Identifying A Life Bird

The snow had been flying in the Texas panhandle the day before. About four to five centimeters stuck to the ground. The next day brought some very cold temperatures with a strong north wind. By the afternoon, though, the temperatures had moderated to the mid-twenties, and the winds had calmed down to about five kilometers per hour.

I was doing a raptor behavior survey when I heard a faint "tsip" note from across the road, about twenty to thirty meters away. Without any raptors to observe, I welcomed the distraction of a song bird to watch for a little bit.

Across the road at the barbed wire fence, were two small sparrows. I glimpsed them through my binoculars, and realized they were not my usual sparrow suspects. So I used the scope to get an even better view. They then hopped along the road, and into the nearby roadside weeds and barbed wire, and one of them foraged around the culvert a few meters from me. I was able to get very good, long looks at the birds. And since my initial looks were of a bird that I was not sure of the identification, I studied the birds long and hard to note all the field marks in my head before they moved on.

With sparrows, it is especially important to note as much detail as possible. With all my birdwatching experience, I used all my skills and knowledge of the sparrows I knew to note as much as I could, in as much detail as I could. I also knew what particulars I should make note of: tail length and any white present, head & bill shape, head patterns (crown especially), and what kind of breast pattern, if any.

The overall color of the birds was orangish, more commonly referred to as ochraceous. Not a gray bird, and not brown. More of a dark peachy color. This was true all over the bird. The bill was on the small end of the scale for a sparrow. The face had ochraceous cheeks, not gray or brown. As the bird moved, the wind ruffled the feathers on the head, and a distinct crown stripe was seen, a more intense orangish color than the rest of the head, enough to show a distinctive stripe. On the chin, it had double moustachial stripes, both brownish, not really black. The head shape was slightly flatheaded in my views of the bird.

The belly of the bird was white. While the breast of the bird, and down the sides or flanks, fine streaking was seen on a yellowish-orange background. In the middle of the breast was a slightly larger streak, not quite a spot like in the Song or Fox Sparrows, but a distinctly larger streak.

The tail was short, for a sparrow. And no white was seen on it. The overall bird size was on the small end of the sparrow spectrum.

Eventually, the birds moved out of view. And I noted all the details I could recall. Then, when my survey was done, I consulted my field guide in the truck. And then when I returned to home, I consulted the other field guides we had there. Conveniently, all birds I see now, including migrants, should have their adult plumage; some juvenile sparrows may have streaking, but since it is early December, the juvenile plumage should be gone by now.

There are 49 species of "bunting" sparrows that are commonly seen in the United States and Canada. I already have a strong idea about what bird I have seen, at least to genus, but to be sure, I go through the elimination process. Especially since I suspect it is a bird I haven't seen before, at least recently.

It's not a longspur (4). It's not a towhee (6), Olive Sparrow (1), or seedeater (1). It's not a junco (2), or any of the buntings (3). I can eliminate the genus of Aimophila sparrows, none have streaking (6). I can eliminate the Zonotrichia sparrows, for all are too large for my bird (this genus includes the White-crowned Sparrow, for idea of what a "large" sparrow is).

I eliminate the following: Lark Sparrow (wrong head pattern, size, even juvenile); Sage Sparrow (range, color); Black-throated Sparrow (size, face patterns), Five-striped Sparrow (range, color pattern), Black-chinned Sparrow (range, color); American Tree Sparrow (size, unstreaked breast); Chipping Sparrow (unstreaked breast); Field Sparrow (bill color, unstreaked breast); Brewer's Sparrow (range, unstreaked breast); Swamp Sparrow (unstreaked breast, head colors); and the Fox and Song Sparrows (size alone, streaking too bold on them).

This leaves the Ammodramus genus (7 birds), the Savannah Sparrow, Lincoln's Sparrow, and Vesper Sparrow. Because of the head shape (flat-headed look), I suspect it's the Ammodramus genus, and I check the individual's left that are not in that genus. The Vesper Sparrow has bold white outer tail feathers, so that's out. Lincoln's Sparrow has the right streakiness across the breast, the right body shape. The head looks wrong, though - it has the wrong colors on the side. My bird was yellow-orange throughout the head and body, and the Lincoln's Sparrow has a gray head. So I'll eliminate it, but I will still consider it if I don't have a better match. I was in the right habitat, after all.

Savannah Sparrow. Hmmm...much can be right. Habitat ok, head might be close; there are a lot of variations in the Savannah Sparrow for color. However, all the variations show very strong breast streaking, coarser and more extensive than what my bird had. So, no to Savannah Sparrow. Which leaves the Ammodramus genus, a difficult genus to identify birds from, since rarely are good looks gotten at the birds in the field. It's December, so though the bird may not breed here, or winter here, it may be migrating through. So range may not help.

Range does eliminate the following individuals. Saltmarsh Sparrow (A. caudacutus) and Seaside Sparrow (A. maritimus). Nelson's Sparrow, the interior form, does not have distinctive streaking, so no to that species. Le Conte's Sparrow has a WHITE crown stripe and streaking confined to the sides. That leaves Henslows, Grasshopper, and Baird's Sparrows, with the possibility of returning to Lincoln's Sparrow too.

The distinct band of streaking across the breast eliminated the Grasshopper Sparrow. Henslow's and Baird's Sparrows look similar in the field guide, so I read descriptions. Henslow's has "...with large, pale bill; finely striped across breast. Striped olive-colored head in conjunction with reddish wings help identify it. Also note double moustache stripes and spots behind 'ear'." Baird's, however, is described as "Light breast crossed by narrow band of fine black streaks. head ocher-buff; streaked. Key mark is broad ocher median crown stripe. Double moustache stripes. Flat head."

Um, yeah, so that confirms it, and is what I suspected in the field since the bird didn't look familiar! Also, Baird's is more likely then Henslow's based on migration route. My location is a little east for Bairds, but far west for Henslows, based on locations of breeding and winter ranges.

When I returned home, I consulted the other field guides, and 2 of the 3 helped confirm Baird's Sparrow as being more likely. One of the field guides had a photo of a Baird's Sparrow, which was a dead on ringer for my bird. While the third field guide did nothing to help with the identification at all; it's illustrations just weren't very good for the fine art of sparrow ID.

And that is how I came to get my species number 422 for North America, Baird's Sparrow. I had only seen this bird once before, in Mexico in 1997. This bird was probably still in migration to the Mexican Plateau.

This also illustrates the importance of noting as much detail as possible when watching a bird. Had I tried to consult a field guide while the bird was available for view, I would have lost the opportunity to study the bird as long as I did, and I might have missed that all important ocher crown stripe.

A Lunchtime Friend

The setting: Nelson Lakes National Park, on the South Island of New
Zealand. Spectacular scenery, with alpine slopes accented by beech trees.
The forest sounds alive with unusual sounds for someone from North
America - not a single bird is familiar. No small mammals are seen
scurrying either - squirrels and chipmunks, and for that matter, any
other mammal, are not native to the country (well, except a couple of
bats). But ever present are sounds of streams and brooks; it has been a
very wet season so far, and the streams are swollen and many of the
trails are mud paths, not dirt paths.

I have been managing to stay very dry. My past experiences in Hawaii and
Ecuador, in 2007, have both given me the knowledge I need on how to gear
and dress properly for these conditions. Proper rain gear has been worth
its weight in gold. So in spite of the perpetual mist and rain, and very
wet trails, I am comfortable.

I came into the National Park from St. Arnaud on the 29th of December.
The plan was to get to the head of the lake and camp, and then cross the
feeder river to the other side of the lake and make my way up the
mountain side to a hut at the edge of the tree line. From there, I would
head up a route (unmarked trail) across the ridge, and make my way across
the anticipated gorgeous alpine scenery to the next hut - situated near a
lake - to spend my New Year's Eve. With whatever company I found up
there.

With many things, the best laid plans often go awry. The rain! Oh, the
rain! And the long break from doing any kind of tramp, meant that the
first day - though I remained dry - took longer than expected to go the 8
kilometers to a hut, where I had planned to stop for lunch. Which turned
into an all afternoon affair, waiting for the rain to perhaps let up.
Which it did, but not until about an hour before sunset. I decided to
improvise, and stayed at the hut instead of going further. I got some
inquiries from the locals on how I managed to stay dry, and we all
swapped stories about the trip in.

I consulted with a ranger familiar with the park about some alternate
plans for my trip. The weather forecast for the high altitude was not
good for the next 24 hours, but after that it was supposed to clear
fantastically, with calm winds even at the high altitudes. After
modifying my plan, the next day I would head to a hut, at the base of a
route across an alpine ridge - a different one from my original plan.

And so we come to one of my best wildlife experiences ever. It's
somewhere in the top 10...

So, I awaken the next day, to beautiful clear skies and fantastic
mountain views. I bid good bye to many of the people I met at the hut,
and venture on to my destination - Hopeless Hut, at the base of an alpine
route, which will take me across the ridge to more fantasticness. But
prior to getting there, I will enjoy a lake side walk, this time in the
sun. Followed by a streamside walk, bridge to cross said stream, more
streamside hiking, and then up a hillside, following a mountain stream up
to the hut. Not overly ambitious, and so I amble - not hike, not tramp,
just amble - along the trail soaking it all in!

I can't hike all day without sustenance, so by mid-day, I start looking
for a good place to plop down and enjoy a lunch. I pack light, high
calorie foods, so though I don't have much to eat (peanut butter and
crackers), I do rather enjoy taking an actual break and resting while I
eat.

I find my spot. As I approach, I notice two robins hopping around in the
understory nearby, and decide how nice, dining companions! I have
encountered this species before in a few places, and I admire their
cheekiness. We had them on the hut's porch the evening before. And I've
seen them on my day hikes in a few areas. Very personable birds. I was
about to find out how much so.

I set down my pack, and open it to get at my food. And the birds come
ever closer. Okaaaay, I think, this is new. And find a nice place to sit
down. I'm in my rain gear, so in spite of the damp (well, let's face it,
sopping wet!) ground, I stay dry. And open my lunch items and settle in,
watching the birds. Who had hopped a little bit away as I settled in.
Then, apparently, curiosity got the best of them.

Hop. Closer one comes.

Hop. And still closer. And then...

Hop! Onto my boot! Onto my knee! Under my legs! Over my legs! behind my
head! over my head! on my boot again! back and forth, all around me! I
hold fairly still, then start to move slowly, to see how they might
respond. And they don't seem to mind. And so, I dine, watching the birds,
as I enjoy my lunch.

And decide, THIS is why all the hiking and travel and improvised plans
are worth it.This happened on December 30, 2010.

a Wyoming mini adventure...

Our Thursday was a bit busy. We woke up early to do our practice point
count session with the Rocky Mountain Bird Observatory crews. And we had
a tiny bit of snow to deal with. Thankfully, we had 4-WD trucks, so we
collected ourselves - having gotten most of our gear, data sheets, and
GPS set the night before - and headed to Wind Cave National Monument.
After finishing the training, the boss and I packed our things up, and
departed for Wyoming (we were in South Dakota, near Custer) and our first
official point count of the season.

After navigating ourselves to our first point - it was about a 3 hour
drive, with the last hour on a maze of dirt roads through the national
grassland - we did some minor exploring, just touching up on our bird
songs. The days were still short (this is in mid-May), so we got our
tents set up. I set in to read for a little bit, then began making
dinner.

While the boss and I made and ate our dinners, the sun was starting to
set. The mountains were far away yet, so we had rolling grassland and
sagebrush hills as far as the eye can see. This part of Wyoming was
mostly open rangeland, so we did see some fences here and there. But our
transect, and our camp location near the road, were on actual national
grassland land (part of the Forest Service). The wind had more or less
ceased by the time the sun was setting.

Crisp, cool air. Calm. Wide open. We enjoyed the quietude and solitude.
And then we began to hear a faint "pip" "pip" "pip" noise, distant. Kind
of like bubble wrap, being popped one bubble at time. We both looked at
each other, walked a bit to the west to the next rise. Still couldn't see
anything - but we could tell it was fairly distant (maybe up to a
kilometer away). And we were fairly sure of what we were hearing. So, if
we were right, we were bound to see and hear it again in the morning, on
the way to the transect.

It is dark out when we awaken the next day. Sunrise is close to six AM,
and we have a long enough walk to the transect we want to make sure we
give ourselves plenty of time. Wind is always a concern: we cannot do our
surveys if the wind is in excess of 20 mph (35 kph), and that is a common
occurrence on the grassland. We had checked the forecast before we left
South Dakota, but still - better safe than sorry. But both of us were
also anxious to see if the noise we heard the night before was what we
thought it was.

We prepare our breakfasts by headlamp, and get ourselves warmed up. It is
near freezing, and layers is the way to go, since it is bound to be up to
30 degrees F warmer by the time the transect is done. During breakfast,
we are keeping our ears peeled, and yes, we do hear the same noise from
the night before, in the same direction. The sounds are a bit more
emphatic, and more frequent. We are now 99% sure of what we found, but it
will be nice to see it to confirm. Plus, it is not something we would
have expected to find, at this time of year.

Breakfast finished - it is still dark, though sunlight is starting to
crest the horizon. We get ourselves together, making sure we have all the
equipment, data sheets, food, and water we need for the morning. Then we
begin walking west. It is not difficult hiking, mostly just sagebrush and
shortgrass prairie grasses through gentle hills. But we watch out for
sneaky cacti, and thorny shrubs that might snag our clothing. And walk
towards the "pip" noises.

After every new rise, we do a brief binocular scan on the next few hills
and valleys, to look for what we are hearing. After the second or third
rise, I say I've found it.

A couple of hill rises away, near a cattle water tank, are ten Greater
Sage Grouse, on their lek. Nothing on our transect description sheets,
written by the crew the previous year, have anything written down about
hearing or seeing one. We were pleasantly surprised to see it - normally
the leks have finished by early May, but due to a heavy snow year,
apparently the birds needed to continue to display, since the females
still needed to select some mates. While watching the males display, we
do see some females nearby, about five. And the males make all sorts of
ruckus. Small jumps. Wing whooshes. Brief charges. Lots of air sac
"popping" (the pip noises). We can tell the two dominant males - they
never stop displaying, they are towards the middle, and seem to charge
the others a bit. The periphery males sometimes seem to not know what to
do.

We admire them for a while from our location, then continue on to our
transect. The work still needs to be done. And the rest of the avian
community is waking up - Brewer's Sparrows, Lark Bunting, Horned Larks,
and Western Meadowlarks, among others.

Our path to the transect - we are being careful to stay on public land -
brings us quite close to the lek. Surprisingly, we are able to pass
within a couple hundred meters of the birds without them seeming to be
bothered. Either they are very devoted to their task at hand, or, for
once, are not leery of human encroachment. We still hear them when we get
to our starting location, so when we begin, we note the lek on our data
sheets, the number, and the location.

Within the first hour of the transect survey, the grouse have finished -
I could not hear them after my second point, but the boss could, since
her points were closer to the lek. We had an overabundance of birds to
count, but finished our transects with plenty of time to spare.

And thus ends the story of my favorite birding moment - so far, anyway.
This was in May 2010.

Migration

Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Tyrannus forficatus). Near Pampa, Texas; 25 September 2011

Migration is a fascinating thing.

Most people only think of birds as the animals that migrate, and only certain species of birds. But in nearly every other major group of animals, there is a species that migrates. Among mammals, there are the mass migrations of the large mammals across the African Savannahs. Some reptiles migrate, such as when sea turtles swim across an ocean to breed on a beach. Some amphibians migrate, such as certain salamanders crawling along the ground to a breeding pool. And certain fish migrate, such as tuna and sharks.

But birds are perhaps the most visible migrants we see, since we can hear their songs, see them in our yards, and some are seen in vast numbers like geese. The traditional migrants people think of are geese, in their long V-shaped lines, and ducks.

Though you see American Robins (Turdus migratorius) year round in some areas, they do migrate! In the United States, the robins you see in winter in New York, Missouri, and other states are not the same you see in the summer! Robins that breed in the far north in Canada and Alaska are perfectly happy in places like New York for the winter; while the birds that breed in New York in the summer fly south and spend the winter in less harsh conditions, such as in Missouri, Texas, or even as far south as Mexico.

Other less commonly known migratory birds are ptarmigans. Being a "grouse-like" bird (chicken like), they are not strong fliers. However, they will migrate short distances, up and down mountain sides corresponding to the seasons, to take advantage of the best food sources.

By far the most abundant groups of migrating birds are those that are inconspicuous to the layperson. As a whole, they are referred to as the "neotropical" or "nearctic" migrants. These are the wood-warblers, the tyrant flycatchers, the thrushes, the vireos, and the new world sparrows, among others. In the fall, well over a billion of these individuals take to the air, and go south. Some go only as far as places in Mexico; most fly to the forests of central America; and a few species will go as far as places in South America.

Think of that - over a billion animals, all with a common purpose: move south.

Now REALLY think about migration for a moment. You can't really "see it", unless you happen to be able to fly an ultralight aircraft and can follow a bird. For most people, they don't even think about migration, until they realize some of their less common backyard birds are gone, or they start to see geese overhead.

I have had the privilege of working a few different jobs where I had the opportunity to "see" migration in a way, including my current one in the Texas panhandle. The way I "see" migration in these cases is by being in the same location, day after day after day, and being outside watching the birds. In southern California in 2008, I conducted feeding observations of birds. I could actually watch how a bird refueled itself for its next flight. Just one of many behaviors I watched (and still watch) that are a part of migration.

Both there in California, and here in Texas, I see migration by the "changing of the species." Over time, the makeup of the bird species I see each day changes, until the birds I saw at the start of the season are no longer present, and new birds have taken their place.

For example, at the start of my time here in Texas, we had a decent variety of birds around. We had Barn Swallows, Cliff Swallows, Scissor-tailed Flycatchers, and both Eastern and Western Kingbirds, among other species. Over the course of a few weeks, we began to see fewer and fewer of these species, and see more and more Horned Larks and both Eastern and Western Meadowlarks, as well as Lark Buntings. Currently, we are slowly increasing our numbers of Field Sparrows, Song Sparrows, and Savannah Sparrows as well. Our most vocal birds, though, are the Sandhill Cranes, which arrived here from the arctic a few weeks ago, and will stay for the winter.

While in Austin this past spring, I also saw the migration occur, in a more limited way. The warblers and vireos trickled through during the months of April and May, bringing some variety to my local bird life. It took a fine ear to make sure that when I was following a chip note, that I was following my breeding species, not a migrant. Learning the chip notes was also a good way for me to find birds when I was leisure birding. And I found my Bay-breasted Warbler this past year that way.

Those small songbirds invest a lot in migration.

These are some powerful birds! A bird such as the Blackpoll Warbler, which is not even 6 inches long, will DOUBLE its weight from around 10 grams (the weight of 4 pennies) to over 20 grams in the fall. Breeding in the boreal forests in the north, it fattens itself up as it slowly makes its way to the east coast, and a little south. Then, when fully fattened, and having the right weather conditions, they take off. Flying a little east and then turning south, they fly non stop from the mid-Atlantic coast (Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey area) to South America, a journey of over 2,000 miles over about 80 hours. All under their own power.

Really think about that. No landfall. Three days, three nights. No radar to tell them where a storm is. No GPS to tell them where they are. No landmarks for miles on end. If they aren't fat enough, they die. If they get tired and stop flapping, they die. If they hit a storm front, the journey becomes longer, and they may die.

Fascinating stuff.

Even more incredible? That the hummingbirds migrate too! A bird that weighs about 3 grams - just over the weight of a penny - will fly non-stop over the gulf of Mexico to get to it's winter grounds. That flight takes longer than a day. And once again, no radar to warn of storms, no GPS to tell it where it is, and no food on the journey.

Also incredible about this? In the fall, nearly 75% of the birds flying south have NEVER done that before. These are the birds that hatched that year. And they don't get taught, they don't get apprenticed. Pure instincts drive them south.

And to top all that - they do it again, in reverse, in the spring. And since most of these birds will live from 4-8 years (longer in larger species), they do it again. And again. And again.

Wow.

Makes you look at your backyard birds a little differently, huh?

Most Wanted Part II: North America

Green Jay (Cyanocorax yncas) at Bentsen-Rio Grande Valley State Park; 18 May 2006. US bird #355; Ecuador bird #99; world bird #535. By that last number, you can tell I hadn't traveled outside the US much. That changed the following year.

To continue on the theme from before, I have my "most wanted" for North America as well.

For North America, there are about 750 regular occurring species. A good number of these only occur in the far corners of the country. These are known as "specialty birds" of a particular area, like Alaska, the Everglades, or southern Texas. My most wanted birds fall into one of four broad categories. They may be a "specialty bird" that I will have to go to a particular location or habitat to find (such as the Everglades). They perhaps are a bird that will help me "round out" my list of a particular group of birds (like seeing all the falcons). Or they are a bird that is just one that I would really like to see. Or they are a nemesis bird (see a previous post).

These most wanted, in no particular order, are as follows.

Snowy Owl (Bubo scandiacus). I talked about this bird in my previous post. This bird falls under the category of just wanting to see one. One of these winters, there should be an easily seen one near my home town in western New York. One of these winters...

In the last post, I also talked about the ptarmigans as well, Rock Ptarmigan (Lagopus muta); Willow Ptarmigan (Lagopus lagopus); and the White-tailed Ptarmigan (Lagopus leucura). I expect to be in the Rocky Mountains again soon, so I aim to look for the White-tailed Ptarmigan in my travels there. Again, a bird that falls into the just wanting to see one.

Gyrfalcon (Falco rusticolis). I talked about this species before as well. This falls in the category of rounding out a group, in this case, the falcons. Of the Snowy Owl, ptarmigan, and Gyrfalcon, the Gyrfalcon is perhaps the most difficult, until I get a chance to go to Alaska.

The American Swallow-tailed Kite (Elanoides forficatus) is somewhat of a specialty bird of south Florida. This bird shouldn't actually be all that difficult to see in the United States. It is somewhat common in Florida actually; though you have to be there in the breeding season. The reason I would like to see it is because I have it in four other countries already! Costa Rica, Panama, Ecuador, and Peru. It's one of those "you know, it is found in the US too, I should make sure I see it there as well now!" birds. I normally am working a summer field job when the bird is usually found in the US, so I may have to make a special trip sometime to a migration watch in Florida or south Texas to tick it off my list.

Also in Florida, an Everglades specialist, is the Limpkin (Aramus guarauna). So named for its "limping" style of walking. It is found in the Florida Everglades, and outside the US in the Caribbean and Central and South America. In other words, it's a tropical bird whose range just barely reaches that wonderful habitat in Florida. And to me, it represents the goal of making sure I get to the Everglades to make sure I see that wonderful habitat and all it has to offer.

Falling under the category of nemesis birds, are the Black-billed Cuckoo (Coccyzus erythrothalmus) and the Barn Owl (Tyto alba). Found within a wide range of the US, I'm bound to see these sooner or later (preferably sooner).

Partly falling in the nemesis category are the longspurs: Lapland Longspur (Calcarius lapponicus), Chestnut-collared Longspur (Calcarius ornatus), McCown's Longspur (Calcarius mccownii), and Smith's Longspur (Calcarius pictus). Not quite to the full nemesis category yet, I did chase the Chestnut-collared Longspur last year in Wyoming. I have a good chance of seeing up to three of the longspur species on my current field job here in Texas, as they come down to overwinter in the grasslands here.

A couple of other birds that have some wide ranges, but I have not seen yet, are the Red-necked Grebe (Podiceps grisegena) and American Bittern (Botaurus lentiginosus). Both of these birds will also "wrap up" their respective groups. In the case of the former, it is the grebes, which is a group of duck-like birds found worldwide. In North America, we have 7 species. The bittern is the last of the "large waders" group of birds, which includes the herons and egrets. Both are relatively common, but the bittern is an elusive bird, that requires being in the right habitat and "stalking" the booming sound it makes to see the bird.

Back to some specialty birds, I would like to see either or both the Lesser (Tympanuchus pallidicinctus) and Greater (Tympanuchus cupido) Prairie Chickens. I've seen many of the grouse species of birds in the US, but these two have eluded me so far. I would like to see one (or both) of them on their "booming" grounds, where the birds make lots of fun noise and displays to impress the ladies. Outside of the breeding season, they are most difficult to see. Both species are considered highly vulnerable, mostly due to habitat loss and degradation. I am actually currently near the habitat of the Greater Prairie Chicken at the moment; I may have a chance to try to see one before my work here is done.

Smew (Mergellus albellus). Seriously, that is the birds name. It's a pretty nifty looking duck, found in Alaska. And, you know, the funny name. And seeing one would "round up" my merganser ducks for North America. Plus, you know, the funny name. And it's a fine looking bird in its own right. And the funny name. And it means I finally got up to Alaska. Oh, and did I mention the funny name?

One of the clowns of the North American bird world, the Atlantic Puffin (Fratercula arctica). I'm up to about 5 trips to Maine so far. And not a puffin has been seen. And I was SO close last time, just on the wrong side of an island. Just a "gaudy" looking bird (hence the clown nickname), and I need an excuse to go to the northeast again.

That about rounds them out. I had some past most wanted birds, and all were found on nearly one trip, to south Texas. South Texas has habitat that just makes it into the United States from Mexico, and as such has the birds that are common south of the border. Since the habitat comes across the border, the birds make it across the border. During that trip I saw over 30 species of new birds in just a couple of days. This was unusual for me to do in the United States, even at that point. Among the birds seen were the Green Jay (Cyanocorax yncas), pictured at the start of this post. Among the birds I saw that I had really wanted to see were the following:
Harris' Hawk (Parabuteo unicinctus). I was not fully expecting to see this bird, but I had hoped to. There are many bird species that I have seen outside the United States first, during a trip to Mexico in 1997. I eventually hope to get all these birds in the United States. I first saw Harris' Hawk in San Pedro, Mexico, on 6 January 1998, which makes it world bird #104. I got my North American bird on 20 May 2006, at Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge, Texas, where this picture was taken. This made it North America bird #385.
Plain Chachalaca (Ortalis vetula). The alarm clock of south Texas. Their name comes from their loud "cha cha la ca" calls made. This was on my "to see" list for that trip, and I was not disappointed. I saw it for the first time 19 May 2006, at Bentsen-Rio Grande Valley State Park, Texas. It is North American bird #362; world bird #543. I later saw this bird in Costa Rica as well, on 25 May 2008, in Santa Rosa National Park. It is Costa Rica bird #150.

Ringed Kingfisher (Megaceryle torquatus). Again a specialty of the Rio Grande valley. In most of North America, you can only find the Belted Kingfisher (Megaceryle alcyon). I had hopes to see both of the other kingfishers during the trip, and I did. I saw this species at Bentsen-Rio Grande Valley State Park, Texas on 19 May 2006. It is North America bird #367; world bird #548. This picture was taken at Bosque del Rio Tigre Lodge in Costa Rica. In Costa Rica, it is bird #227. With my extensive travels in the Americas, I have also seen this bird in Peru as well, where it is #52 for that country.
Least Grebe (Tachybaptus dominicus). It is not often I get to take a picture of the ACTUAL LIFE BIRD, but I managed to do so with this one! I saw this one, along with the next bird, only a few minutes apart, on 19 May 2006. I saw this bird and took its picture at the Edinburgh Wetlands, Texas. It is North American bird #368, world bird #549. Once again, during my travels in the Americas, I managed to see this bird at Bosque del Rio Tigre Lodge, where it became Costa Rica bird #366 on 27 December, 2008.The other kingfisher, the Green Kingfisher (Chloroceryle americana). Only a few minutes after the Least Grebe, on 19 May 2006 at the Edinburgh Wetlands, Texas. It is North America bird #369, world bird #550. I have also seen the bird in Costa Rica, where this picture was taken by "digiscoping", using my camera with a telescope. In Costa Rica, it is bird #92, seen for the first time there on 7 March 2008 at Parque Carara.

Most Wanted Part I: The World

Hoiho [Yellow-eyed Penguin] (Megadyptes antipodes); 17 January 2010; Otago Peninsula, New Zealand. World bird #1.226

We all have things we would like to see in the world. For a world bird watcher like me, there are particular birds, or types of birds, I would like to see in the world. I do aim to see as many species as is reasonable in my life, but there are particular birds that have a bit of a draw for me. In no particular order, they follow.

Any ratite. For those unfamiliar, ratites are a collective group of the most well known flightless birds. Scattered across the world, I'd like to see all of them, but I would be happy with any. There is some debate to their evolution, part of which stems from their locations in the world: New Zealand, Australia (and part of the pacific islands nearby), Africa, and South America. None in Europe, Asia, or North America. The birds include the Ostrich (Struthio camelus); the Emu (Dromaius novaehollandiae); the kiwis (Apteryx species), and the rheas (Rhea species), among others. The best opportunities I have had to see one were kiwis in 2010, when I was able to hear them calling (but never saw them), and the Emu when I was guiding in Australia at the Lotus Bird Lodge. Alas, the only Emu seen was the day I left! Of these, I would most like to see a kiwi. If only for the excuse to go to New Zealand again!

A closely related group of birds to the ratites are the tinamous of the New World. Similar to the ratites in various ways, they actually can fly, though rarely do. I describe the flight as a "hairy cannonball," and it is as grace(less) as you can picture that to be. Very secretive birds, I have actually had the opportunity to see 3 species.
Little Tinamou (Crypturellus soui) at Bosque del Rio Tigre Lodge, Costa Rica. World bird number 969, or thereabouts (it was a busy bird day!)

Any of the following three birds: Harpy Eagle (Harpia harpyja); Philippine Eagle [Monkey-eating Eagle] (Pithecophaga jefferyi); or Crowned Eagle [Crowned Hawk-eagle] (Stephanoaetus coronatus). Found in Central and South America, the Philippines, and Africa, respectively, these are all massive birds of prey. The Harpy Eagle is usually considered the strongest bird of prey in the world, though not the largest. It can rip a sloth - which weighs nearly as much as the bird itself - off a branch and not break stride, er, wing flap. Each of these represents the "apex bird" of their respective habitat. Also, as a result, will tend to be rare and at low densities.

The Secretary Bird (Sagittarius serpentarius) is an unusual bird of prey. Instead of soaring and dropping to the gr0und to capture food, it walks and runs on the ground to capture food. It's just one of those enigmatic birds that a birdwatcher just has to see. And watch, to wonder at the way nature makes birds do unusual habits.

The Hoatzin (Opisthocomus hoazin). An unusual bird of the Amazon in South America. As a youngster, the nestlings have little claws on their wings, which allow them to crawl among the branches in their habitat to escape predators. Somewhat unusual among birds, their diet is mostly vegetation, specifically leaves. They even have bacteria in their crop to ferment the food, much like ruminants such as cows do in their stomachs.

Snowy Owl (Bubo scandiacus). Found world wide in the arctic, occasionally the species makes what are known as irruptions. For whatever reason (usually a collapse of the lemming population), every few years an abundance of these birds will venture much farther south than usual, and can be found as far as New York, Pennsylvania, and the mid-west, instead of much farther north in Canada. I remember falling in love with this bird in grade school. Perhaps even then I knew I had birds on the brain. Of the birds on this list, this is most likely the first one to be seen.

Any ptarmigan species: Rock Ptarmigan (Lagopus muta); Willow Ptarmigan (Lagopus lagopus); or White-tailed Ptarmigan (Lagopus leucura). The most likely one of these I will see is the White-tailed, since it is found only in the US (the others are found in northern North America and Eurasia), and I am most likely to visit its location (Rocky Mountains). Something unique about these birds is they grow their own snowshoes! And their own camouflage! In the summer, the birds will be mottled brown, black, and gray, to blend in with their rocky surroundings. As summer turns to fall and winter and the snow flies, they grow white feathers to blend in with their surroundings, and little side spurs on their feet, for traction on snow (and to prevent themselves from falling through snow).

Gyrfalcon (Falco rusticolus). The largest falcon. And the only one I have left to see in North America (that is a regular occurring bird, anyway). It can take out a Canada goose (Branta canadensis). I gotta see a bird that can manage that!

Lammergeier, or Bearded Vulture (Gypaetus barbatus). Why? Well, more to watch it "hunt." It feeds nearly exclusively on bone marrow. It gets at the bone marrow by finding bones, picking them up, and dropping them from extraordinary heights to break them apart to get at the marrow. It does not have strong enough talons or bill to open it with those "normal" bird utensils.

Some birds that used to be on my most wanted:

Any of the "great" albatrosses (genus Diomedea), which have the longest wingspans in the world. The Wandering Albatross (Diomedea exulans) has the largest wingpan, up to 3.5 m wide. I saw my first Diomedea species, the Northern Royal Albatross (Diomedea sanfordi) on the same trip, and the same day, as the Hoiho above. In spite of this - I still want to see a Wandering Albatross.
Northern Royal Albatross (Diomedea sanfordi); Otago Peninsula, New Zealand. World bird #1.225

And of course, any penguin species was on my list. When I went to New Zealand, one of the reasons I headed as far south as I could (to Stewart Island, and the south end of the south island), was for the chance to see a penguin. And I wasn't disappointed! The Hoiho above wasn't even the FIRST species I saw, but it did offer the best looks. The first one I saw was making chirping noises in the water, and it took a while for me to see. Eventually, from talking to locals and knowing where to go, I got a good look at the smallest penguin in the world, the Little Blue Penguin (Eudyptula minor).

Little Blue Penguin (Eudyptula minor). Stewart Island, New Zealand. World bird #1.218

Other birds included the I'iwi of Hawai'i (that's the all red bird with the crazy curved bill); toucans (I've seen 12 species now!); any antbird (beyond numerous to count now); and any macaw (Scarlet Macaw [Ara macao], in Costa Rica).

Stay tuned for my Most Wanted Part II: North America list.

Nemesis Birds

Yellow-throated Vireo (Vireo flavifrons); Bluff Springs Conservation Area, Missouri; May 17, 2011. It is just right of the trunk on the branch. Bird number 987 (about) for the world; number 411 for North America)

As many of you know, I chase birds all over the place. I keep a country list for places I visit, I keep a North America list (for birds seen in the United States and Canada), I keep trip lists, and to some degree I have kept year lists. In all these, there are birds that become "nemesis birds."

A nemesis bird is a bird I have looked for and failed to see, generally multiple times. It will generally be a common bird in an area. So a bird like a Harpy Eagle or Whooping Crane couldn't be a nemesis bird, since they are overall somewhat rare. In other words, it is not reasonable to expect to see a bird like those two when you go out bird watching. A nemesis bird is a bird that within reason, I should see. Without much of a problem. A good way to know a nemesis bird is one that when I tell other bird listers I don't have a bird, they say "Really? But it's so common and easy to see?!?!"

For me, I have past and current nemesis birds. The bird you see above is an example of a past nemesis bird. The Yellow-throated Vireo has fairly expansive range in North America. It is found west to the Mississippi River; north to southern Ontario, Cananda; east to the eastern seaboard; and south to the Gulf of Mexico. In other words, it can be reasonable to expect to see this bird in the appropriate habitat in it's range during the breeding season.

However, in the few seasons I spent working in the birds range, I never saw it, and rarely was able to pinpoint its song that I could spend time to look for it. I did chance upon seeing one in Costa Rica in Santa Elena, so I had it on my world checklist. But for my North American checklist it remained elusive. I saw one in the hand when we captured one on a migration station in Maine in 2009, but I do not count birds in the hand (my list, my rules). In 2009, I was working in Missouri, and I actually spent significant time paying attention to the bird songs in my work plot, as well as outside it, listening for the song that I could reliable identify as the Yellow-throated Vireo, so could chase it down. But no luck.

So, as such, it became a nemesis bird. I had been in the habitat the bird was found multiple times, I had actively looked for the bird, but I had never seen the bird. So I was constantly frustrated in my attempts. Until 2011, in Missouri.

And like all nemesis birds, when I see it, I wasn't even trying to find it! I was watching another bird species, observing its behavior to determine its breeding status. Lo and behold, in the tree nearby, was a calling bird, that turned out to be a Yellow-throated Vireo. And not only that, it was a pair of them foraging for food. And on top of that, later in the day, I found another pair elsewhere! So, not only did it cease to be a nemesis bird, I was seeing it frequently enough to make me feel like the bird had been mocking me! So, knock one more bird off the list.

Some of my past nemesis birds follow. You may notice a trend with these nemesis birds - they will all be recent. That is part of how they were nemesis birds - it took me a while to see them!

Canvasback (Aythya valisineria). It's a type of duck. And with all the flocks and rafts of ducks I watched, I never found one, though I found it's close relative (and nearly identical twin) Redhead (Aythya americana) fairly often instead. I saw my first one for the world (#1,350) and North America (#436) on February 5, 2011 in Missouri.

Black-throated Blue Warbler (Setophaga caerulescens). I consider it a nemesis bird because I saw vast quantity of them all at once - but in the hand. This was at the Braddock Bay Bird Observatory fall migration banding station. So, with a bird that common, I figured it was easy to see. WRONG. It took another 6 years (and many jobs later) for me to get my first one, again on a banding station. But this time, flying free as can be. My life bird #1,131 (world) and #425 (North America) was on Metinic Island, Maine, on September 25, 2009.

Common Loon (Gavia immer). [Great Diver in Europe]. One of those birds that other bird watchers, until I saw it, were like What? Really? Just one of those birds that I was never in the right place at the right time. I saw my first individuals near Manchester, Tennessee, on December 11, 2007. It was bird number 393 for North America, and bird number 784 of the world.

Internationally, I didn't really have any, though there were a few birds in both Costa Rica and Peru that took me a little while to find. I spent about 9 months total in Costa Rica, and nearly 4 continuous months in Peru. So with Costa Rica, nemesis birds were birds I actually made a concerted effort to find when I knew I could; in Peru, it became "mocking" birds that I heard frequently or knew were common, but didn't find after a while.

In Costa Rica, the nemesis birds included Crested Bobwhite (Colinus cristatus) [#914 world; June 12, 2008; Santa Rosa National Park], Tropical Gnatcatcher (Polioptila plumbea) [#950 world; August 26, 2008; La Fortuna]; and Laughing Falcon (Herpetotheres cachinnans) [#1012; December 9, 2008; Bosque del Rio Tigre Lodge]. This last one was a particular nemesis for a little while. I would hear it frequently in Santa Rosa National Park (May to September, 2008), but never saw it. I heard it a few times at Bosque del Rio Tigre Lodge before I finally found it. And then, of course, I really found it, up close and personal. And frequently had no problem finding it to show to guests, too.
Laughing Falcon (Herpetotheres cachinnans). The actual life bird (one of a pair) seen at Bosque del Rio Tigre Lodge on the Osa Peninsula.

In Peru, the only true nemesis bird I saw was the Gray-cheeked Thrush (Catharus minimus). Somewhat ironically, this is a migrant from North America (breeds in the boreal forests of Canada and northern New England). It became a nemesis because we caught it with some frequency in our nets. Eventually, when I was walking in the forest, I finally saw one flying around on it its own. Bird #1342 for the world; November 28, 2011.

So, what are my current nemesis birds? In no particular order, a few come to mind.

The Black-billed Cuckoo (Coccyzus erythropthalmus) has become one now. I have frequently been in the birds range and habitat now (hardwoods east of the Rocky Mountains). As often as I have seen its close relative the Yellow-billed Cuckoo (Coccyzus americanus), never once have I found one of these that was the "other" cuckoo. As far as I know, I have not heard its call. So, for now, I have to keep searching.

To some degree, the Chestnut-collared Longspur (Calcarius ornatus) has become a North American nemesis, but only as a result of last year in Wyoming. I was not only in the birds breeding and migration route when I was working, we were very much expecting it to occur on our point counts! I have seen this bird in Mexico, so for the world list I am okay. But why I never saw it last year, is hard to fully know (the strange seasonal weather may have had something to do with it).

Barn Owl (Tyto alba) is definitely on the list. For an owl, it can be easy or hard to see. It really is a bird of the right place, right time. But the funny thing is, I have seen it in THREE other countries already! First in Costa Rica, second in Australia, and most recently in Peru. Eventually I shall find one I can stake out and find here.

Philadelphia Vireo (Vireo philidelphicus) falls under the Yellow-throated Vireo type category. I've been in the habitat. Heard the song most likely. Looked for it in flocks. Looked for it in migration. But no luck so far (they all turn out to be Tennessee Warblers [Oreothlypis peregrina], which is a similar looking species).

Sage Sparrow (Amphispiza belli). With all the time I have spent in sage brush, and the right locations (Colorado in 1997, California in 2002-03 and 2005-06; Wyoming in 2010), how have I NOT seen this bird? It is beyond me. A true nemesis. It will get an extra special dance when I finally see it!

Internationally, the only one that might be considered one is the Brown Nunlet (Nonnula brunnea). However, these birds are of a group (the family Bucconidae) that are often heard but not seen, if they are heard at all. But we captured many of these in Peru, so I am slightly surprised I never saw any in my wanderings in the forest in four months.

We all have things that make us keep going back. These are mine. I'll eventually get 'em!

The Importance of a Species

Once again, I find myself working in central Texas. For the third time in my journeys, I am working on a project involving the federally endangered Golden-cheeked Warbler (Dendroica chrysoparia). Why is it endangered? Various threats exist, but number one is habitat fragmentation and destruction.

I have had the privilege of working with various endangered species, each facing threats from different directions.

Golden-cheeked Warbler (Dendroica chrysoparia) in Texas. This bird overwinters in Central America, from Mexico south to Nicaragua. It only breeds on the Edwards Plateau in Texas, in what is known as the Texas Hill Country. Which is pretty much central Texas. It numbers about 5.000 pairs in the world, all wild.

Puaiohi (Myadesters palmeri) in Hawaii, on the island of Kauai. A year round resident on the island of Kauai. It numbers from between 200 to 300 individuals in the wild, with an additional 50-60 birds in captivity. Threatened by habitat loss and avian malaria, both tied to global climate change, in addition to non-native predators (cats and rats).

Jocotoco Antpitta (Grallaria ridgelyi) in Ecuador. A year round resident of the cloud forest in southern Ecuador. It numbers from between 40 and 120 individuals in the world, all wild. It's primary threat is habitat destruction.

Red-cockaded Woodpecker (Picoides borealis) in Mississippi. A year round resident of pine forests in the southeastern United States, found from eastern Texas east to Georgia, south to Florida, and north to North Carolina. Even with this wide range, the habitat is severely fragmented and disjunct. It faces many threats, all tied to habitat loss and fragmentation.

But why protect and save a species?

Though most of the people I am around the majority of the time have the same attitude as I do about conservation, I still hear that question a lot. Why does it matter if we lose a species?

For myself, as a start, we (as a human race) do not have the RIGHT to directly or indirectly cause an animal to go extinct. We need to regard ourselves as part of the environment, not rulers or controllers of it. Starting with that mindset, being a part of the earth, will allow us – all of us – to lead generally healthier, better lives.

An individual species is part of a greater whole. Extinctions WILL occur naturally. One can look at the fossil record and realize there are many species, some quite different than anything now, that spent many millions of years on this earth, but are no longer. We are all familiar with the dinosaurs. But there were also giant armadillos the size of tanks, sea creatures called trilobites, old species of sharks and other fish that dwarf what is now found in the oceans. All these species existed for MILLIONS of years before they disappeared. In our current “form”, we have been on this earth for less than forty thousand years.

That being said, when various species disappeared, other species were taking their place at the time. The extinct species just couldn't cut it anymore. Perhaps it ended up being vulnerable to another particular species, or disease. Or it's habitat disappeared through natural process (such as a lake drying up).

So, why should we protect species if extinction is normal?

If we view a species as the proverbial canary in the coal mine – if a species goes extinct from direct or indirect human causes, it means we, as the human race, altered the environment in such a way that the species could no longer exist. And perhaps that environment will no longer be supportive of us, either. The alteration of the environment through habitat destruction is the primary cause of extinction. However, we have also caused extinctions through the introduction of non native species to a habitat (Brown Tree Snake in Guam, various animals to Hawaii), outright hunting (Passenger Pigeon, Great Auk, Dodo), and perhaps market collecting (Spix's Macaw, extinct in the wild).

What does it mean for us?

If habitat destruction continues, and we continue to lose species, the earth becomes a poorer place. Even with the advances of technology, cloning is not a viable option for re-establishing an extinct species. With the Golden-cheeked Warbler, habitat destruction means that the area has become so overrun with people and new housing and commercial development, that the juniper-oak woodland the bird requires for existence no longer exists. And the “open space” people crave in an area will be gone, and so they may no longer care to live in that area. But even if they move away again – the species will never be able to come back.

It goes further than that though. That is mostly an aesthetic reason. There are many more reasons to protect a species.

Everything on Earth is in balance in some way. Take one thing out of an environment, and one may not see effects right away, but they will be felt throughout the environment. A good modern example – for good or bad, depending on ones viewpoint – is when wolves were reestablished in Yellowstone National Park. Their introduction affected so many things in the environment, it was hard to believe that some of the results seen (like better fishing!) were the result of the wolf introduction.

Another example that may happen while we are trying hard to prevent it, is the extinction of some of our North American bat species from White Nose Syndrome. A fungal infection that affects hibernating bats, it may cause various bat species to go extinct. Why is that a big deal? Simple: bats eat bug pests. Not only mosquitoes, but insects that infest crops. If you want inexpensive food, mostly free of pesticides, you should root for the bats.

We all hear about various drugs found in the rainforest. Why the rainforest? Through sheer diversity of species and quantity of species, plants and fungi and evolved various chemicals to prevent animals from eating flowers, eating seeds, eating leaves, eating stems, and eating roots, while at the same time providing food in the form of fruit. These plants have had millions of years to design chemicals and food, which we are only now just barely learning about. How much of what we use comes from plants? Too many to mention, but rubber (latex), virtually ALL antibiotics, and digitalis for heart problems all come from plants. Some of our favorite fruits like papaya, mango, and bananas come from tropical forests. Native cultures in the tropics used plants to treat all sorts of illnesses, from headaches to menstrual cramps to infections to sore muscles to insect stings. We are barely beginning to harness the products the rainforest can produce.

So, what is the big deal of losing a species? For me, the number one reason will always be: WE WOULDN'T KNOW THE LONG TERM CONSEQUENCES until it was too late. Perhaps the species plays some role in controlling an unknown pest. Perhaps the species can provide a chemical that can help prevent cancer. Perhaps the species helps in the life cycle of an important plant crop.

And for me, we, as a species, do not have the right to allow a species to go extinct. The earth becomes a little poorer every day through the extinctions that occur.

So, do your part. Help protect endangered species, and support those doing research to learn more about how to protect a species.

A Rainforest Work Day

It's gotten very wintry here. But somehow my thoughts have wandered to someplace warmer.

...



I turn off the alarm. It is 3:35 am. We have about an hour and half walk to our field site, and it is time to get ready. I grope for my headlamp. . I look for my contact lens case, and "put my eyes in." I find my boxers and change. I exit my tent, which acts as my mosquito net, and don my pants and my field shirt.

It is pitch black except for the light of our headlamps. We all move slowly, stretching our limbs, getting our minds ready for the walk and the day ahead. We all check with each other that we have collected everything we need for the day. Items forgotten cannot be gotten later.

Much of what we need we got ready the night before. We all finish our light breakfast of cocoa or coffee, and start on the trail.

Darkness in the rainforest is a very interesting experience. Your world becomes one of sound, smell, and the small circle of light that your headlamp or flashlight provides. Tiny sticks become trip wires, causing one to stumble frequently. Nightjars and the occasional owl serenade us as we walk. It remains pitch black the first hour of the walk. This is the stuff of childhood nightmares.

Sometimes we might see a snake on the trail. We have walked the trail numerous times before. We make various kinds of small talk, to keep our minds awake. Plus, we are all still somewhat strangers to each other, and we all want to learn more about what makes each of us, us.

Near 5 am, the faintest of sunrise light is coming. Headlamps are still fully necessary. The trees block out nearly all light on the forest floor, so only the tops of the trees right now see the faint beams of sun. We turn off the main trail, and take our side trail marked on the GPS to our field site.

Now, we become more aware of other sounds coming from the forest. The first rays of light have begun to awaken the daytime birds of the forest. First, only a few sporadic calls here and there. A guan calls. A forest falcon. We focus hard on the trail - it is not as well trodden in here, and parts of it are near a drainage, so a poorly placed foot can make one fall.

It's 5:10 now. In the brief time it took us to get to our first "landmark" (the crazy palm), the forest begins to really come alive. The motmots are calling fairly consistently now, as well as the attillas. Other birds chime in, many with the only song you will hear from them that day. An Allpahuayo Antbird. Pearly Antshrike. Rufous-capped Antthrush. As the minutes tick by, the light increases with each step, and soon I have my headlamp flipped off. We are very near the field site, timed just perfectly so that we can open the nets with the peak of bird activity.

In ten brief minutes, all the nets are open, and we have gotten all of ourselves to the banding station. We efficiently open the tarps, and get ourselves organized for the 10 hour day ahead. We check all the equipment, make sure everything is square, and take a short breath. I pull out breakfast - drinkable yogurt, bread, butter, marmalade. It doesn't seem like much, but it is enough to satisfy our empty stomachs. There are only four of us, so we know we will all have plenty of work.

Forty minutes after first opening the nets, it is fully light out, though the sun is not very high in the sky. The rainforest provides oodles of shade - but pesky insects as well. Not until later in the season are they bad enough that I feel a need to put on bug repellent. We all get up and head to the nets with cloth bird bags, ready to remove birds from nets, bag them, bring them back the station, and band them.

Every forty minutes we go check the nets, and bring birds back. Towards about noon, the forest has really quieted down, and we only get one or two birds per "net run." This is the ideal time to have lunch as well - bread, avocado, crackers, and tomato, with mayonnaise and aji for condiments. And cookies for dessert. Somehow, we manage to work on this quantity of food.

Near 3 pm, we start to get things ready for the final net checks, and closing. The forest is beginning to come alive again, however. Birds are becoming active again, as they look for enough food to last them through the twelve hour night. And the light is fading as well, even with sunset 2 hours away.

The last net runs get kind of frantic. Only four of us out there, and we catch 10 birds! Two of us each go in separate directions, going to the ends of the net array, and closing the nets as we walk back, and taking the birds out. We woop back and forth, letting the others know how many birds we have, as well as where we are, and what nets are closed. We bring birds to the station, and two of us process while the others clean debris out of the nets and furl them for the next day.

It's 5 pm, and we're feeling frantic. And hungry! And there is still a ninety minute walk back to camp. But we are finishing the last bird. And finally have the station getting closed up. And all the gear packed. We look around, make sure we have everything, and begin walking. We all have our headlamps on and ready to go - but there is perhaps enough light to get us back to the main trail.

Near 6 pm, we have finally gotten to the main trail, and it is already pitch black. And we still have about an hours walk to go. This is a great group, however - we always find completely random topics to occupy our conversation on the way home, and the "jungle gym" always gives us a little adventure to enjoy on our walk back.

7 pm and we have made it back to camp. And god bless the Peruvians: they have dinner ready to serve! We all come in, change what clothes we need (we are all dripping with sweat), and sit down to a well deserved dinner.

And relax. And talk about the day. And discuss our question of the night.

And prepare to repeat the routine the next day.

And then go to bed.

Peruvian Thoughts

[Varillal, or white sand stunted forest. Trail/net lane in middle]

I finally left Peru. And it is hard to believe, but it was three weeks ago.

I wanted to give myself some time before I put my last thoughts about Peru up. Give my thoughts time to sort themselves out. Allow the Christmas and New Year's excitement to live on their own. Keep Peru from being interfered with.

For the first time on one of my field jobs, I don't feel I have any really strong lasting images of the trip that spring right to mind when I think back on it.

Australia (2009) has the fairy-wrens, parrots of all kinds, magpies, kangaroos, people, bowers, and the hikes. New Zealand (2009-10) has the Yellow-eyed Penguin. And the Nelson Lakes National Park hike. Maine (2009) has the shorebirds. Missouri (2009) has the Ozark Trail, and numerous nests.

The work in Peru was fun. It was nice to have the same tasks to do, not every day, but in a consistent pattern. Set up, band for 3 days, pick up and move, repeat. Visit town every two weeks. Enjoy the amenities of town just long enough, then venture away again.

I wrote many various images down during my flights home. I wrote in my journal nearly every day I was in the field, and would record some lasting images, or something that happened that day that I would remember. I wrote down EVERY question of the night (something for a later post). But for now, from where I am right now, when I think back on this trip to Peru (these are in no particular order):

-drinks during daylight hours at Nicoro bar. Having beers on the Amazon river was nice, but the setting of the bar itself was what made it. I especially enjoyed the couple of times that Lil and I, and Maru and I, were able to enjoy some time there ourselves. I like field crews, but sometimes just one on one is nice.

-for good or bad, a lasting memory I will have is the field trips in November, and how far from home I felt. My brother was diagnosed with cancer right before the first November trip. That is the first time I have ever felt a strong urge to go home. But I am glad I stayed.

-getting bird number 1.300. Not only for the bird number, but for the other 5 new birds I got with it. I am always happiest when birding.

-River boat rides.

-Nightly dinners and questions of the night

-Walking in the forest at night by headlamp.

-the crew of course. and my boss.

Those were what come straight to mind. In another year, when I think back on it, I suspect other things may come to mind. They always do. It is funny how my mind works.

I'm sure I will post more about Peru in the future. I do expect to go back again, to visit areas I didn't have a chance to visit during this trip. For now, I can relax in the states for a little while, and get ready for the next group of field jobs.

Happy birding!