yvrWa6vWOXEQCX3hKuFf8zqGvCh9mskhbcQc6ggVcLFsRwrlKr5YHxPxobF3f3ZRo6sbcKDD91Yf7Mb9DplxBiJGkVVAtgTN3lILE-A/s1600/PBStretch.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqAgy0HbCUaag53HCnNF-i6PQ83ltt1V2vF58U8yvrWa6vWOXEQCX3hKuFf8zqGvCh9mskhbcQc6ggVcLFsRwrlKr5YHxPxobF3f3ZRo6sbcKDD91Yf7Mb9DplxBiJGkVVAtgTN3lILE-A/s320/PBStretch.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501680271495440850" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhW-yAU1oQp5orqQhz_IfNBLkBMv92uH1soakA7Uszgjx-M7hV0mSmk8GlPDW81pvj6u2odeRDkGK77g-9NQe4RvabBzjDT7jxfEQ88-g5YuYMEgOgGxXgGhRYDAX4KCahBpdZM8kiGUSp/s1600/PBWalk.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhW-yAU1oQp5orqQhz_IfNBLkBMv92uH1soakA7Uszgjx-M7hV0mSmk8GlPDW81pvj6u2odeRDkGK77g-9NQe4RvabBzjDT7jxfEQ88-g5YuYMEgOgGxXgGhRYDAX4KCahBpdZM8kiGUSp/s320/PBWalk.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501680280891311074" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSsLC8HRsQAXtcDEqM5ajv_Xn5-gvdfLHaqphxDpnBGWvBlPqaNklnh4BVLi-04vC_n0U6Zo9kYkyf_kZm_S2SZ9DKcfICKRvPxLTUCMBmatdzYOHNkInQfZeV2TSSA7OX0ei7N3YFnIeI/s1600/PolarBearSwim.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSsLC8HRsQAXtcDEqM5ajv_Xn5-gvdfLHaqphxDpnBGWvBlPqaNklnh4BVLi-04vC_n0U6Zo9kYkyf_kZm_S2SZ9DKcfICKRvPxLTUCMBmatdzYOHNkInQfZeV2TSSA7OX0ei7N3YFnIeI/s320/PolarBearSwim.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501680288793197394" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a></div><div>They're big, and truly impressive; more so, I am confident, than any living thing I've seen in the wild yet. I'll update you on that ranking when I see my first Blue Whale.</div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-71659325187589082242010-07-11T14:36:00.002-04:002010-07-12T12:33:10.879-04:00Chicks Galore!<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPC_E3hztGwyMQKXwHbdPGRz5yFk3E2cWuuQyvWCco-MdlKIBG88XgqEtbKpZoxl10WM4kwMc7TZ6kgrKVEwyezMe-jue2ucSeHcEJ4KjuhhHJadb527rDW9kfsxsWuC6pnMKuzh2htfIh/s1600/IMG_5596.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPC_E3hztGwyMQKXwHbdPGRz5yFk3E2cWuuQyvWCco-MdlKIBG88XgqEtbKpZoxl10WM4kwMc7TZ6kgrKVEwyezMe-jue2ucSeHcEJ4KjuhhHJadb527rDW9kfsxsWuC6pnMKuzh2htfIh/s320/IMG_5596.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493003606448075250" /><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Hudsonian Godwit chick</span></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div></a><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span></p><div><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">It's been a very busy few weeks here since all our Godwit nests have been hatching, along with most other nesting species here. Over the past few weeks, as we've been regularly checking our 14 remaining nests (12 were depredated or abandoned so far), the adult birds have been increasingly attached to their nests, such that when we go to check the eggs' status, we would literally have to bend over and reach out to grab the incubating bird before it would leave the nest, with loud, grating squawks, to hover threateningly above our heads as we worked. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">There are certain distinct levels of hatching that we must ascertain at each nest to be sure we are there within an hour or so of the chicks' hatch. About ten to fifteen days prior to hatch, the eggs can be suspended in water, and soon after, they begin to float. By measuring the floating height, we can get a rough estimate of when the egg will hatch. For example, if 8mm of the egg is above the surface, it is about 5 days till hatch. Three to four days out, the eggs will begin to show "star-cracks," or "pips," which are when you can see fine cracks in the wide end of the shell where the bird has begun to peck its way out. A day or two before, you can often see the bill poking through a small hole, or even watch the bird struggling inside. It's quite a remarkable thing to behold, a new life literally breaking itself out of a tiny egg, with its head still crammed between its two huge feet. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgffIYwwwv4kZYMyaEwzJHH1SU3n8Vf18O-9NHT2w1Npuf4yx1GIQEvAbX_sn5VbBzjytrwusNGv5OWRjlYjue3-K_xMAzC9DVPtkqZPqGmW9yNDjN14-crIIEaH0oG5WiyoDBIQMtUkwip/s1600/IMG_5659.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgffIYwwwv4kZYMyaEwzJHH1SU3n8Vf18O-9NHT2w1Npuf4yx1GIQEvAbX_sn5VbBzjytrwusNGv5OWRjlYjue3-K_xMAzC9DVPtkqZPqGmW9yNDjN14-crIIEaH0oG5WiyoDBIQMtUkwip/s320/IMG_5659.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493054222990969330" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; min-height: 19px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"Star-cracked" Godwit eggs -Photo (C) Shawn Billerman</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; min-height: 19px; "><i><br /></i></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; min-height: 19px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAK-CqUVFTlCFW6l9rAfBwRGbeZFJb-d0vXk8jAQnoe0Q7RvXX3VCrccEfKAt8R-9nwjCMKv7n21Fv4wA3EmgUo7YbFlg9lztsNMrhnRYGumVa53iVwtsxc0Li2ot8LMEUws3LkXUBxhn/s1600/IMG_2706.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAK-CqUVFTlCFW6l9rAfBwRGbeZFJb-d0vXk8jAQnoe0Q7RvXX3VCrccEfKAt8R-9nwjCMKv7n21Fv4wA3EmgUo7YbFlg9lztsNMrhnRYGumVa53iVwtsxc0Li2ot8LMEUws3LkXUBxhn/s320/IMG_2706.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493054701981936386" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; min-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Photo by Shawn Billerman</i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; min-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">From each nest, we put a tiny radio transmitter on one chick, at the small of its back, between the uropygial gland below and the curve of its spine above. The radio, which transmits a metallic beep to the receiver every second or so, is attached to a small patch of gauze (about 10 by 15mm) which is in turn glued to the bird with a special, quick-drying, salt-water-proof glue (which happened to rip my gloves when I got a tiny drop between two fingers). </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSgp21A3R2ohN2_tK8pcCEwHR3WdYaBQYgSC-rLGpZLEIE5f5tL-_L5mEzwQzWKdPVqFYhSFpYIeoZPQm0S4zJh5kgRb_oNOJ9EzsK3qSrYNhV-mY1yWkzz9gqwUImrH_GgRPYKRuzbJFK/s1600/IMG_5620.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSgp21A3R2ohN2_tK8pcCEwHR3WdYaBQYgSC-rLGpZLEIE5f5tL-_L5mEzwQzWKdPVqFYhSFpYIeoZPQm0S4zJh5kgRb_oNOJ9EzsK3qSrYNhV-mY1yWkzz9gqwUImrH_GgRPYKRuzbJFK/s320/IMG_5620.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493005304466872786" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></a></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">If we get to a hatched nest within a few hours, we can easily pick up a handful of four little chicks straight from the nest cup and band them, attaching a radio to one. However, if we miss that brief window, the chicks could easily evade us for the rest of the summer. As testament to the chicks' quickly-acquired talent and fervor for long-distance travel, we resighted the parents of a nest we had banded chicks from, tuned our receiver to that chick's radio frequency to confirm that it was indeed with the agitated parents, and got out the GPS to see how far we were from their nest; just 36 hours after hatching, the 25-gram chick had travelled over 3 kilometers across the Fen, which, to a 3-inch ball of fluff and legs, is nothing short of mountainous terrain. It is quite amazing to see this bird's innate inclination for extreme distance travel so apparent on the first day of its life.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Since, as of today, we now only have one nest that has not fully hatched yet, most of our work for the rest of the season will consist of tracking the chicks and doing habitat surveys where we find them. So far, we haven't done any of the habitat surveys, but essentially, once we've taken three compass bearings to triangulate the location of the transmitter (or rather, the chick carrying it), we identify the plant species present and their relative abundance, as well as water levels and such. We will recapture the radio chick from each brood once per week to take new measurements and follow their growth until they fledge, which can often be a lot more work than it seems. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85Xt0RhbcLCRefDxXI2HX28WAvddBD4YEK3Tik7t61bfq9kescYP2nyHK4dtPxjwC0gPC2z5y0nWPHKYjry-0iWfUz576aprFNfbsCeip1BobijCW_rh-OsbzgpZmKIB1mvAMjEvemleN/s1600/IMG_5981.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85Xt0RhbcLCRefDxXI2HX28WAvddBD4YEK3Tik7t61bfq9kescYP2nyHK4dtPxjwC0gPC2z5y0nWPHKYjry-0iWfUz576aprFNfbsCeip1BobijCW_rh-OsbzgpZmKIB1mvAMjEvemleN/s320/IMG_5981.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493006805614603938" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 206px; height: 320px; " /></a></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The other day, Nathan and I were following a chick for its first recap (one week after hatch). I was holding the receiver and antenna to get some practice with close range telemetry, and the chick just kept leading me in circles around the edge of the fen, where the lichen mounds were tall and frequent as the habitat transitioned to the thicker adjacent boreal forest. "We've got time, don't worry about it," Nathan said. Well, after some more circles, to my relief, he said, "Okay, let me do it." I was hoping he would at least have a little trouble with this bird- it would be discouraging to have so much difficulty with a really easy bird, of course. As it turns out, I got more than I had bargained for. There were several occasions where the signal was louder when we pointed the antenna at our feet than in front of us, indicating we were practically on top of the chick. Then all of a sudden the signal would fade and it would lead us both back in another direction. We eventually followed this chick for about 45 minutes, through a few hundred meters of boreal forest and across a dirt road, in the opposite direction of the fen, to finally find it hiding under a fallen spruce. "MM," as he was flagged, definitely has a good set of genes going for him; I'll be watching for his return next year, after he's logged another 20,000 miles or so.<span><span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZt-ah9E0OC6TdHRVGJNVnHYPvx9mOo5Z8LEXQQGnvG8Yncd2GSCU0FcKdCRx4U3TjCsyLWvfQRhGxN0OTVP7SXuaLagYicF51CfAUkTme4zA-o1RWojBt4gGVPRJEhCYeWiM8vfabj4N/s1600/IMG_5607.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZt-ah9E0OC6TdHRVGJNVnHYPvx9mOo5Z8LEXQQGnvG8Yncd2GSCU0FcKdCRx4U3TjCsyLWvfQRhGxN0OTVP7SXuaLagYicF51CfAUkTme4zA-o1RWojBt4gGVPRJEhCYeWiM8vfabj4N/s320/IMG_5607.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493005297325824066" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Least Sandpiper chick</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">Luckily, there are still chicks to come, as evidenced by these incubating parents; they just happen to be the kind that don't contribute to our project or our work load:</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZHZ3hM18-cU7Fua8bv7IffufsKlLexJgqxpXGlgwuJJr5TySwf_7gu0yvD-JBySUqpwQTwn_D6UQociHYRsM04oD52bPdETSAUSo_v93rEQR81Vd7yOyvpSUIbnwxelUMnonw4ZgnCxns/s1600/IMG_6432.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZHZ3hM18-cU7Fua8bv7IffufsKlLexJgqxpXGlgwuJJr5TySwf_7gu0yvD-JBySUqpwQTwn_D6UQociHYRsM04oD52bPdETSAUSo_v93rEQR81Vd7yOyvpSUIbnwxelUMnonw4ZgnCxns/s320/IMG_6432.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493009092424584898" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">American Golden-plover</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 16px/normal Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXE8qiEwOI1dF-iyCuEiIxrDpUU1tmzhutyO4RbiCbNFCo-x4NQjfQIM65l_bdAiaaq11aa3iudbNLezqq6tsFPQ1bGrQUBBr7MKzstEfbOFmeguY2e-yqJhJCwfClNths_QoycWq-gUx1/s1600/IMG_6325.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXE8qiEwOI1dF-iyCuEiIxrDpUU1tmzhutyO4RbiCbNFCo-x4NQjfQIM65l_bdAiaaq11aa3iudbNLezqq6tsFPQ1bGrQUBBr7MKzstEfbOFmeguY2e-yqJhJCwfClNths_QoycWq-gUx1/s320/IMG_6325.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493009081336987234" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"> <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Bonaparte's Gull</span></i></div><p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXqFnprWexwpkfPYaVtYIOJ8d1Prdf7lXaJ0uK9d-vdgSt2IOuz_ebQszDvLth-fkVSiFBeWBQaTvzs-vKvUR3Im4YbV3NrbreiCpfsMgE79ktIElLCtoC84U7Ndn0fymeOIuIQYcZmney/s1600/IMG_6063.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXqFnprWexwpkfPYaVtYIOJ8d1Prdf7lXaJ0uK9d-vdgSt2IOuz_ebQszDvLth-fkVSiFBeWBQaTvzs-vKvUR3Im4YbV3NrbreiCpfsMgE79ktIElLCtoC84U7Ndn0fymeOIuIQYcZmney/s320/IMG_6063.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493006814832771682" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Lesser Yellowlegs</span></i></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-49277933334577752452010-06-27T13:54:00.004-04:002010-06-27T16:12:07.371-04:00Banding Semipalmated Plovers<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhvtci-sVbc8velKR0UkZMLfO2Fq3GVcDo8CdzwH6jrVFqcWGEGGJg3ISBjKNn5THKx_hVF0uIPd2vZKakia6Rx-L-JBJ7y0g3twEkMckaapaJf2mXSKBv3t2Cg6Y0f_R8rW8ajwVYPgC/s1600/IMG_5319.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhvtci-sVbc8velKR0UkZMLfO2Fq3GVcDo8CdzwH6jrVFqcWGEGGJg3ISBjKNn5THKx_hVF0uIPd2vZKakia6Rx-L-JBJ7y0g3twEkMckaapaJf2mXSKBv3t2Cg6Y0f_R8rW8ajwVYPgC/s320/IMG_5319.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487532662900928754" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Semipalmated Plover</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div>One of the best things about working out of the Churchill Northern Studies Centre (CNSC) is the opportunity to share with and learn from other biologists working on a broad range of topics, from bay ice and zooplankton in tundra ponds, to trees, seals and foxes. Today, Shawn, Brad and I took a break from our Godwits and followed Anne Corkery and Jen, from Trent University, to their site to help band Semipalmated Plovers.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>We arrived at Bird Cove and began walking along the broad, gravelly beach. It was windy, and quite cold, at least compared to yesterday's heat. We started to see Semipalmated Plovers running along the beach almost immediately; they would pause to give their two-syllabled call, raising their entire bodies with effort, and would then resume running in short sprints from one spot to another, legs a blur. Some were already banded here, with a combination of two color bands on the right leg, and a color band and flag over a metal band on the left leg, but we soon found some territorial birds without bands, indicating new nests to be found.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8awq2sA84hnZjBMMAaesFZO0opJTteJSYlQ2YHA1pfbEbY77aODPudg1i2Kq20RMEQKxNV-aK16FJ7_vlgeLjE_83LZRuR4VLh7fvQk99fLhvzInspF4DnQ1f17ZFUnGmBjy6CviVzLo0/s1600/IMG_5428.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8awq2sA84hnZjBMMAaesFZO0opJTteJSYlQ2YHA1pfbEbY77aODPudg1i2Kq20RMEQKxNV-aK16FJ7_vlgeLjE_83LZRuR4VLh7fvQk99fLhvzInspF4DnQ1f17ZFUnGmBjy6CviVzLo0/s320/IMG_5428.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487535253907187314" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></a></div><div>We sat on the sand to watch an unbanded male, in hopes of him leading us to his nest. As Anne and I watched, the male stood quite still for a while, and it took me a while to notice the head of his female poking up from the ground just at his feet. She was incubating on the nest, and the male had led us straight to it-- how kind! We walked over to the nest in order to set up a walk-in trap. This is a metal-mesh cylinder with a screened over top that is placed over the nest; there is a door on one side where the bird can enter, but when you run towards the trap to retrieve the bird, it tries to get out the opposite side and ignores the door. </div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg42TDELr_tO9yySgyuBAOp7OxlHSTafflSz_9ja0P4ONBefzw1pMdL519nMCkUA3JWHewp7Lb88BH6_jzd5mh5DPPi0TJI1_h5j4ZMFzmM2mMVN_pUpvUBRsaGZpvXPzEzhoHSP2SwXk5G/s1600/IMG_5518.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg42TDELr_tO9yySgyuBAOp7OxlHSTafflSz_9ja0P4ONBefzw1pMdL519nMCkUA3JWHewp7Lb88BH6_jzd5mh5DPPi0TJI1_h5j4ZMFzmM2mMVN_pUpvUBRsaGZpvXPzEzhoHSP2SwXk5G/s320/IMG_5518.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487532684456999938" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a></div><div>While we approached the nest, and as Anne measured the eggs and placed the trap over the nest, the birds constantly called and gave broken-wing displays, walking away from the nest as they did. When they were about 20 meters away, and noticed that we had not followed them away from the nest, they would run back and try again, starting their display from just a few feet away.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVhoSpgOX7iwRIZdbquTQvfFxjnLtLKbZd7sGWYmLxFaCmkk4OtZg0HnBQp5gIXdYix121YcIwhUG8-ubLIRgMi9caO3YMx9UWMbNBa6bNlwynLVyBKdRnDyllXxIsugYmcR3Cdsi5EVgo/s1600/IMG_5303.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVhoSpgOX7iwRIZdbquTQvfFxjnLtLKbZd7sGWYmLxFaCmkk4OtZg0HnBQp5gIXdYix121YcIwhUG8-ubLIRgMi9caO3YMx9UWMbNBa6bNlwynLVyBKdRnDyllXxIsugYmcR3Cdsi5EVgo/s320/IMG_5303.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487532670212940978" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>When the trap was set and the eggs measured, we would sit back a few dozen meters and watch as the adult bird would slowly approach its nest and investigate the mesh cage. It would often take several minutes, but eventually the bird would find the door and determine the trap to be inanimate enough for its liking, and it would sit down to incubate. Anne would then run towards the door side of the trap and grab the bird from underneath. Then we went to work, putting a unique combination of color bands on its tiny, yellow legs. In the hand, their 48 grams feel almost non-existent, especially compared to the 400-gram Whimbrels we have been banding recently, but their large, dark, inquisitive eyes make the handful of feathers feel infinitely more significant than their weight suggests.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFIeQgM2c4oAvGmTiUhhj1RxXjJdjYqyw35ZFOwhJY12qVikE4RPzkfTylc8Gio972B76KLxStBNIGHO0xUX5knio0CewatR9aqeKURBJP5bwXxaOiP0df7Eyiz0qBwcknLfs8JeFY-JeG/s1600/IMG_5416.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFIeQgM2c4oAvGmTiUhhj1RxXjJdjYqyw35ZFOwhJY12qVikE4RPzkfTylc8Gio972B76KLxStBNIGHO0xUX5knio0CewatR9aqeKURBJP5bwXxaOiP0df7Eyiz0qBwcknLfs8JeFY-JeG/s320/IMG_5416.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487532689516416610" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></a></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-12292442480920248702010-06-20T20:35:00.009-04:002010-06-22T19:10:09.480-04:00Photo Op!<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnXna7Wp6BS-hKb89AlMkSHLQojisEpd8W8-W6hhzAzGCUMoVwLhiqG4Npiquy8DD5joNqKrLqQJJ46pvivSBVKnyh8WHX6rWH13aeTrvYZbeza8SlbuFaa5Vdc0mObWb03TpXfewZPIMK/s1600/PAJApair_port.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnXna7Wp6BS-hKb89AlMkSHLQojisEpd8W8-W6hhzAzGCUMoVwLhiqG4Npiquy8DD5joNqKrLqQJJ46pvivSBVKnyh8WHX6rWH13aeTrvYZbeza8SlbuFaa5Vdc0mObWb03TpXfewZPIMK/s320/PAJApair_port.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485032394883569218" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Parasitic Jaeger</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">This morning, with my Sunday off, I did something I thought I would never do: I put on my hip boots (voluntarily) and trudged out to one of our study sites. But this time I was on my own, and working my own schedule-- I was out to photograph a pair of Parasitic Jaegers and a pair of Golden-plovers at their nests. These are both species that were surprisingly difficult to approach and photograph early in the season (i.e. before they were on nests), and since I haven't been carrying a camera while we work (when they <i>are</i> cooperative), this was my first real chance to capture some cool images. Luckily for me, they were cooperative enough to get some good shots today, but uncooperative enough still to merit more attempts in the coming weeks.</div><div><br /></div><div>I parked behind the rifle range, before a large expanse of wet, sub-arctic tundra, and rammed open the stiff door of our old Suburban. I immediately regretted not putting on a bug net before getting out, because now I had to struggle to put it on without trapping dozens of mosquitos between the net and my face. I pushed the shells into the shotgun, pulled up my hip boots and headed into...the big, open, wet area in front of the car--I don't think it's actually called anything in particular by anyone, now that I think about it. </div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2yJ71ddw83zqnC3JxWmntvuJMXCYS_NzIHaVOLEmfg4etGqkWnPY2n3kjonq5dvMF6mH3ER3dTJ-yvA2HZkWfCxx25pHdaqD_Ima7Ev_bgWXEVkmyWuTtanMf-bRZPJ8U1MX1qSYPSAf/s1600/IMG_4881.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2yJ71ddw83zqnC3JxWmntvuJMXCYS_NzIHaVOLEmfg4etGqkWnPY2n3kjonq5dvMF6mH3ER3dTJ-yvA2HZkWfCxx25pHdaqD_Ima7Ev_bgWXEVkmyWuTtanMf-bRZPJ8U1MX1qSYPSAf/s320/IMG_4881.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485036927704072818" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></a></div><div>I made my way to the Golden-plover nest first, and watched the bird calling loudly from a lichen mound as I approached. It repeatedly uttered a clear ascending whistle, jumping up to a higher pitch seamlessly, as if sliding into a falsetto. When I came closer, the bird depressed and spread its tail, and shuffled away, feigning a broken wing to draw me away from its nest.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZUUILE-eRTASqu7763bt2yS9Yk805yvKLq8K9CfGujRQ17aMwxcKRGkm33NghqCQ02UUzleVuLiS1CDZ___7nUvG9uLK9t9usnvbQda-bucbEnnr1uDjVxtJKD3e5lYjEjJ3ZWRXHRfs/s1600/AGPL1.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZUUILE-eRTASqu7763bt2yS9Yk805yvKLq8K9CfGujRQ17aMwxcKRGkm33NghqCQ02UUzleVuLiS1CDZ___7nUvG9uLK9t9usnvbQda-bucbEnnr1uDjVxtJKD3e5lYjEjJ3ZWRXHRfs/s320/AGPL1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485036901541647570" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZ6kp52YOHx7dMOtMtFaQmvUa00nUOhVy_mszCtJGO76OUs6G3nqljFEnmiGRlvP80XiuDgK3K3Kd2j7jrhuZQVBzmcGbiS2FuUsnbUZmTARNnVhffAHpFnKCqBSwzElx4ufSFANaAh80/s1600/AGPLport2.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZ6kp52YOHx7dMOtMtFaQmvUa00nUOhVy_mszCtJGO76OUs6G3nqljFEnmiGRlvP80XiuDgK3K3Kd2j7jrhuZQVBzmcGbiS2FuUsnbUZmTARNnVhffAHpFnKCqBSwzElx4ufSFANaAh80/s320/AGPLport2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485032343879632946" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">American Golden-plover</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div>I spotted the Jaeger incubating from quite a ways off, and saw it flush to a different mound to watch me approach before I was even within half a kilometer. The bird's mate came flying in from much farther away, and the two of them watched from separate mounds. As I got closer, they circled around me, calling sporadically.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGS9rw44LTQlCEwRpUnK0qlKCqdQK3UWpo60CHM9fArbvk0G3KbCGYxuQ6XueX2hZ6CmaIl2Pf97QwJK_P4kQnZCR4skOZZ6ZzFuf-oa4cis5pfBUbEvLpLXy18HjvlLvn0E2mxBaA3rN7/s1600/PAJApair.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGS9rw44LTQlCEwRpUnK0qlKCqdQK3UWpo60CHM9fArbvk0G3KbCGYxuQ6XueX2hZ6CmaIl2Pf97QwJK_P4kQnZCR4skOZZ6ZzFuf-oa4cis5pfBUbEvLpLXy18HjvlLvn0E2mxBaA3rN7/s320/PAJApair.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485032389172753666" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div>When I got within 100 meters of the nest (which held two, surprisingly small eggs), the birds began to take turns dive-bombing me. One would fly away from me and upwards, then suddenly bank and dive towards my head with stiff, outstretched wings; with a sudden "whoosh," it would pass and begin another climb while its mate swooped down. </div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqyvoPpZz9wz8PROjqhpgHdEz4VbFp3i6M_KUJh6GsdQm4xW1A2M8H7B63EBOwaxZcV5r08Y0Hj8dO1PshRcPz5CaRrosECcqsgT6lOmpjFnfZcj4RPE0-yPVIldZflF_VZIOOzGes4KF2/s1600/IMG_4611.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqyvoPpZz9wz8PROjqhpgHdEz4VbFp3i6M_KUJh6GsdQm4xW1A2M8H7B63EBOwaxZcV5r08Y0Hj8dO1PshRcPz5CaRrosECcqsgT6lOmpjFnfZcj4RPE0-yPVIldZflF_VZIOOzGes4KF2/s320/IMG_4611.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485036888091909954" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div>As I got even closer, the birds abandoned their efforts to scare me away and instead tried to draw me away with broken wing displays. They would sit near me and spread the wings on the ground, and slowly flap and squawk, sometimes even rolling on their backs and sides. It was strange to see this formidable nest predator desperately defending its own, precious eggs.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUjvpZMZdUqMwue9kZ9DORVpqfEJMlgA0ejoqJqHF7hq2DOIj6KOtgnT_k_8SJrqdSvkqt8Aw4hd2fCH4eZQbe0wHItdlRw-qyi1lj6Ia4GMjD7SHIq1ah4qs4nrjxvtnuyN6zk6iVJixU/s1600/PAJAbroken_wing.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUjvpZMZdUqMwue9kZ9DORVpqfEJMlgA0ejoqJqHF7hq2DOIj6KOtgnT_k_8SJrqdSvkqt8Aw4hd2fCH4eZQbe0wHItdlRw-qyi1lj6Ia4GMjD7SHIq1ah4qs4nrjxvtnuyN6zk6iVJixU/s320/PAJAbroken_wing.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485032357816552690" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNoj7NltzbOPdj4egAq1tS_UdCzcQ3CMHohCfXPk2VryTwX_ISfOICtkvjZPo8wkBBPVH3UA6BWpETwruo52V9SDug4l-q81G-oP7ZyQ6u4X6jJQZMLlwdY1TkAS0zRtQ9hXZA6OpaUkd-/s1600/IMG_4677.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNoj7NltzbOPdj4egAq1tS_UdCzcQ3CMHohCfXPk2VryTwX_ISfOICtkvjZPo8wkBBPVH3UA6BWpETwruo52V9SDug4l-q81G-oP7ZyQ6u4X6jJQZMLlwdY1TkAS0zRtQ9hXZA6OpaUkd-/s320/IMG_4677.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485032374808127986" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px; " /></a></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-73512354592707335182010-06-19T16:35:00.010-04:002011-07-12T08:06:31.400-04:00Whimbrels are Stupid<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9RW7RXlF_Zmx3QenjA1455vioHaQ3tf3gMIwwHTVqbPAvrxJxBpSN_oO2nRkHP2fMaiwh4CQm39YN9j3qwfiAIxaqyE24ZzsK_bAVwJDoDqV-jJQhgi5NZhJddfC6mEYoa-MUWFxU8-T3/s1600/IMG_5063.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9RW7RXlF_Zmx3QenjA1455vioHaQ3tf3gMIwwHTVqbPAvrxJxBpSN_oO2nRkHP2fMaiwh4CQm39YN9j3qwfiAIxaqyE24ZzsK_bAVwJDoDqV-jJQhgi5NZhJddfC6mEYoa-MUWFxU8-T3/s320/IMG_5063.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493061741246055970" border="0" /></a><br />Our team spent the better half of Friday catching, banding, and flagging Whimbrels. We are focusing some of our efforts on this species this year as part of a project by the Arctic Shorebird Demography Network (ASDN). ASDN aims to census breeding populations, determine the relative significance of migratory stopover sites, monitor population trends, and inform regional management about how to help meet conservation goals for North American shorebirds. <div><br /></div><div>The best thing about Whimbrels is that they are far stupider than Godwits. To find a Godwit nest--a grass cup hidden under the low tangle of branches of a Dwarf Birch--you must first wander by chance into a territory to find one of the birds calling at you in irritation. The second step is to slowly and meticulously cover about a quarter of a square kilometer by walking tight lines back and forth, as if mowing a lawn. The incubating bird will only flush if you are within about 1 meter of the nest, and it is almost impossible to detect before that point. Whimbrels, on the other hand, lay their eggs in open scrapings on much drier ground, often on elevated mounds of lichen; and since they chase any bird that flies by their nest, a territory can be detected from kilometers away when a raven or jaeger flies over (we've even seen them waste their time and energy chasing Lesser Yellowlegs away from their nests). Once you are in a Whimbrel territory and have the pair in sight, you can simply walk back about 100 meters, sit down, and watch them. They almost immediately go to sit on their nest, at which point you walk over, hold out the GPS, press "mark," and you have yourself a nest. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcYeUn9Vdlx-6gEHnTbN1l87I_KsawwckkrCCk-jso2-9NH7cixeHUqYoqWFHfhoM9-2H8k-WJp92PQsQyEKIzBQHdIb9_uqlv4deCuDuRAxwAGoS1UgJRxIKMIyNPGR8uG8ZI9lplSy54/s320/IMG_5114.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493073708940426818" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>When it comes time to catch the incubating bird, we use a "bow net." This is essentially a spring-loaded, dome shaped net, that is folded into a crescent and staked down around the nest. It is held open by a screw, which is attached to a spool of fishing line, so that when you sit back and relax about 100 meters away, all you have to do is pull the line to dislodge the screw and catch the bird under the net. </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAgpmis0VzfR5Vz6Jcyh96iOVNb5JcqdMCDZqHb8CHD1ZQXovfq0j_xg8xusOLfkmgvAa0tKZ-kn-WY52o8oz3IpZNoNl_A0nuAwkuUOA9pjpfMdLhRcvzOutUG6h_HBwZz6FckQ8_ygXD/s1600/IMG_5109.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAgpmis0VzfR5Vz6Jcyh96iOVNb5JcqdMCDZqHb8CHD1ZQXovfq0j_xg8xusOLfkmgvAa0tKZ-kn-WY52o8oz3IpZNoNl_A0nuAwkuUOA9pjpfMdLhRcvzOutUG6h_HBwZz6FckQ8_ygXD/s320/IMG_5109.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493066353659132114" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>While preparing for one such capture, as we were standing at the nest staking in the bow net, the bird that we had flushed off the nest walked right back and watched the whole process from less than a meter away, all the while giving a broken wing display and jumping up and down. Brad beckoned it like you would a timid cat, and it would walk towards him inquisitively, only to walk away again feigning a broken wing and pretending to eat (i.e. picking up goose poop in its bill and discarding it repeatedly) to try to distract us from its nest. </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghTDyZ1boRT1kgm4alpsajFoljc61vihcpBy1Wn3NZ2I1Vta53xD4xgKlUXDf9Yuuqq9mHz2cQsIWF42gKep4lTQecTFVMlHhavQ_u2y2GFPN30lpCm6lIIQlSKRdZMDsxBplb5hFMxYoC/s1600/IMG_5085.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghTDyZ1boRT1kgm4alpsajFoljc61vihcpBy1Wn3NZ2I1Vta53xD4xgKlUXDf9Yuuqq9mHz2cQsIWF42gKep4lTQecTFVMlHhavQ_u2y2GFPN30lpCm6lIIQlSKRdZMDsxBplb5hFMxYoC/s320/IMG_5085.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493061753390302082" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" /></a></div><div>After we had left, and after watching us place a large foreign object next to its nest, the Whimbrel investigated the net for a few seconds before settling right back down on its four, large eggs. We watched as it huddled back and forth, nestling its breast feathers over the eggs; Nathan gave a signal, and Shawn pulled the line. As soon as the bird was caught, Nathan (who had been lying much closer to the nest than the rest of us) sprinted over to get the bird as quickly as possible, lest it stomp on its own eggs while trying to get out of the net. </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLglP0RbqdymIJW_IEfK3_lfGFpdFjxL1VhhjjxTgALyUxXCd0omrKdu7O_aj6aLvKfTR4hyphenhyphenI3jrChIA9ljg1vfz6AKjn2iWW4TZwyoW5LW8DAlvk7fF02pRIXIYYFtG-OeKTR-Tt9qbdS/s1600/IMG_5196.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLglP0RbqdymIJW_IEfK3_lfGFpdFjxL1VhhjjxTgALyUxXCd0omrKdu7O_aj6aLvKfTR4hyphenhyphenI3jrChIA9ljg1vfz6AKjn2iWW4TZwyoW5LW8DAlvk7fF02pRIXIYYFtG-OeKTR-Tt9qbdS/s320/IMG_5196.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493072880474486834" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" /></a></div><div>We ended up catching and banding five Whimbrel in just a few short hours. If only Godwits were stupid...</div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-44988647523450278962010-06-16T10:15:00.002-04:002010-06-17T21:15:29.584-04:00The Rare Moments<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:webdings,serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></p></span></span></div>My time up in the north country has been quite busy and tiring of late, but I have managed a few memorable moments, here and there...well, they’re not all that rare at all, but here are a few that will stick with me for some time:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">1. A beautiful evening at the mouth of the Churchill River: The evening after Nathan arrived, we were “obliged” to go see at least one of the 3 Red Phalaropes that we in the area at the time, since they would be a new Manitoba bird for Nathan. The female had been feeding for a couple days with a flock of about 200 Red-necked Phalaropes at the Granary Ponds in town. In addition to amazing views of the bright, rusty phalarope in amazing evening light, we found a hybrid Common X Green-winged Teal and an Iceland Gull molting into its 4th cycle. We continued down to the bay at the Churchill River (not the Hudson Bay), where we stepped out of the truck to see an expanse of perfectly still water, with large, scattered, blue ice floats and a sky finally turning orange. There was a flock of Common Eiders, whose eery, booming calls echoed across the water to us; a group of Arctic Terns acrobatically fishing near the shore and resting on floating ice; a small group of Sanderlings and Ruddy Turnstones foraging along the beach; and most impressively, a flock of nearly 400 Red-throated Loons floating a ways out in the bay. The sun was just beginning to set as we drove off after 10:00, with the booming of eiders still ringing in our ears.</span></span><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:webdings;"></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:webdings;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:webdings;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:16px;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghoWvY1t3x-Ucc0lzds3ml4jsS1P-g0yvFOYXIFbDX97K7MAhPk6LYZNec46Sa-eEUZuy3i6WuRj9GAijAqincK76-fy1LL5hmTU0qp0LBmvOVXdLgcp0R2tusoJU7mPFCrCzoElLi3g2_/s1600/IMG_4203.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghoWvY1t3x-Ucc0lzds3ml4jsS1P-g0yvFOYXIFbDX97K7MAhPk6LYZNec46Sa-eEUZuy3i6WuRj9GAijAqincK76-fy1LL5hmTU0qp0LBmvOVXdLgcp0R2tusoJU7mPFCrCzoElLi3g2_/s320/IMG_4203.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483377134182072978" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px;" border="0" /></a></span></p> <p style="text-align: center; margin: 0px; font: italic 12px georgia; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Arctic Tern</span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica; min-height: 14px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:webdings;"><br /></span></i></p>2. Taking a much needed 10-minute break in the Fen: Towards the end of the work day, Brad and I were sent to the west side of the Fen to check up on a Godwit nest we had found earlier. After a long day of nest searching, the kilometer into the Fen was tiring, to say the least. On our way back, we were halted by a Least Sandpiper that just flushed off her nest; she flew no more than 5 feet, and gave a broken wing display. It was somewhat pathetic to see her efforts; while she frantically tried to distract us from her nest, standing at our feet, smaller than a House Sparrow, we could look down to our right and see her nest, with a single, speckled egg, smaller than a nickel. After marking the nest with the GPS, we stopped on a dry lichen mound to take a quick break. I took my boots off, laid back, and closed my eyes; it was sunny enough to be warm in spite of a wind strong enough to keep the mosquitos away-- in other words, a perfectly blissful balance. As my paleness absorbed all solar radiation (yes Mom, sunscreen was, unfortunately, part of this equation) and as I alternately squeezed my eyes shut and opened them slightly, watching the spectrum shift from teal to red, I could hear Smith’s Longspurs and Savannah Sparrows singing a short ways off, a Wilson’s Snipe was winnowing just over my head, with steep, fast dives, and a Short-billed Dowitcher displaying nearby (a note to Nathan, should you ever read this: this was not slacking off, merely a brief and amazing rest so that we could maintain vigor throughout the rest of the work day, and be able to make it back to the truck before being eaten by some unseen polar bear, in order to continue our employment for the rest of the summer-- we’re just lookin’ out your employees). <p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica; min-height: 14px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:webdings;"></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:webdings;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:16px;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPl4B2jnWJ8kewsMhATXKI1D0WxcNMcyw5ayRupRI9uUiUbxU7E5yP_Fon1WgNRPjuhzPN30u2GWv67ND7mvXYtI6cdbHdOLBohlZCi_hdZjK-7sBPBaVV8NOp0-S64Nf3zjA36Lfr8V0L/s1600/IMG_4374.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPl4B2jnWJ8kewsMhATXKI1D0WxcNMcyw5ayRupRI9uUiUbxU7E5yP_Fon1WgNRPjuhzPN30u2GWv67ND7mvXYtI6cdbHdOLBohlZCi_hdZjK-7sBPBaVV8NOp0-S64Nf3zjA36Lfr8V0L/s320/IMG_4374.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483377155544956786" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" /></a></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica; min-height: 14px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:webdings;"></span></span></p>3. Banding my first Godwit: This is pretty self-explanatory; I haven’t had many chances to do banding prior to this summer (a few demonstrations here and there, and a morning with Allen Chartier), so feeling the strong heartbeat of a bright, male Hudsonian Godwit as he laid on his back across my lap, his gleaming, black eye staring back at me, was thrilling. He was surprisingly relaxed as I measured his tarsus and took a blood sample from his femoral artery, such that when I picked him up to weigh him, I had to lift his head as well. <p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:webdings;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:16px;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNtEHZqPY8EMorpv9UOkcmKPxBAgGMCEDTuXIkZYfacUxrlgbbzwzbmAmGbuOccNq-M487HVx9VVHOdL7KpBw2SuRrxEL-l4GesbUklTGzCqnB-TMVlBUCuRnmT2y96aPMobYPmpFoEXVP/s1600/IMG_4371.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNtEHZqPY8EMorpv9UOkcmKPxBAgGMCEDTuXIkZYfacUxrlgbbzwzbmAmGbuOccNq-M487HVx9VVHOdL7KpBw2SuRrxEL-l4GesbUklTGzCqnB-TMVlBUCuRnmT2y96aPMobYPmpFoEXVP/s320/IMG_4371.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483377148694050050" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" /></a></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:webdings;"><br /></span></p>4. Writing this post: I was going to write about how it was very nice to have a relaxed evening to write, sitting in my room and looking out the window at another 10:30PM sunset through the rebar cage (to keep them tricksy polar bears out), all the while listening to the wail of a Pacific Loon, the lovable call of a Long-tailed Duck, the songs of Yellow and Blackpoll warblers, Lincoln’s and White-crowned Sparrows, and watching a Short-eared Owl fly by...but then I fell asleep. So now I’m actually writing this post in the reading room across the hall from the kitchen; we have a morning off because of the rain, and I can’t hear any birds. So “writing this post” would have been memorable, had it happened last night-- now it’s just another morning, not that that’s a problem.<p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica; min-height: 14px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:webdings;"></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:webdings;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica; min-height: 14px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:webdings,serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:Georgia,serif;font-size:16px;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwdkVeUVRFiSvXbKZtEUeh-wiypk-goPPz9PsLPm5-JOEtosU_xtVAU8vSXnrN4KpCavcNX0w7TrPSbT53wgOt9wZNS_e3O5oR_s893jmPVWoppTY0Q7wKn9OjK_kHJloqF7-iXH7qD_7x/s1600/IMG_4167.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwdkVeUVRFiSvXbKZtEUeh-wiypk-goPPz9PsLPm5-JOEtosU_xtVAU8vSXnrN4KpCavcNX0w7TrPSbT53wgOt9wZNS_e3O5oR_s893jmPVWoppTY0Q7wKn9OjK_kHJloqF7-iXH7qD_7x/s320/IMG_4167.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483377964622242402" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 229px;" border="0" /></a></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">White-crowned Sparrow</span></span><br /></p><p style="text-align: center; margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica; min-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:webdings,serif;"><i></i></span></p>5. My 3-hour nap on Sunday: We took a day off on Sunday, which meant that I stayed up late on Saturday, watching some show-- can’t say I remember what it was, but it was probably Lost. Unbeknownst to me, it also meant that I had to get up at 6:00 on Sunday to check the daily insect transects, something I probably should have guessed would be necessary on a day off, but it hadn’t occurred to me. Anyways, I ended sleeping from 2:00 to 5:00 that afternoon, after a nice morning of boreal birding. Strangely, I don’t actually remember much of this rare, memorable moment, except the feeling of waking up before dinner quite rested. Good stuff. <br /><br /><div>Meanwhile, in the Land of Churchill, in spite of such moments of jollity, there are also those which must simply be endured. As testament to that fact, I spent about half an hour trying to fall asleep last night because I had to keep brushing my face to make sure I wasn’t still wearing a bug net. The mosquitos have been out for all of two or three days, and they are already worse than I have seen almost any other time; luckily for me though, I’ve been assured they will only get approximately ten times worse by the high season<p style="margin: 0px; font: 12px Helvetica;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">.</span></p></div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5255904088059053289.post-85018057358270554792010-06-10T22:06:00.000-04:002011-10-30T10:12:52.074-04:00Working with Hudwits<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8d8BxF2M_MqwOujX-OP-UKKBT6fE9vUFCiJ_VS11bNzO4WJbXHXM-ByMvgvXuRj0-n-FnuF-yccYNdudwm5NQmzaIg3V_f4_6QGicFueyL1clraOJii6hVwNMWHdFk-zFPG-Y9hPsWIM/s1600/IMG_3159.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481722622560389842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8d8BxF2M_MqwOujX-OP-UKKBT6fE9vUFCiJ_VS11bNzO4WJbXHXM-ByMvgvXuRj0-n-FnuF-yccYNdudwm5NQmzaIg3V_f4_6QGicFueyL1clraOJii6hVwNMWHdFk-zFPG-Y9hPsWIM/s400/IMG_3159.JPG" style="display: block; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;" width="400" /></a><br />
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<i>Stilt Sandpiper</i></div>
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In the past few days, before our boss Nathan Senner's arrival on Tuesday, Shawn Billerman, Brad Walker and I spent most of our time searching for Hudsonain Godwit nests and finishing setting up insect transects. We focused most of our efforts on the Fen, where most of the local Godwits nest. The Fen is a massive and disorientingly open bog with a few scattered tamaracks and island of dry lichens. A north-south dirt road (if it can be called that- it is more pothole than road), called Twin Lakes, divides it into two portions, and as you look in any direction from the car, the expanse of sedges interspersed with pools and soggy areas stretches as far as the eye, until those bare tamaracks, few and far between, accumulate on the horizon as a dark tree line, constantly crawling from the heat.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg18ik3Zedl457yURp_-8JpPGYvQGaHWRLF4NN81iLPOpEXVOWG4xY8EVXng5Ft3mTKayoHmiqjNqM4dicYD3OhqGMBiE__hGFl8b1KjUZbGV5Qf2YoZKAQHj_8KP-Z50tBKWJj_C6FLPwM/s1600/IMG_2607.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="266" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481722612450736770" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg18ik3Zedl457yURp_-8JpPGYvQGaHWRLF4NN81iLPOpEXVOWG4xY8EVXng5Ft3mTKayoHmiqjNqM4dicYD3OhqGMBiE__hGFl8b1KjUZbGV5Qf2YoZKAQHj_8KP-Z50tBKWJj_C6FLPwM/s400/IMG_2607.JPG" style="display: block; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;" width="400" /></a></div>
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As we set up transects, I kneel in the soggy peat and slice a circular plug out of the ground with a serrated kitchen knife. As I slide my fingers down the edge to pull it out, my fingers immediately throb in the freezing water- just centimeters above the permafrost- even on a 65 degree day like this. I slide a plastic cup into the hole, pour in about an inch of isopropyl, and head off to the next point, 100 meters away. Between two such points, on one fateful day, Shawn happened to look up from the transfixing sight of boots sinking into the wet spongy peat to see a jeager flying over. When I glanced up, the first thing I noticed was a surprisingly long stream of feathers trailing behind the graceful bird- it was, finally, a Long-tailed Jaeger! These are regular but quite uncommon migrants through the Churchill area as they head to their breeding grounds to the north. Later that same day, the first Smith's Longspurs arrived, and Brad and I found several males singing at the south edge of the Fen as we were finishing an insect transect.<br />
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The last two days with Nathan have been immensely tiring. On Wednesday, we woke around 6:00 in order to finish checking our daily insect traps before breakfast, and then we split into two groups and covered as much ground as we could in the Fen looking for nests. As soon as we heard a male godwit calling, we would scan the sky for the alarmed bird and follow him until he landed in the sedges or alighted atop a spruce. From there, we would determine whether he was tied very closely to a territory, and whether or not he had a nest with a full clutch yet (they are usually agitated by our approach but tend to leave the area more readily if they do not yet have four eggs). If there was certainly a nest in the area (hopefully with an incubating female), we would meticulously scan the area, walking back and forth as if mowing a lawn and looking down onto sedge mounds with dwarf birches, where they tend to build their nests. We ended up finding several territories and "scrapings (the beginnings of potential nests by males, to be chosen from by females) and two nests with eggs. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcTM5h0bCfHp48IOOWyAZgeCKVZiCh0IfIP1-5tjxOE8xX9rYSk_4iTsrKkACifzaOX50iqK_h1aSmcOgDkrZS557fEoQsy2dZHH8DvN-fZh79uMA3jJOoBjvlz-wweL5lS4PdSAAR3dT/s1600/IMG_2399.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481723895757152978" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcTM5h0bCfHp48IOOWyAZgeCKVZiCh0IfIP1-5tjxOE8xX9rYSk_4iTsrKkACifzaOX50iqK_h1aSmcOgDkrZS557fEoQsy2dZHH8DvN-fZh79uMA3jJOoBjvlz-wweL5lS4PdSAAR3dT/s400/IMG_2399.JPG" style="display: block; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>Photo by Shawn Billerman</i></div>
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Today, we spent another 9 hours of hard walking in the Fen, going visiting the 8 active nest sites that we have GPS coordinates for so far, and capturing and banding those birds. To do so, we would approach to about 60m of a nest, and set up the banding kit and mist net, which is a very thin, 12-meter net spread between two aluminum poles, each one held parallel to the ground by me and Nathan. We would approach the nest in this manner, and hopefully lay down the net over the incubating bird before it flushed-- this worked on 7 of the 8 nest we visited. Once a bird was caught, we would take the standard measurements and a blood sample, and then, to it's left leg, attach a flag with a two-letter combination and a "data logger" glued to it. These data loggers are light sensors that, once calibrated, record the times of sunsets and sunrises until the bird is recaptured. In this way, the bird's migration route and other movements can be accurately tracked because such timing data can give you the latitude and longitude on any given date. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9j5EmrmxvYinml57w0ymHxu0uR0CKsJ8tJpdOnWkrUaHlOQIUsSl-A5ySsvj9kBqrmfF8pMhbfG5tCjGa-GcvtZSk8fHJaCoYiWNyZ68peH2eR1UVuCMB6EEEjOg09Qvbsqf4H0lxWFH8/s1600/DSC_0033.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="267" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481720879121810674" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9j5EmrmxvYinml57w0ymHxu0uR0CKsJ8tJpdOnWkrUaHlOQIUsSl-A5ySsvj9kBqrmfF8pMhbfG5tCjGa-GcvtZSk8fHJaCoYiWNyZ68peH2eR1UVuCMB6EEEjOg09Qvbsqf4H0lxWFH8/s400/DSC_0033.JPG" style="display: block; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>Photo by Geoff Legault</i></div>
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The photography will certainly be taking a rest for a while now, as we are covering much more ground, carrying much more gear, and spending many more hours in the field at work. Hopefully on the off days, I will be able to catch up on some of the new arrivals, such as the Smith's Longspurs.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; color: #0000ee;"><img alt="" border="0" height="285" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481725599321035650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlNhwKdynv848jJ41D-jJYuYSCt5xHDymjnzjsGwsrIb2QZTkXZJWRxfZq_TV1a4qd22rFWo_Ww2elJUQ8sts7W6GA7rVM-Kmdw3BtPSd5BLkwg0B4TqLTIcxjJaOiUY8y-0mkknmEHla7/s400/IMG_3295.JPG" style="display: block; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;" width="400" /></span></div>
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<i>Red-necked Phalarope</i></div>
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</div>Andyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06543780289675057935noreply@blogger.com0