Sniping

Skaaap! yelped the plump bird as it exploded from a swampy matrix of weathered cattails and flattened sedge. "SNIPE!" bellowed my friend Jonathan, pointing at the fleeing bird. We pressed farther into the marsh, the boggy ground trying to suck my flip-flops off my feet with every step. Sharp cattail stalks scraped my bare legs, but I pressed on, hoping for more snipe. Crunchcrunchcrunch, a few more steps. Then--skaaap! another snipe burst up, an aerodynamic dart of a bird seemingly woven from wet, muddy grass.

Skaap! Skaaap! Another, and then another. Haphazardly they'd shoot across the marsh, eventually crashing back into the vegetation, invisible until flushed again.



Snipe hunts are one of my favorite spring experiences. Don't miss out--the snipes won't come to you. Trudge through a flooded field or skirt the edge of a pond and await that hoarse cry. And if it fails to materialize, enjoy spring anyway: try to spot frogs before they plop into the water, listen to meadowlarks sing, or--if you're lucky--find some Blue-winged Teal to appreciate.

Should've Put a Ring on It

Sprawled over the withering concrete bordering the dark, sludgy pond, I cradled my camera in my hands and crawled to the very edge. Cautiously maneuvering my left elbow to keep it out of a pool of fresh duck crap, I promptly placed my right elbow in a nearly identical patch of excrement. Ah, well--a bit of decoration is inevitable in bird photography; it is a badge of honor. Squinting through the viewfinder, I focused on the black, rippling water a few feet front in front of me. A flash of black, white, accompanied with the most evanescent blaze of chestnut. The drake Ring-necked Duck fixed me with a baleful, golden glare.



Go on any Audubon field trip in November, and you'll probably hear old codgers complaining about this bird's name. "There isn't any ring on that neck," they say as they scope a raft snoozing on a distant pond. "If anything, it should be called Ring-billed Duck." It's an age-old complaint, and a just one too. I've seen thousands of Ring-necked Ducks--my first was in the last millennium--but the only spot I've ever seen their neck rings is Irvine Regional Park. Here, every winter, a few Ring-necked Ducks mingle with the feral Wood Ducks and Mallards, vying for bread crumbs from shrieking toddlers. From a distance of eight feet, that burnished collar is difficult to miss.

Flyin' 'roun 'n stuff

They may, at first glance, seem to be simplistic, childish words. But, those four truncated words capture the essence of bird biology. They fly around and stuff. While I've been home on spring break, I've unintentionally photographed a lot of birds in flight. Perhaps I'll do another post later about the "stuff" part later.



A great deal of my birding over break has involved climbing ridges, which provide interesting encounters with flying birds, often at or below eye level. And sometimes, unexpected birds wing overhead--like this trio of cormorants that buzzed me while I was hunting Cactus Wrens and Rufous-crowned Sparrows. "Hold on a sec, there are four cormorants!" you may be thinking. Oh well, I never could count--and I love the word "trio."



The entire Orange County population of Red-crowned Parrots seemed intent on disrupting my Grasshopper Sparrow search in the grasslands above Irvine Regional Park--a steady stream of screeching birds flew overhead, drowning out everything else.



One of my triumphs of spring break was finally snagging Swainson's Hawk for my Orange County list. They are scarce spring migrants in the county, and the last couple springs I suffered heartbreak after heartbreak of failed vigils.



Swallows spend a lot of time flying--indeed, that's when most birders see them. This one is a female Violet-green.



Ah, hawks. I've never been a hawkwatch junkie, but I enjoy seeing them whenever I can. Raptors definitely aren't one of my strong suits--I have the general policy of identifying all accipiters as Cooper's--but this is blatantly a Sharp-shinned Hawk. Check out that tiny head, square tail, dark cap, and wings held in a bold 'S' curve.



I must admit, I have a sizeable soft spot for White-throated Swifts, those sickle-winged devils that scream through the atmosphere like fighter jets.



Birders covet this svelte, pearly beast, better known as a White-tailed Kite. A pair is nesting at Irvine Regional Park near my house; they are positively fascinating to watch as they shriek and whistle at each other, fluttering and sparring in midair above their nest.



I might as well finish with a Red-tailed Hawk flyn' 'roun 'n stuff.

Context

I issue you a challenge: go to Pere Marquette Park in Muskegon during the winter, look out over Lake Michigan, and avoid seeing the clouds of thousands of Long-tailed Ducks swarming over the water. Accomplish this, and I will surrender you my binoculars, complete with the casserole composed of granola bar crumbs, sand, and dried snot caked in the ocular lenses.

So why care about one measly Long-tailed Duck at Riverside Park in Grand Rapids, a mere half-hour away? Well--Pere Marquette is on Lake Michigan, and Riverside Park is, as its name implies, on the Grand River in landlocked Kent County. Context is important.

But still--why care? There's the superficial excuse of county listing. County listing--the fun and often addicting practice of listing birds seen within a particular county--isn't the entire answer. My Kent County listing career has suffered from limited transportation; ninety-eight percent of my birding takes place either on campus or at Reed's Lake a few miles away. As satisfying as it was to tick Bucephala hyemalis (errr...Clangula...thanks JOHG) on my Kent County list, it wasn't the sole reason for seeing the bird.

Hmmm. The Grand River is choked with ice during the winter, and all the ducks are forced into small patches of open water within feet of the shore. That's it--this particular Long-tailed would offer close, extended study, resulting in a more satisfactory duck experience than the distant flock scenario. But, what of the hormone-charged male Long-tailed displaying to a group of disinterested females within peeing distance at Pere Marquette? Those were good views, for sure--and the birds were even calling.

Seeing birds in unexpected places is one of those inexplicable joys of birding. Let's examine hypothetical situation. If a Barrow's Goldeneye appeared at Riverside Park, would you chase it? Or would you fly to Seattle and watch a whole flock of them? In an ideal world, I would prefer the latter, but the former is more convenient when there's only an hour available before class.

Wake Up

I have fallen asleep, snuggled, nearly smothered, under a warm blanket of textbooks, papers, and problem sets. Occasionally, I will stir in my sleep--scan through a flock of waxwings on the way to class, or perhaps even throw my binoculars in my backpack for a quick walk around campus. But then I yawn, rub my eyes, and slide back under the covers. Sometimes, I sleep deeply, engrossed by Plato or phospholipid bilayers. Other times, I toss and turn, tortured by wild fantasies of birds that are beyond reach.

Consciousness has become a rare state for me; if I'm lucky, I feebly stumble from my bed once a week. Lifting my binoculars to my eyes, I flex my atrophied muscles and remember my former freedom from the drowsy fog. But, even these token moments cannot last; the bed calls urgently, and I wearily burrow into the heaps of responsibilities, assignments, duties, and expectations.

On Saturday, after a particularly long spell of dormancy, I wriggled out of my cocoon and journeyed to Grand Haven with my girlfriend Alison. Grand Haven is much like other river mouths in western Michigan--it does, perhaps, offer better than average pier scrambling--but, for the last couple weeks, it has harbored an outcast, a wandering pilgrim of the arctic: a Black-legged Kittiwake.

Twitching--as you may recall, I spend considerable energy bashing it. Well. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Indeed, it was--before we had even pulled to a stop, we had spotted the kittiwake sailing lightly above the parking lot.

We spent a lot of time watching that kittiwake. I was wide awake by now. Scoters, goldeneye, Snow Buntings...distant memories of another life, when consciousness was my normal state of being. All too soon, the sun sank. My eyelids sagged; I battled the weariness, but, against my will, I crawled back into bed.

A Day in the Life of a College Birder

8:00 A.M., Incidental Observation

Holey buckets, it's cold. Eggs...real eggs. It's been way too long. I can't wait for spring break. Granola is only so good when you have it for breakfast every morning for one..two...three...four weeks in a row.

American Crow--1
Black-capped Chickadee--1
American Goldfinch--2
House Sparrow--1

8:52 A.M., Incidental Observation

Oh, hi Alex! Yeah, I'm going to class. Science Building...chem. Um, I've got...Blankenspoor? He's okay. Dude, I know, that snow day was frickin' sweet! Alright, see you later, have fun in lab.

American Crow--1
Northern Cardinal--1
House Sparrow--1

9:53 A.M., Incidental Observation

Yeah, Margeaux, I'm going to chapel. You? I knoooow, that guy treats us like kindergarteners...seriously, how many times is he going to tell us that to succeed in chemistry, we need to do the problem sets? Hey--Downy Woodpecker! Huh? Oh, nevermind. What class do you have after this?

Downy Woodpecker--1
Black-capped Chickadee--1
House Sparrow--2

10:23 A.M., Incidental Observation

Oh man, it's too nice of a day to head straight for the library for that date with my chemistry book. I'll take a five-minute detour. Mmmm, sunshine! Hey, what are you doing buddy?! Watch where you're driving! Bleh. Library, I can't escape you!

Black-capped Chickadee--4
Tufted Titmouse--1
Red-breasted Nuthatch--1
Northern Cardinal--2
House Sparrow--2

11:30 A.M., Incidental Observation

Aw, man, I'm starving! Time for a toasted bagel with peanut butter, a spinach salad with honey mustard dressing, two slices of pineapple, a banana, and milk. Hey, I wonder if I can make it the entire fifty feet from the library to the cafeteria without seeing any birds. Shoot, nope!

House Finch--1

4:10-4:36 P.M., Traveling Count, 0.25 miles

You can't go climbing after all? Bummer. That's okay, I'll just go for a walk before dinner instead. Alright, man, see you around! Yeah, tomorrow at four sounds good.

Mourning Dove--3
Downy Woodpecker--1
American Crow--22
Black-capped Chickadee--3
American Robin--5
European Starling--2
Cedar Waxwing--18
American Tree Sparrow--1
Dark-eyed Junco--7
Northern Cardinal--2
House Finch--1
House Sparrow--11

5:38 P.M., Incidental Observation

Mmmm...next week, I think I'll try a combination of the kalamata olive sauce and the artichoke hearts on my bruschetta. Argghh! It's so cold. And the architecht who built this library was a moron, because it definitely is designed to allow the greatest possible amount of snow to blow off its roof into people's faces below. Oh hey...starlings.

European Starling--4

Snow (And Tell)

Just because I've been suffering from a severe lack of time and motivation the last month--manifested in a lack of posts--doesn't mean I haven't been birding. Now, as I have a five-day breather between my January course and the spring semester, I have time, but I still don't have much motivation. So, without further ado, here are some photos with brief blurbs from the last month.



Ice is slippery! And Purple Sandpipers are clumsy! Not that I'm one to talk...



Manistee River. Snowshoeing is extremely fun, except for when you trip over your own feet (not that I don't do that anyway) and when your snowshoeing partner shoves snow down your neck.



A lake-effect snowstorm shortly before it slammed us at Holland State Park.



The Arctic Ocean is a bit of a drive from Grand Rapids, but thankfully Lake Michigan serves admirably to fulfill your iceberg wilderness fix. Just imagine the goldeneye are Spectacled Eiders.



The end of the Grand Haven pier. My buddies the Lautenbachs and I have established a new competitive winter sport, expected to debut in the next Winter Olympics: Pier Scrambling. Basically, it entails slipping and sliding to the end of an ice-encrusted pier while being bombarded with snowballs and hunks of ice. The person to fall into the lake the fewest number of times wins.



Harlequin Ducks provide a mild spice of excitement to any day along the lakeshore.



Calvin's ecosystem preserve is unsurprisingly quiet this time of year. Junco, Tree Sparrow, Downy Woodpecker, Chickadee...it's predictable, or at least I like to think it is. In the past month, I've seen Northern Shrike, Merlin, and Song Sparrow (shush, they're not as ubiquitous in the winter) on campus.