Listing Apathy

If you look just to the right on this page, you'll see the little handful of lists I've managed to continue caring about.  The list used to be longer, 20 years or so ago.  At that time I still cared about my North American list, which was probably at about 600 then.  You'll notice that list is nowhere to be seen.  I stopped caring about that one a long time ago.

My Louisiana list has been on 399 for a while now, back since last December.  It only got to 399 because Michael Seymour found a Mountain Plover and I found out that nobody had gotten good photos of it yet.  I knew it'd be a shame to let a first state record get lost because of lack of documentation, so I went to help out. Honestly though, as cool as that bird was and as good as it was to help make sure it got to the state list, I was disappointed to leave my CBC territory for it. 398 is just as good as 399.

Now there are 3 Brown Boobies that birders have staked out near Lake Charles. Somehow none of the pelagic trips I've gone on have turned one of those up, and even a Florida Keys trip failed to produce them in regular spots.  Brown Booby would be a lifer for me, and number 400 for my state list.  However, I really can't bring myself to care.  I don't plan to go see them.

We all have borrowed birds on our lists.  To get to 400 in Louisiana you have to have about 20-30 of them. If you don't have a yard, you've probably borrowed someone's Broad-tailed, Calliope, Anna's, or Broad-billed hummers.  Unless you're one of a lucky handful, you might've borrowed Greater Flamingo, Mountain Bluebird, Tropical and Couch's Kingbird, Cassin's Sparrow, Red Crossbill, Gray Flycatcher, Sage Thrasher, Harris's Hawk, Lark Bunting, Sulphur-bellied Flycatcher, Fork-tailed Flycatcher, Iceland Gull, Yellow-green Vireo, Chestnut-collared Longspur. Those are just some of the chaseable birds of the past decade.  Go back another decade, and another, and your borrowed list inevitably grows.  Borrowed birds are the difference between a list in the 380's and one at 400.

I guess I'm just not interested in borrowing birds anymore.          

Once, I actively avoided chasing birds.  A Rock Wren was a few miles away for most of a winter.  I passed. A Painted Redstart was in a woodlot along the way to the coast for a winter.  I passed--literally--many times that winter on the way to the coast.  If I counted up all the birds I've passed on, I'm guessing they'd bring me to 410.  I can't think of many birds I really chased in the classic sense, frantically racing down the highway.  Black-tailed Godwit, yes.  Blue-throated Hummingbird, yes, and Northern Wheatear before that. I really wanted to see the Greater Flamingo, too.  Many of the borrowed birds on my list are only there because I was invited along for the ride: King Eider, Purple Sandpiper, Mangrove Cuckoo, Red-throated Loon...

Nowadays, I guess I only passively avoid chasing birds.  I just don't find it very exciting:  Show up.  See bird. e-Bird. Tick total up one number.  Watch name climb list.

I'm not knocking it for others, but for me, it doesn't live up to the excitement of lucking onto a new bird unexpectedly.  Live long enough, and you'll find it for yourself.  

It's easy to get caught up in the numbers game, hearing someone else's number and trying to catch up or stay ahead.  That's human nature.  It's envy at its finest.  But really, what's the point?  I watch birds for the same reason I fish or hunt.  It gets me out there.  It reminds me that the sky is better than the ceiling.  It relaxes me. It  fills the space in me that religion fills in others.  Mixing competition up with that seems like sacrilege.

Competitive birding makes about as much sense to me as competitive praying.

That opinion might not find favor with everyone, especially folks who chased the mockingbird and chased the rail and chased the sandpiper and found them...right where the latest post said they'd be.  Remember this, though: I'm not knocking it for others.  I'm just saying that birds on a tee aren't for me.  Anyway, how my opinion makes you feel is a function of you, not me.  It's an opinion, not a command to agree.  

So will my listing apathy keep me from 400?  Who knows.  I don't expect to live much longer, so passing up the gimmes might just keep me from it.  But then again, what's it matter?

Winter in the air

With cooler weather coming on, it’s fun to look at past winters and wonder what this one will bring (for the sake of a one word term, I’ll lump fall and winter together under the latter name).  Last winter produced an amazing 4 first state records: Dusky-capped Flycatcher, Pacific Loon, Mountain Plover, and Razorbill.  The winter before was less productive in terms of first state records (only one: Prairie Falcon), but was spectacular in the sheer numbers of rarities, highlighted by a bizarre invasion of Green-tailed Towhees.  That winter also produced second state record Gray Flycatcher and Brewer’s Sparrow.  It was truly a cornucopia, a Blind Pig year when rarities became the norm.   

Looking at this year compared to past years through the end of September, the species counts were as follows:     

2013     358 species

2012     357

2011     365

2010     351

2009       355

By the end of these years, the species counts had climbed from anywhere from 8-16 birds.   

2013     ?

2012     365 

2011     377

2010     367

2009       364

2013 ranks 2^nd highest among the 5 years through September, and it’ll be entertaining to see how high it climbs.  This year has seen one of the nicest batch of rarities ever (the aforementioned Razorbill, plus Iceland Gull, Connecticut Warbler, Fork-tailed Flycatcher, several Black Rails, et cet.), so much so that normally great birds like Townsend’s Warblers, Chestnut-collared Longspur, and Rough-legged Hawk were somewhat eclipsed. 

What will winter 2013 bring?  We’ll see. 

And by the way…some of you wondered about the birds I posted in a recent post.  Here’s a rundown:

Lesser Goldfinches.  They don’t seem like they should be rare, but they are.  The most recent Louisiana record was a bird that spent several months in Sabine Parish in 2011.  It was a lot more colorful than these birds, which might easily escape notice.    

Hooded Oriole.  This would be a nice treat at a hummer feeder on a cold winter day.  Look for the graduated tail feathers, and the longish bill.  In general, any time an oriole shows up in the winter, snap a photo.  

Costa’s Hummingbird.  There aren’t any records for Louisiana, but there should eventually be.  How many poorly seen green and white hummers might have been Costa’s?  Be sure to snap photos of mystery hummers, and pay special attention to the primaries.  Costa's can have tapered wingtips (like a Ruby-throat), but their primaries are all the same width. 

None of these photos were taken in Louisiana, unfortunately.  

It's a...?

Many years ago I noticed and remarked upon (in the LOS News, I think) one of the hummingbirds in Audubon's Ruby-throated Hummingbird watercolor, said to have been painted in Louisiana in the 1820s. At the time, the bird seemed to me to be a good candidate for a Black-chinned Hummingbird.  That would possibly make it a first Louisiana record, and more interestingly the image would predate the description of the species by a couple of decades.

I was recently looking through my book of Audubon watercolors and noticed this bird again.  I decided to scan the plate using a more modern scanner than what I had back in the '90s.  The image quality is limited by the printing process, but the outer primary of the bird is tolerably clear.  To my eyes, the outer web of the outer primary still looks like it widens more than it would on a Ruby-throat.  Hummingbird banders that can see the differences with their eyes closed would have a more valuable opinion than mine, of course.  It would also help to see the original watercolor, which I don't guess I ever will...

Keep in mind that Audubon had a keen eye and mind for minor details, as evidenced by his observation of the rough wing on a Rough-winged Swallow.  Also keep in mind the fact that this image is not a copy of an engraving, but of the original watercolor.  In other words, this is a copy of the image that Audubon made by hand, not of a second generation product.

What will winter bring?

With fall and winter on the horizon, it's time to start thinking about birds that might turn up in the backyard.  Even with good long looks, a few possibilities pose ID challenges.  Life would be great if all of the birds that turn up at our feeders were well-marked adult males.  The odds argue against that, so there's plenty to keep us on our toes.  Consider the following:

The birds above are so drab that if you notice them at all, they might make you wonder if they're worth a second look.  Are they?    

The yellow bird above isn't well-marked, but once winter arrives, some "drab" birds will actually look pretty bright if they pop up in the yard.  That alone would warrant a second look at this bird, if the fact that it's hanging out on a hummingbird feeder doesn't.  What's the most important thing to look at on this bird?

Green and white female-type hummingbirds are always fun.  If you're lucky enough to get a good look, there are a few things to size up when narrowing down an ID.  Sometimes it takes a good study of a photo to get the ID right.  Bill size, the shape and pattern of the tail, and the shape and size of wing feathers can all provide a good clue.  Is a green and white hummer a big deal, or just a Ruby-throat?  

Six-lined Racerunner

As I was walking a trail through dense growth in Peveto Woods yesterday, I noticed a twitch in the tip of a goldenrod stalk a few yards ahead.  I held still, waiting to see if it would twitch again.  When it did, I started to wonder if a skulking warbler, perhaps a Common Yellowthroat, was working the stalk.  I watched as the twitch moved over to the next goldenrod stalk, but I couldn't locate a bird.  Finally, dialing through the layers of vegetation, I noticed direct movement.  It took a few seconds to realize that what I saw moving was a lizard with long, thin stripes, a six-lined racerunner.  

A few of these lizards have popped up at Peveto lately.  To be honest, I don't remember them ever being there in the past, but others seem to remember their presence.  Unless someone is seeding the sanctuary with reptiles, the increase in lizard numbers would seem to be part of the recovery in species diversity on the cheniers following the destruction of the past decade's hurricanes.  

Cameron Parish, Sunday, September 1

I've had a head cold the past few days, and I felt too bad to go to the coast on Saturday, but on Sunday I thought a head full of ragweed pollen might be just the thing to make me forget about my cold.  Luckily, it wasn't that bad.  The Giant Ragweed flowers are ready to pop open any day now, though, throwing their bitter yellow pollen into the wind. 

 

  



The action along the coast was typical of what it's been for the past week or two.  Lots of gnatcatchers, flycatchers, and Yellow Warblers, such as the one below. 

 

And some more cool dragonflies:

 



  

Swallows have been barreling through in big numbers for a couple of weeks now, led in numbers by Barns, but with a good showing of Bank and Cliff Swallows.  Every time I looked up today there were swallows heading west along the coast.  As the day got late, they began to line up on wires. 

  







Here's a shot of Cliff Swallow, Barn Swallow, and Bank Swallow, the three big migrants today. 

  

With miles of wire, you wouldn't think turf wars would be a problem, but swallows seem to like to fight.   

 

Labor Day weekend is a big deal on Holly Beach, and the crowds were out.  Surprisingly, a few flocks of gulls were hanging out between the communities of tents and campers up and down the beach.  I wasn't planning to stop to scope the birds out because of all of the human activity, but as I passed I noticed that one of the brown juvenile Laughing Gulls seemed to be a little different brown from the others. 

 

 

 



One U-turn later, I was surprised to see there was actually a Parasitic Jaeger hanging out.  I thought I'd have to get out in Dave Patton's Jaeger-chasing boat to see one in Cameron Parish, but it was pretty nice to see one from the steadiness of dry land. 

 

   

August

August, a month of hot and dry.  Rice is being cut, fields are starting to flower, and the woods and wires are starting to attract migrants.  The resident birds have largely finished nesting, and large groups of local blackbirds and waterbirds are starting to build. 

As the month started, I spent some time drifting around the prairie.  There wasn't a lot of wet habitat, so what ponds were there held a lot of birds.  The scene below is typical of what one might see in such a pond, although what you can't see is the cloud of birds that were behind the levees.  I didn't see them until a farmer pulled up next to me and told me he was going to scare them so they didn't eat all of the feed he'd just put in for the crawfish, "But I'm just shooting in the air."  He proceeded to drive the complex of levees, firing a pistol into the air, and everything got up.  Of course, it all just moved over a pond, again and again, staying one step ahead of the noise.  There was a good mix of species, including a lot of ibis, many shorebirds, and a bunch of ducks.  The Black-bellied Whistling Ducks in the photos are part of a recent huge increase and expansion of the species. 

 

 

 

Nowadays, when we talk of the SWLA prairie, we pretty much just mean the flat ground.  If you want to find real prairie here, there's not much option.  Most of the prairie ecosystem was plowed up in the late 1800s by homesteaders like my great-grandfather.  Today, there are only a few patches left, mostly along railroad rights-of-way, and most are disappearing quickly.  I find it pretty depressing to visit these sites, but one day a few weeks ago Dave Patton was going and I tagged along.  Look at these stands of Blazing Star, imagine 2.5 million acres of land that looked like this, as well as the Rattlesnake Master, Greater Prairie Chickens, Louisiana Prairie Voles, and Lord knows what else disappeared to build Acadiana, and try not to be melancholy.  I can't.  If only we had set a little aside!

 

 

 



Over the past couple of weekends, I've made trips to the coast to watch the slow buildup of migration.  Ragweed is starting to flower, the sun is sliding south, and we even had a few days of pleasant north wind.  The table is spread, but only a few visitors have arrived yet. 

Some of the earliest migrants are warblers and flycatchers.  Prairie Warblers start showing up by early August. 

 

 

 

Migrant Yellow-bellied Flycatchers arrive soon after, as do Great-crested Flycatchers and Eastern Kingbirds.

 

Some prickly pear cactus are flowering, but many are filled with slowly purpling fruit. These fruit are the tunas that shipwrecked and starving Cabeza de Vaca and his native hosts waited all summer to gorge and fatten on, not too far away on the Texas coast.  I can only imagine what it must have been like to live out among the mosquitoes and heat all year around.  A day afield at this time of year, even with AC waiting in my car, is enough for me. 

Birds like the Downy Woodpecker and Common Nighthawk know what the coastal summer feels like, though.  They can be found nesting right up to the Gulf beach where proper habitat can be found.  The nighthawks will be pulling out soon, but the Downy will enjoy our cool winter that's only a couple of months away. 

 

 

August is a great time for insects, too.  Some, like mosquitoes and deerflies, make life hard for birders.  Others, like dragonflies, make life hard on mosquitoes and deerflies--and are easy on the eyes, too. 

 

 

 

On the beach, there are signs of the season changing, as well.  Laughing Gulls are losing their black caps.

 

 

 

Wilson's Plovers are ready to head south, while Piping Plovers find August a good month to head to Louisiana. 

 

 

 

Some birds that have over-summered, like this group of three Lesser Black-backed Gulls that's been around on Holly Beach since at least May, may be regretting having vacationed here with their Laughing Gull cousins, but they're starting to slowly look a little less scraggly, and fall is almost here.

 

 

 

The skies are also starting to change.  Broad-winged Hawks start arriving along the immediate coast in good numbers in August, and will build into huge flocks passing through on their way south in September and October.  Swallows, such as the Cave Swallow below, are prone to wander at this time.  Although some swallows are already on the wing to their winter homes, others are drifting away from their nest sites and wandering around the countryside, with many finding themselves along the coast. 

 

 

 

Some birds are best seen at this time of year.  While the pewee at the top is a regular migrant in both spring and fall, the Olive-sided Flycatcher below is much easier to find in fall.   

 

 

 

 

While the two species look a bit alike, differences in their habits are usually a good clue to their identity.  Take a look at the following pictures of Olive-sided Flycatchers and see if you can guess where to look for them. 

 

 

 

Luckily, dead snags are in good number in Cameron Parish at the moment following two big hurricanes in the past decade, so Olive-sideds can almost take their pick.  They are the flycatcher most likely to use this type of perch here, although the scene below shows that sometimes Eastern Kingbirds (bird on right) keep them company there. 

 

For birders that don't mind this kind of weather there's some good stuff to see right now, but some of it we'll have to see soon. 

Take care, enjoy the last few days of August, and be sure to celebrate the common birds! 

 

 

 

Change

We're in the early stages of an addition project here at our home in Lafayette.  When we bought our house in 1995 from the Vermillion family, we figured that someday after the stork came we'd need to expand.  Well, our child is approaching teenhood, and the time has come to add on.  The wheels are rolling on the project, in which our breezeway and garage will be demolished and replaced by living space. 

What does that have to do with birding? you might ask.  A lot, actually, unfortunately.  When we bought the place it had the foundations of a great birding yard, courtesy of esteemed omnologist Bill Vermillion.  Bill added the beginnings of a great understory to the existing plantings his grandparents had established decades before.  Bay laurel, kumquat, fig, pomegranate, Indian pink, and many other plants were tucked below live oaks, holly, camellias, and a volunteer wild cherry.  In the years since we moved in, generous plant lovers such as Dave Patton, Bill Fontenot, and Donna Dittmann have added dozens of other plants, including a dense thicket of firespike, a red buckeye, buttonbush, soap aloe, agave, and honeysuckle azalea.  We added satsuma, bromeliads, milkweed, and a variety of hummingbird and butterfly plants.  And all of that was just in one tiny corner of the yard!

The neighborhood where we live is an older one that exists in the shade of huge live oaks and magnolias.  For the most part, our neighbors subscribe to a different philosophy of landscaping than we do, with well-mowed lawns beneath the canopy.  As a result, our yard acts like a magnet for understory birds that the community canopy pulls in, and our yard list of migrants and winterers is pretty attractive.  Seven species of flycatcher, six of vireo, four wrens, thirty warblers, and eight species of hummingbird, among others, have been recorded in the yard. 

Sadly,  some of the yard needed to be cleared to in order to demolish and construct.  Yesterday, the treecutters came and did what they must.  Here are some before and after shots:

 

This side of the yard, above, had buttonbush, pomegranate, Satsuma, kumquat, bay laurel, azalea, and Abutilon. 

 

 

 

A huge holly that was a favorite of winter hummers and a cherry laurel filled the space in the pictures above, with a mixed understory of hummer plants. 

 

 

 

Another angle of the side yard, before and after. 

 

Let's hope that the cut worm forgives the plow, and that in a year or two, our new living space is hidden behind a dense new crop of green. And let's hope that in that thicket Hooded Warblers and White-eyed Vireos can find shelter when they find themselves in the neighborhood, and hummers can find a safe place to spend the winter.  For now, though, it's a new and brutal nakedness.