I have succumbed to what Scott
Weidensaul calls "fat man biology" in Living on the Wind. Yes, I
study birds, but I do so from a dumpy office tucked along the sterile hallway
of a science building. Yes, I study birds, but stationed in front of screens
and textbooks, wrestling with concepts of Bayesian inference and Googling the
abundant error messages I encounter with my neophytic coding abilities. Yes, I
study birds, but I never see birds--I rely on preexisting
databases and the information available from satellite imagery.
It has been a
challenging summer, full of headaches induced by excessive screen time and
bewildering Greek notation that I haven't encountered since Calculus class
years ago. I've learned a lot. But that comes at the expense of what Mycroft
Holmes calls legwork,
which I adore. I miss walking, pack embracing my hips, binoculars in hand, the
sweat, the mosquitoes...
Finally I could take
it no more and took Saturday to reconnoiter sites for my field season next
year. I arose at 3:30, weary from spotty sleep (few things excite me such that
they impair my sleep, but a day afield is one of them), brewed some coffee, and
saddled up my lab's field truck. My mission: to find spots with grassland
birds.
I initially targeted
some relic prairie fragments in the environs of Livingston in extreme western
Alabama. But the fragments were just that: fragments, too small and too choked
by invading cedars to host proper grassland birds. I kept myself occupied with
Mississippi Kites, a common species that nevertheless always tickles my Yankee
bird background.
Another species I
seldom saw growing up was Summer Tanager. They are verminous in Dixie.
The major drama of
the morning occurred when I encountered a bird that I almost couldn't identify.
I'd like to be modest, but...that seldom happens. After a double take, I
realized that this was a hatch-year White-eyed Vireo, just dissimilar enough
from its parents to prove confusing with its dark iris and muted plumage.
I have the
inexplicable obsession of photographing birds in flight. This is a Common
Grackle--there were lots of them flying around in packs, a sure sign of late
summer. It is engaging in some primary molt--and his tail is looking ratty as
well.
As the classic
Alabama Swelter reached unbearable levels in the late morning, I jettisoned my
mission and repaired to some shaded areas along the Tombigbee River. There I
found lots of birds, including this Prothonotary Warbler, one of a group of
four cavorting along the riverbank.
If I had to choose
between seeing a cool bird or seeing a cool amphibian, I think I might choose
the frog. I've seen so many birds in my life. I know less about frogs; they
seem more mysterious; they are also fun to catch.
Insects also beguile
me. Every time I'm afield, I notice insects, and every time, I'm awestruck by
just how little I know about them. Butterflies are the easy ones, the cardinals
and robins of Class Insecta. This one is an Eastern Comma, lapping up residue
from a deer skull leftover from past hunting season.
It was hot, so I
stopped in the mom-n-pop grocery at a backwoods crossroads. Attempting to blend
in as an Alabamian, I asked the proprietor, "Y'all have sweet tea?"
He was not fooled, immediately drawling, "Where ya from?" in
response.
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| Wood Stork |
I finally found my grassland
birds by accident at the end of the day. I stopped to gape at the swirls of
vultures, herons, and Wood Storks around the sprawling catfish farms on the
road back to Tuscaloosa, and there, in the old pastures and hayfields, I saw
meadowlarks, Dickcissels, and Loggerhead Shrikes. A fallow field sandwiched between catfish ponds may not be as sexy as a restored nugget of prairie that enjoys prescribed burns every year, but if that's where the birds are, that's where I'll be.
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| Catfish farms, the economic backbone of the Black Belt of Alabama |
