Harris's Sparrow

Harris's Sparrows are big, boldly patterned sparrows of the far north. So far north, in fact, that for them, going south for the winter means going to the Midwest--from Wyoming and Nebraska down to north Texas and Louisiana. In north Louisiana, they are regular but uncommon. In south Louisiana, we're lucky to see a small handful every winter.

This Harris's Sparrow was taped down in Cameron Parish, in the Baton Rouge Audubon Society's sanctuary at Peveto Woods. It has been seen a couple of times in December, but like most Harris's Sparrows, it's wary and doesn't often offer good looks.

Burrowing Owl

Burrowing Owls are primarily owls of prairie dog towns. In the winter, they migrate south and look for flat fields with some sort of burrow or debris heap they can take shelter in. These owls are somewhat diurnal, especially on overcast days.

I recall the first time I saw a Burrowing Owl. I was walking levees on my uncle's farm near Kaplan when a small pale brown bird flew out of a little concrete culvert. It flew low to the ground, pulled up on a clod a few yards away, and started to bob up and down and swivel its head back and forth. I was amazed to find one of these birds (that I'd only ever seen on nature shows) in the rice country of SW LA. Over the years, I found that coverts on levees in dry fields were good places to look for these owls. I recall finding 2 or 3 in such settings in the winter of 1979 alone.

Since then, Burrowing Owls have become much harder to find in Louisiana. Now, in a good year, 2 or 3 might be found across the entire state. This individual was found in the greater metropolitan Holly Beach area earlier this month, and was still present as of December 19th.

Franklin's Gulls

One of the quiet highlights of fall migration is picking Franklin's Gulls out of Laughing Gull flocks. Franklin's Gulls are small gulls that nest on the North American prairies and spend their winters in South America. Their migration path takes most Franklin's through Texas, but a small percentage of the species often meanders a bit off course, which accounts for the individuals we see in Louisiana. Usually, one or two Franklin's can be found in a day of coastal birding from October through late November or early December. Sometimes, hundreds can be encountered.

Franklin's Gulls can be picked out from Laughing Gulls by their smaller size, by the darker, more complete traces of the black hood of summer, and by their smaller, more delicate bills. There are also difference in wing and tail pattern that aren't visible in this video clip.

This bird was on Holly Beach in late November.

Geese

A flock of geese putting down in a cut ricefield near Kaplan.

From Drum Roll to Humdrum

Having done Christmas Bird Counts for a couple of decades, I always find the changes in bird numbers fascinating. It's also amazing how much the status of certain birds has changed. It wasn't long ago when adding Ross's Goose to your territory count was something you had to try hard to do. Nowadays, you'd have to try hard to avoid seeing one. Likewise, imagine the oohs and ahhs that Caracara would've earned just a few years ago. Now, it's not uncommon for multiple parties to get multiple Caracaras.

Other birds that have gone from drum roll to humdrum in the past few years:

Bald Eagle

Fulvous Whistling Duck

Black-bellied Whistling Duck

Cooper's Hawk

Inca Dove

many hummers, even Calliope!

Vermilion Flycatcher

This isn't because we've learned the trick for finding these birds; many of these species have simply become more common in SW LA. That's a good thing.

Unfortunately, some birds have gone the other route. Sharp-shinned Hawk, Purple Finch, and Eared Grebe come to mind as species formerly much easier to find.

From year to year, you never know what will change. The trick is to enjoy everything, because it may not last.

Harris's Hawk in Rayne

While driving down Highway 90 east of Rayne last week, Bill Hoffpauir spotted a Harris's Hawk perched on a telephone pole on the roadside. He let Dave Patton know, and Dave went out and got the nice documentary photo above. This is about the 4th or 5th credible record of the species for Louisiana, and the second from the Rayne area. This species is commonly used in falconry, so any record must be carefully screened to make sure no there are no bands or jesses on the legs.

Harris's Hawks are southern birds that barely make it into southern Texas and Arizona. However, the species was first described by Audubon when he was teaching near St. Francisville from a bird said to have been captured in Louisiana. Adults are easily recognized by the chocolate brown body, reddish shoulder patches, and white band around the base of the tail.

If you're interested in looking for this bird, it's been seen on the south side of Highway 90 about 1.3 miles west of the intersection of Highway 90 and Louisiana Highway 719. It also perches out of sight in the treeline on the north side of the highway, so you may need to wait a while. It seems to be easiest to find late in the day.

Fall Migration in Review

Fall migration 2009 never quite coalesced in Southwest Louisiana. If there was a big coordinated push of migrants, I don't know of anyone who experienced it. Part of the reason--probably the biggest part--was the lack of a strong cool front until well into October. And so, by the end of the first week of October when Indigo Buntings usually pass en masse on a good north tailwind, warm weather prevailed and the buntings passed unseen. Ditto for catbirds, waves of warblers, etc. There were dribs and drabs of birds in passage with a few exciting birds mixed in, but not one really memorable day of migration.

The End of the Gnatcatcher Days

On the eve of the last day in September, there's a hint of seasonal change in the air. The air's relatively cool, a steady breeze is sneaking around, and a few migrants are feeding up in the backyard. I'm not ready to claim that the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness has arrived; a quick look at the 10 day forecast puts that dream back to sleep. Still, with October barely 24 hours away, there's no denying that we're coming to the end of the Gnatcatcher Days.

I happen to like August and September birding. I've been down to the coast probably every weekend in the past two months and I can only think of two or three birdwatchers I've even crossed paths with. During the same span I have crossed paths with some pretty good birding days. In the woods I've seen a handful of Olive-sided Flycatchers, Mourning Warblers, and Bell's Vireos, and a couple dozen Yellow-bellied Flycatchers and Traill's Flycatchers. The beach has produced a few Lesser Black-backed Gulls, a couple of California Gulls, and some nice shorebirds. Inland, there's been good kingbird and scissor-tail action and good looks at every swallow on the state list. But the bird that's really emblematic of the dog days this year and every year is the tiny Blue-gray Gnatcatcher. These winged mice have been constant companions no matter what habitat I've birded in, and they haven't been shy about letting their presence be known. In August and September in Southwestern Louisiana, you're never far from a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher. These are the Gnatcatcher Days.

We're lucky to have Blue-gray Gnatcatchers year round. They nest across most of the United States in summer, and while they winter well down into Central America, southern Louisiana is at the northern edge of their wide winter range. In transit they pass through in both spring and late summer, but they're most obvious at the latter time of year when they can be seen flitting over just above treetop level in the early hours of daylight. At this time, every woodlot and patch of scrub seems to have one--or many. Their curiosity draws them to check out everything that moves and makes them easy to find. Despite their minute size, they become the most conspicuous bird out there for a few long, hot weeks.

Soon--in a few days actually--gnatcatchers will give up their long run on center stage. Another huge wave of migrants, the birds that most birders think of as fall migrants (warblers, thrushes, catbirds, you name it) will swamp the gnatcatchers that are still with us. As a matter of fact, as I type this note, a new horde is building up, preparing to invade. Even though the temps will still be in the 80s then, we are now just a little over a week away from perhaps the most glorious day of fall, Indigo Bunting Day.

Bell's Vireo

This is one of my favorite times of year. Days are hot, but mornings and evenings are temperate. Migration is active but not so flashy that everyone is out. It's not uncommon to have a birding hotspot all to myself when I head out, and there are some pretty nice birds drifting through almost unseen.

This is the time of year to get out and look for regular but low-frequency migrants like Mourning Warbler and Olive-sided Flycatcher, and for spectacular longshots like Sulphur-bellied Flycatcher. It's also the time to try to document migrants that are probably a little more common than we realize, like Bell's Vireo.

Bell's Vireos are hard to find even when you know they're around, and chances are that a few pass through when we're not around, these hot dry days of migration when fall birding is still just a gleam in many birders' eyes. Bell's are also drab, so a quick look at one of them isn't the slam dunk that a look at a male Mourning Warbler might be.

Bell's Vireos are Review List birds in Louisiana, birds for which reports should be submitted to the Louisiana Bird Records Committee. In recent years reports of Bell's Vireo have increased and they may eventually be downgraded if they turn out to be more common than supposed. Sightings should be well-documented to eliminate the possibility of mistaken identity with young White-eyed Vireos (which don't have white eyes yet). Pictures of Bell's Vireos can be hard to get, but even a bad picture will often clinch the ID. The photo above, while not great, should be sufficient to document a recent sighting of this nondescript little songbird. I took the picture at the Baton Rouge Audubon Sanctuary at Peveto Woods down in Cameron Parish on August 30, 2009.

The Golden Guide

Looking up the Cave Swallow account in my Golden Guide brought back memories. The Golden Guide was my first field guide. At the time there weren’t many choices, and even fewer for me. I wasn’t in any birding loop; I didn’t even know there were other people who were interested in birds. I was lucky to even learn about the Golden Guide.

My earliest memories are of trying to catch birds. I could get just close enough to see they weren’t all alike. One morning when I was 6 or 7, living at Forbes Air Force Base in Pauline, Kansas, a bird I'd never seen flew over base housing. I’d grown up with big cargo planes and choppers flying over every day, but somehow this bird seemed really large. My brother Chris said it was a Great Blue Heron. I don’t know if I was more impressed by the bird or by the fact that Chris could identify it.

Between brothers, the “B” World Book, and a page of bird pictures in our massive home dictionary, I learned the names of some common species. Later, I found a great but unwieldy book of Audubon bird prints in the school library. My favorite childhood memories are of visiting the center of the universe, Kaplan, Louisiana. I could read my Uncle Julius’s copy of Lowery’s Louisiana Birds--still the best bird book ever in my mind--and walk the fields with my cousins to find birds to identify.

In 1973, when I was 9, we moved off base into a country neighborhood where all the kids were BB-gun naturalists. When anyone would shoot an unknown bird, we’d all go over to look at it. I was the kid that knew the birds. However, one day in 1976 on the bus to school one of my friends announced that he had something that was going to make him the group’s bird expert. In his hands was a small book. He wouldn’t let me look in it, but judging from the names he was pulling out of it, I knew I wanted to. In his hands the book was a dangerous tool of misidentification. I pointed that out but no one would listen because I didn’t have the book.

In 1977 my family went on vacation to Estes Park, Colorado. It was a great trip, lots of new birds. One day we went into a park gift shop and my parents asked if there was anything we wanted. My folks were pretty careful with money, so that was a rare offer. We looked around, but most of the stuff wasn’t worth spending money on. Then I saw the bookshelf, and on the bookshelf, the same small book my friend had, A Guide to Field Identification: Birds of North America. The Golden Guide. The price was $4.95, which was a lot, but I knew I’d get that much use out of it so I worked up the courage to ask. My parents were pleased that I was asking for a book, and agreed to part with their five-dollar bill.

The Golden Guide was great, full of birds I'd never dreamed of. The illustrations were like logos, clean and well-defined, and vivid in their colors. However, they had a subtlety that captured the essence of the species--rare in bird art. I read it constantly, with one notable interruption: In early '79 I came home from school one day and couldn't find it. I asked my mom if she'd seen it, and she told me she'd packed in preparation for our upcoming move to Louisiana. I wouldn't see it again until she bought our new house and we unpacked in August. It was a rough stretch without it.

That Golden Guide was heavy duty. I wore it as a hat in hailstorms and started a campfire with the copyright page. It stayed remarkably new-looking for years anyway, but eventually wear caught up to it. Newer field guides caught up to it, too, and passed it up in many ways. It still has some fine features, and I love the artwork. The ID aspects in my old copy seem basic now, but that’s not such a bad thing. I’m often equally amazed at the higher end skills and lack of fundamentals of some young birders. A thorough reading of an older Golden Guide or Peterson guide might not be such a bad idea for up-and-coming birders.

What's Next?

When I was a kid, there were certain birds I'd look at in my Golden Guide and dream of seeing someday. Some, like California Condor, had impossibly tiny dots on their range maps. Others, like White-tailed Kite, had slightly larger ranges marked on their maps, but their ranges were so far from my home that I figured I'd be lucky to ever see them. This didn't stop me from searching the countryside around my house for them; I held out hope that one would take a wrong turn someday and drift over my way. Hope is the thing with wings, after all. Then again, I also held out hope that a pirate ship would sail up the creek behind my house and take me away to live a life of adventure.

Anyway, some birds were especially intriguing. The Cave Swallow was so limited in its range that it didn't even get its own map. Even its account got short shrift. Here it is in its entirety:

Very local in spring and summer near Carlsbad Cavern, N. Mex., and in south-central Texas. Like Cliff Swallow except for buffy throat. Nests in limestone caves.

Clearly, Cave Swallow was a bird that took some doing to see.

The years went by and I moved a little closer to Cave Swallow range, but still far from the range as listed in the Golden Guide. But all that while, like the gargoyles in the old late night TV movie, Cave Swallows began to spread out of the desert. Unlike the gargoyles, however, nobody poured gasoline on the Cave Swallow eggs and nipped their future in the bud. The Cave Swallows just kept on coming.

Of course, Cave Swallows weren't even known as nesters within the United States before 1915, so their march has been steady for about a century at least. Other swallows have been spreading wildly during that time, too. Barn Swallows are some of our most common summer birds today, but as of the 1930s there were almost no summer records for the state. Cliff Swallows, very close relatives of Cave Swallows, have also recently invaded the state as nesters in a big way.

Louisiana got its first record of Cave Swallow in 1988, all the way over in Saint Tammany Parish. Within a few years, nesting Cave Swallows were being reported regularly on the Louisiana side of the bridge at Sabine Pass. Over the past few years Cave Swallows have been seen in the autumn as well, often heading directly northeast (not surprisingly, autumn numbers of Cave Swallows in the northeastern United States have skyrocketed recently).

The bird in the video above, filmed yesterday near Lake Arthur, appears to be a young bird. Its throat is whitish and there's a buffy band across the chest. On its right is a Barn Swallow. With the increasing number of reports of Cave Swallows across a widening zone, it seems clear that the once rare Cave Swallow will become common here before too long. Needless to say, Cave Swallows now have their own range maps in field guides.

To Have and Have Not

As I was out seeing the world one bird at a time today, this charming little bird surprised me on a quiet country road near Gueydan. I think it's some variety of Peach-faced Lovebird, but I won't swear to that. I do know it didn't fly all the way here from Africa. Polly was once somebody's pet, but my attempts to squeak her to my finger were in vain and she continued on her way.

Birds like this raise a debate in the birding community. Keep in mind that to many birders, bird lists are nearly sacred. If a bird escapes and perishes, it's not a big deal. However, if it finds a mate and starts a population, should it be counted as a part of Louisiana's birdlife? Or more accurately, can it be counted? Can the Monk Parakeets of New Orleans be added to our lists? The introduced Canada Geese at Rockefeller Refuge? And if so, where do we draw the line? Should birders count chickens and barnyard geese on their lists? There are differing opinions, different trails down that slippery slope.

In other life sciences, the rules are clear-cut. Introduced species that prove they can survive and spread on their own over time are regarded as naturalized and are added to the state list. Fig trees and corn, no. Chicken trees, yes. I love a good fig, but I wouldn't ask a botanist to put the fig tree on the state list. However, a botanist would be crazy not to add the chicken tree. Some birders agree with this cautious approach. Others feel it doesn't represent the reality of our current situation: if people are here to stay, then so are figs, so count them. Ditto for park ducks. I would agree with this approach for a plant survey of an area, but not for a scientific list of the naturally occurring species of an area.

Overall, I look at it like sports versus fantasy league sports. Birding is basically fantasy league ornithology. Fantasy leagues can make up whatever rules they like, but it's unrealistic for them to think that the big sport should change its rules to follow suit. I'll never forget seeing this cool little lovebird, but I don't think it's important for ornithology to remember it.

Anyway, that's my opinion, and it's just opinion. I hope I haven't ended up on the wrong end of your list.

Common Moorhen Family

I love driving down Fruge' Road, a north-south road that runs from Calcasieu into Cameron Parish southeast of Holmwood. Among its many attractions are the ditches that flank the roadside in some areas. These ditches are actually like little marsh ponds, and there are usually marsh birds like Purple Gallinule and Common Moorhen (a.k.a. Common Gallinule) literally right beside your window as you pass.

Yesterday, July 3, I was out shooting video and looked down to see this scene on my passenger side. I had to lean over to get some shots, but overall it turned out pretty well. The floating bed of plants the Common Moorhen family is swimming in is, I think, introduced Salvinia. Its looks like slow going for the chicks.

The chicks are pretty spectacular. The bare area on the crown is where the frontal shield--the red patch on the forehead of the adult-- will be when the birds get older. The feature that really caught my eye was the wingtip of the chicks. It almost looks like the chicks have tiny fingers waving in the air. The tiny extra "finger" is actually the alula, or "little wing"of the bird, which will be much less pronounced when the wing grows to full size. Moorhen chicks have spurs on the alula to help them grab on to objects as they travel. As adults, their long toes will allow them to walk on floating plants.

A member of the rail family, Common Moorhens are found on every continent but Australia and Antarctica. More information, including a sound file of their distinctive calls, can be found at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology's page:

http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Common_Moorhen/lifehistory

From Here to Eternity

Infamous beach scene with Burt Turnstone and Hardhead Kerr. Good stuff.

The Original Birdwatcher

I just came in from setting a live-trap for cats in the backyard. The neighbor’s cat has churned out two litters of kitties over the past year, and now the first litter is starting to explore its sexuality. Kittens having kittens. Too many cats.

It wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t spent the last decade making my yard bird-friendly. I feel like I’ve made a deal with the yard birds, and that covenant doesn’t include feeding them to cats. Cats can find their own food—that’s why God invented dumpsters. Or better yet, pet owners can care enough about their cats to keep them safely indoors, free from fleas, cars, and mean people with traps.

I’ve been accused of hating cats plenty over the years. I think that charge would stick a little better if I didn’t have a couple of kitties camped next to me on the couch right now, two backyard waifs that tricked me into adopting them. They’ve been de-wormed, de-flea-ed, and de-outdoor-ed. As a responsible pet owner, I take care of my cats.

Many cat owners make the argument that cats are born to run, and when they run, no one can control where they go. In other words, cats can go wherever they damn well please.

Not true.

Although many cat owners deny it, cats are indeed subject to the Lafayette Parish leash law. Let’s look at said ordinance:

Sec. 10-286. Running at large. No animal shall be allowed to run at large, whether he be tagged or untagged, or whether he be on private or public property, without the owner or person in charge thereof having direct physical control over such animal by means of a leash, except where such private property is the private property of such owner or person in charge. This section shall not apply to livestock. (Parish Code 1977, § 5-12)

Think cats are excluded? The parish offers this definition:

Animal means any vertebrate creature, living or dead, domestic or wild, not including humans or fish; except that, when used in reference to rabies, it shall denote animals capable of transmitting the rabies virus.

But wait, Menou doesn’t run at large. He just goes out for a prowl now and then.

At large and stray means any animal which is not within the confines of the owner's home, dog yard, pen or fenced area or is not under the direct control of the owner or designated handler by means of a leash.

Oh, those pesky laws! Somebody ought to make a law against ‘em.

So, people who say Menou has a right to rodailler aren’t thinking with the legal half of their brain. And when my neighbors excuse their kitties ripping apart the baby birds and lizards that call my back yard home because, “Hunting is their instinct,” they might do well to remember that cats aren’t the only hunter on the block.

Cat owners who exercise an open door policy with their kitties are right about one thing: It's not Menou's fault. It's not mine, either.

Haste Makes Waste.

Around the beginning of May, a flamingo was reported near Grand Chenier by a nearby resident. On May 2, Curt Sorrells and Phillip Wallace went looking for the bird during a weekend of birding the SW parishes. That morning, I decided to bird alone on the other side of the Calcasieu so I could take my time and work on photos of common birds without slowing anyone down. I especially wanted to go slowly down Holly Beach toward Peveto Woods, making sure I accounted for every bird there.

Before arriving at the beach, I got a call from Phillip. They had found the flamingo. It was banded, and I joked that it was probably an escapee from Audubon Zoo. I went on with my plans, but decided to head over to see the flamingo after I finished my route. I drove down the beach at a crawl, checking everything, photographing, videotaping, enjoying a relaxing day.

A little way down the beach, I ran into Mike Musumeche. He had seen the flamingo and taken some nice photos. I started to wonder if maybe I shouldn't head over there sooner rather than later. But, nah, it was probably just an escape from Audubon Zoo. I got back to my beach detail.

Not long afterward, as I was parked checking out a group of gulls, another vehicle pulled up behind me. I recognized the Sorrells mobile, and got out to visit with Curt and Phillip. As we talked, they mentioned how close they had been to the flamingos.

Wait, flamingos? Plural?

Yes, they told me, these were the very same flamingos that had been reported two years ago from Cameron. One was a banded American Flamingo from Mexico, the other an imported flamingo from Africa that had escaped from a zoo in Wichita, Kansas. The American Flamingo was a truly wild bird, a genuine vagrant that had first been reported in Texas. When they were seen in Cameron two years ago, they had been reported, photographed, and then returned to Texas before birders got a chance to see them.

Would I miss my chance this time? Would I go on my way, take my time to get there, and find them gone? Or should I turn around and zip there as fast as I could, and then return to bird Holly Beach and Peveto? I decided to quickly drive to Peveto, bird there, go across the Calcasieu to see the flamingos...and then come back and resume my leisurely drive down Holly Beach.

I let Curt and Phillip know my plans, then zipped on ahead down the beach highway. Still, when I saw a flock of gulls to my left, I couldn't resist. I slammed on the brakes a little past the main flock, then turned back to look at them. From my vantage point, I couldn't see anything unusual, but in my rearview I could see Phillip getting out of Curt's SUV with his videocamera. I looked to see what he was watching, but the angle was bad. He started to walk back to the car, so I drove back to check. He asked if I had seen the Great Black-backed Gull. Me? No, I was in too much of a hurry. He pointed it out, flying back to the east. We all headed out in pursuit.

Great Black-backed Gulls are rare birds in Louisiana, especially in SW Louisiana, where I can only remember seeing two over the years. It would be important to document it. We raced to where it had landed, and started filming and photographing. We got out, and I approached it. It began to get nervous, then flew east, giving good views of its wings and tail to our cameras.

It flew down to at least Holly Beach, possibly disappearing into the large gull flock on the beach there. And I drove on to Peveto, then to the flamingo spot, where I waited in vain until the sun went down for the flamingo. I wouldn't see it until noon the next day.

End of story? No, actually just a beginning.

A few days ago I finally got around to submitting a report on the Great Black-backed Gull. I looked at the photos for the first time, and was surprised. It looked much more like a Slaty-backed Gull, an Asian gull that seems to have been turning up in odd, scattered places lately, but never yet in Louisiana. In short, a really great bird. In the field, I had just looked past it. The pictures are pretty good, but they might not prove whatever it is, or eliminate whatever it isn't. If not, it just goes to show that when watching birds, it pays to concentrate on the bird at hand and not look too far ahead. A bird in the hand, you know.

Reports and photos at: http://www.losbird.org/lbrc/viewreport9.html

Totem Birds

Many birders talk about their favorite birds. Some base their picks on appearance or song, others simply like the way a certain bird behaves. I have no idea what makes the following birds so important to me. All I know is that no matter how many times I see them--and some of them are incredibly common--each one seems exciting. These are the birds that make me tick.

Here they are, more or less in order. Seven is my favorite number, so I'll give you my top seven.

1. Eastern Kingbird

To me, this species represents everything a bird should be. I look forward to seeing my first each spring, and every one afterward until the last flock vanishes in early fall.

2. Yellow-rumped (Myrtle) Warbler

There doesn't seem to be anything this small songbird can't do, or any habitat in Louisiana where they can't be found in winter. Birders tire of them because they're so common, and maybe because they're so tricky. Many a birder has pulled up binoculars to investigate a strange bird only to find that it's just a Yellow-rump doing something strange.

I can't think of many sights more exciting than watching a flock of Yellow-rumps flashing through a wax myrtle bush in winter, their bright yellow patches lighting up a gray day. Probably not too many birders would agree...

3. Yellow-headed Blackbird

I remember looking out of my window one day when I was a kid and noticing that one of the Red-winged Blackbirds had a bright yellow head. I woke up my brother, and all we could figure was that someone had painted the bird's head. Not long after, my parents bought me a Golden Guide and I found our friend in it. I've seen a few since, and each one is just as exciting as the first.

4. Bobwhite

The simple but beautiful call of this bird is often the only sign of the hidden community of creatures that live at the edge of the human world, retreating as progress advances. Loud, clear, and cautious, the call is often all we detect of this bird. The occasional sighting as they creep into the open or explode at our feet is always memorable.

5. Snow Goose

Very few things are as exciting to me as hearing the first flocks of Snow Geese flying over on a cool autumn night, arriving in Louisiana for the winter. After a long jungle summer, the arctic returns.

6. Swainson's Hawk

Remember when this bird was a rarity in Louisiana? I haven't forgotten. I still get just as excited to see one today, in state or out.

7. Upland Sandpiper

I found my first one in my uncle's field and then I found it in his copy of Louisiana Birds. I still think of them as Upland Plovers whenever I'm lucky enough to see one.

8. Fulvous Whistling Duck

Okay, either I lied or I can't count. I couldn't leave this bird off the list. When I was a child living in exile in Kansas, a vacation to the farm in Kaplan meant seeing pairs of these beautiful "Tree Ducks" lowering themselves slowly down on beating wings into the hidden safety of the dense golden-green ricefields. The old times are almost all gone, but these birds remind me.

New Invaders from the South?

Over the last few decades, Louisiana has had its share of avian invaders. House Finches from the east, Eurasian Collared Doves from the southeast, even Tree Swallows from the north have arrived and set up shop here. However, the biggest source of new arrivals has been from the south and west. Many birds that were once uncommon or rare in the state, such as White-winged and Inca Doves, are now common. Swainson's Hawks have been documented as breeders and are no longer a surprising summer sight in SW Louisiana. Black-bellied Whistling Ducks and Cave Swallows have colonized the state as nesters, and Northern Caracara numbers have possibly been augmented by wanderers from Texas. Migrants and winterers such as Yellow-green Vireo and White-tailed Hawk have seen recent upticks as well.

Another bird that's shown an upsurge is Great Kiskadee. Although the first Louisiana record for this species dates back many decades and there has been a steady flow of records since, the past winter and this current spring have given cause to wonder if Great Kiskadees might not have gained at least a minor foothold in the state. One calling bird was found by James Beck on the northern edge of the marsh south of Klondike this past winter. Another was located by Michael Seymour at the White Lake Preserve. Wildlife personnel there informed him that two have been present during the past winter, raising the possibility of breeding. In April, a kiskadee was reported by Jacob Saucier and James Maley near Creole. Then, earlier this month near the Rockefeller Wildlife Refuge in Vermillion Parish, Donna Dittmann and Steve Cardiff found two Kiskadees attending a nest. Although this wasn't the first reported nesting attempt for the species in the state, it was the first involving a pair of birds. Prior attempts have all been made by single birds.

How successful the current attempt will be remains to be seen. Whether this attempt is their first, and whether other records in the area stem from local offspring or vagrants is a mystery, but Great Kiskadee would be a welcome addition to the regular birdlife of SW Louisiana.

Gull of Interest

Back on April 12, Mac Myers and I were intrigued by this somewhat petite Herring-type gull on Holly Beach, Cameron Parish, Louisiana. We found the the overall plumage of this bird, especially the tail and primary patterns, unusual. It was on the small side for a Herring. Click on the third photo for enlargement. Any thoughts?

Why Not? My "Next Ten List" for Louisiana

I recently asked Louisiana birders for their predictions for the next ten birds they felt would be found in the state. Because I got to read the lists before I posted them, I thought it would be better to use birds that none of the others had chosen. Even after everyone had picked*, I found ten species that I think have a reasonable chance of being found here.

White-crowned Pigeon

This species isn't a common vagrant, but White-crowned Pigeons commute over water every day in south Florida, and one popped up in coastal Mississippi a year or two ago. White-crowned Pigeons look so distinctive that if even only one showed up it could conceivably attract attention.

Black-capped Vireo

This is an eye-catching bird that is increasing in number and has strayed long distances. Its Texas range isn't too far from us, and it's migratory.

Clay-colored Thrush (Clay-colored Robin)

I'm hoping this is another in the line of Mexican/South Texas birds that is expanding northward and will eventually reach us. In the meantime, a few pioneers might show up.

Common Poorwill

I don't know how possible this bird is, but it's migratory. If one arrives, it could easily go undetected as it's nocturnal, but why not keep an eye out for it?

Dusky-capped Flycatcher

It's a flycatcher, and it shows up as close as Texas. Will it be passed off as an Ash-throated?

Golden-cheeked Warbler

It's an early migrant in the summer, so it might pass through when few birders are in the field, but a nice male would stand out.

Lucifer Hummingbird

One of the few breeding hummers of the U.S. that hasn't made an appearance in Louisiana. A male would be distinctive.

Ross's Gull

Eventually one will turn up this far south. Why not in Louisiana?

Streak-backed Oriole

This species has turned up in pretty far-flung places, and it's orange. If it shows up, it might attract the atention of even a non-birder.

White-tipped Dove

Doves are prone to wandering. See my thoughts about Clay-colored Thrush.

*For the complete list of everyone's predictions, see the LOS website.

Eastern Kingbird

            For all their elegance, nesting Eastern Kingbirds seem possessed by a wildness beyond their control. No matter how large or dangerous the intruder, kingbirds defend their territory. Through the heat of summer these flycatchers are on the alert for anything that moves. Whether it's passing prey, an enemy, or a rival, kingbirds are ready to flash out from their open perch to the edge of their airspace on stiff, stuttering wings, calling wildly. 

When late summer comes, a personality change seems to come over Eastern Kingbirds. Their hostility seems to fade away, and kingbirds begin to gather in groups to work their way south. Their migration takes them all the way to South America.

To me, the Eastern Kingbird is the bird. Whether I see them holding down a featureless patch of the infinite marsh or touching down in the treetops of my urban backyard, they give me a sense of an uncompromising, untamed world that seems genetically incapable of giving way to civilization.  

'Tis the Season

Swarms of deerflies can be a major distraction along the coast from mid-spring to late summer. Deerflies are attracted to moving objects such as cattle, cars, and birdwatchers. They fly to the top of the object and, if it's alive, stick their sharp mouthparts into it and suck its blood. This is painful (and later itchy), but the really unpleasant part for me is their knack for zeroing in on eyes and ears, and on exposed hands that are trying to hold and focus binoculars. Birding can be difficult when deerflies are around.

There's been debate about the degree of protection needed against deerflies, ranging from none to nuclear, and whether physical or chemical barriers are best. I personally believe in extreme measures, usually physical, to stay comfortable during peak deerfly season. Being able to stand motionless in a cloud of deerflies is a major plus in my book.

If they weren't so frustrating, these insects would be pretty fascinating. Gayle and Jeanell Strickland have some amazing scans of of deerflies at:

http://public.fotki.com/gstrick3/tabanidae-deer-flie.

As you can see, deerflies are beautiful animals.

However, if your idea of beauty doesn't include bloodsucking dipterans, Russell Mizell, University of Florida entomologist, came up with a clever trick for reducing deerfly numbers. Be sure to see his page at:

http://www.entnemdept.ufl.edu/PestAlert/deerfly.htm.

Don't be surprised if you see someone wearing a blue cup on his head next time you go birding.

Photo above by Dave Patton

Yellow-Green Vireos in Cameron Parish

Speaking of deerflies, Gary Broussard decided to go birding following the rain on Saturday, May 16. He entered the Peveto Woods Baton Rouge Audubon Society Sanctuary and before long, spotted a bird that he thought might be a Sulphur-bellied Flycatcher or something similar. The bird flew before he could confirm its ID or photograph it, and of course, he set out after it. However, the flies were bad that day, and forced a retreat to his car. Gary crafted a makeshift bug suit and went back out. He failed to relocate the flycatcher, but he did find and document a silent Yellow-Green Vireo. Soon after, Phillip Wallace and David Muth pulled up and managed a few brief glimpses of the bird through the gauntlet of flies.

The following day, many birders got looks at the bird. The north wind helped calm the flies down, and the bird was very cooperative. Dave Patton got the nice shot of the bird, above.

Also on Sunday, while birders were checking out Gary's bird, Muth and Wallace found a second Yellow-Green Vireo a few miles to the west. This bird was much brighter than the Peveto bird, and it was singing. Given that most birders have called it a migration by May and that vireos have an easier time hiding in the dense foliage by this time, it's possible that finding two Yellow-Green Vireos in two days was no fluke. There have been a handful of earlier records, including a suspected pair in Cameron Parish in early summer several years back.

Reports and photos at: http://www.losbird.org/lbrc/viewreport9.html