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?