Rounding the Horn

January 15, 2026brighamstephen 14 Comments

It’s been almost a year since we took this memorable trip, but my writing has stirred many recollections of those wonderful February days down under. Truth be told, we didn’t technically round the horn, ocean to ocean, but we did enter the Drake Passage and went ashore at the famous site, enjoying that once-in-a-lifetime adventure.

My title of this posting is the title of Dallas Murphy’s great book. Its subtitle is “Being a Story of Williwaws and Windjammers, Drake, Darwin, Murdered Missionaries and Naked Natives–a Deck’s-eye View of Cape Horn”. I highly recommend it. As the subtitle implies he supplements his own adventure with the history, geology, and meteorology of this unique part of the globe.

There was no guarantee from the crew on Ventus Australis that we could go ashore at the Horn. It was weather dependent, getting us all into zodiacs and back safely again. Luckily the wind and waves were tolerable that day, barely, and we were cleared to go. I believe I was the only one in the group nursing the camera and large birding lens, but you don’t go to the end of the world everyday.

Perched high on the bluff at Cabo de Hornos is the Chilean Light and keeper’s house. A short distance away is the famous Albatross sculpture and poem commemorating the 10,000 seamen who have perished rounding the Horn.

“I am the albatross that waits for you at the end of the world.

I am the forgotten souls of dead mariners who passed Cape Horn from all the oceans of the earth.

But they did not die in the furious waves.

Today they sail on my wings toward eternity in the last crack of Antarctic winds”.

Sara Vial

From our zodiac we climbed the steep wooden steps to the top, still sporting the bulky orange life jackets, just in case a quick return to the ship was signaled. The Chilean keeper is actually a naval officer, along with his wife and two young daughters. The usual stint at this remote location is one year, but they volunteered for more, and were in their third year at the outpost. Apparently they look forward to the occasional ship, visitors, and mailbag, and obviously enjoy their spartan life. My bird sightings at the Cape itself were meager, but the two sisters displayed their art work for us, satisfying my birding urge. I bought a handful of them to remind me of that day. One wonders what their life is like there in the winter, as we were bundled up, even in their mid-summer.

Given the exposure, the vegetation at the Horn is sparse. The one bird that seemed to relish the ship’s company and my camera was the Chimango Caracara, posing for me on the walkway trail. This common bird is more crow-like than caracara-like. Its call has a mocking or laughing quality, likely poking fun at our colorful orange wardrobes.

True to form, the ship sounded its warning horn, signaling a rapidly moving storm coming from the west. We loaded into our zodiac and made it back just before the front hit; the later boats were not so lucky and got a good Cape Horn drenching. But we all survived and eventually made it to the final port of Ushuaia, Argentina, the southern-most city in the world.

We were not quite ready to go home, and reserved one more day of birding at Tierra del Fuego NP with an excellent guide, Isabel Ledesma. This beautiful park is just a short drive west from Ushuaia along the Beagle Channel. The park contains freshwater lakes and ponds, saltwater fiords reminiscent of Norway, varied bird habitats, and scenery to die for.

But we were there for the birds one last time before heading home. Isabel came through, treating us to 34 species, including eight life birds. She was especially persistent in leading us through the tangled underbrush to see the Green-backed Firecrown hummingbird, endemic to Patagonia. We waited and waited; I was ready to move on when the large hummer flew in and briefly perched on a blooming firebush. Thank you, Isabel, well done.

As you may have noticed, I’ve taken some time off from blogging. I still bird, and still love every outing and will continue to post, but have started to aim the camera and telephoto lens upward, past the birds and to the stars. My astro-photography skills and equipment have slowly progressed over these last few years. The picture below is the Seagull Nebula. You birders know that it should have been named the Crested Caracara Nebula, given the head shape, but I’ll give my fellow stargazers a pass on the ID. With both hobbies, things are still looking up.

Birding the Beagle Channel

April 4, 2025brighamstephen 4 Comments

I could almost picture a young, twenty-two year old Charles Darwin sailing through the channel, gaping at the mountains and glaciers while furiously taking notes and drawing all the strange flora and fauna he could observe. He referred to that voyage as “by far the most important event of my life”.

Our voyage through these same waters, some 200 years later was much more civilized. His Beagle was a sailing ship only 90 feet long, while our Ventus Australis, while still considered a small cruising ship, was by comparison a luxurious ride, propelled independently from the fickle winds. And that was lucky since the wind blew fiercely throughout the five days.

Sixteenth century explorers discovered three ways to pass the South American land mass, east to west. None were ideal as evidenced by shipwrecks and many lost sailors over the centuries. The Beagle Channel was the circuitous middle passage, measuring about 1300 miles long. The Strait of Magellan was several miles to the north and the Drake Passage was further south, running between Cape Horn and Antarctica.

Our embarkation was from Punta Arenas, Chile, with Ushuaia, Argentina being the final destination. The days were packed with daily zodiac rides ashore with guided, short hikes to explore the natural sights. Lectures onboard, interspersed between sumptuous meals, educated us guests about the history, geology, and wildlife of Tierra del Fuego.

Black-browed Albatross, *Thalassarche melanophris*

I believe I spent more time out of doors on the upper deck than most of the travelers. My goal was to get a perfect flight shot of the birds flying by the ship, all of which were new species for me. This was a chore, given the cold wind, the rocking ship, and the erratic birds. I could find a little shelter in the lee of the stack or pilot house where I met one other birder with the same ambition. He was a young man from Germany using a new mirrorless Nikon camera and a massive telephoto lens that put mine to shame. There was a language barrier, but that did not keep us from sharing our best shots.

Imperial Cormorants, *Leucocarbo atriceps*

The only albatross we saw was the Black-browed Albatross, a rather small member of this genus. Another large, dark pelagic bird confused us for a while until we settled on it being a Southern Giant-Petrel. A much smaller dark bird was appropriately named a Sooty Shearwater. Add to those the Kelp Gull and the Imperial and Magellanic Cormorants and you have our complete repertoire of our deck sightings.

Southern Giant-Petrel, *Macronectes giganteus*

The daily, and sometimes harrowing zodiac trips to shore usually gave us a steadier base for photography. Tucker’s Islet was my much anticipated excursion to see a penguin colony. Such a peculiar, flightless bird waddling upright over the rocks, but what wonderful swimmers. Stubby wings make great flippers. Penguins are exclusive to the Southern Hemisphere and apparently have an evolutionary link to petrels and albatrosses.

Magellanic Penguin, *Spheniscus magellanicus*

The zodiac pulled right up to the beach, but we were asked to stay onboard to protect the integrity of the large colony of Magellanic Penguins. What a great, close-up look at these birds. Even the salty guides got excited when someone spotted an unusual crested penguin on a nearby rock. It was a single Rockhopper Penguin looking like a fish out of water among the others.

Several other species on the island caught my attention. The Chilean Skua is one of those predatory seabirds that survive by chasing other birds to steal their catches, or perhaps to snatch a penguin egg from a distracted or careless parent. There were also the same two species of cormorants flying earlier, now precariously perched and nesting on the shear, guano-laced cliffs of the island.

Magellanic Cormorants, *Leucocarbo magellanicus*

One memorable afternoon our ship sailed down a narrow part of the channel called “Glacier Alley” passing one amazing glacier after another, each announced by name by the captain as the crew served cocktails and a new hors d’oeuvre for each. Nonstop beauty. We took a zodiac to the base of the large Pia Glacier and watched it “calf” icebergs, each with a tremendous splash and audible joy from us spectators. Two Ashy-headed Geese were added to my life list when they landed on a nearby rock. I snapped bird shots while the others waited for another icy birth.

Ashy-headed Geese, *Chloephaga poliocephala*

Five days on the Ventus Australis were hardly enough; I would have loved to turn right around and do it all over again, but new adventures in Ushuaia beckoned. We made several new friends on board, all on their own itineraries throughout South America. Sorry Dan, about the Spartan’s recent loss, but my team did not even make the Big Dance. This cruise also included a memorable stop at Cape Horn, one of the highlights of the whole trip, but I’ll leave that for a future post.

Birding & Trekking in Torres del Paine, Chile

March 18, 2025March 19, 2025brighamstephen 4 Comments

I got great advice when planning our trip to Patagonia. Instead of racing down all the way to Tierra del Fuego and Cape Horn, stop off at Santiago, and then go further south to the Torres del Paine National Park. And if you really want a treat, stay in the park at the Explora Lodge.

This mountainous park is famous for its scenic glaciers, blue lakes, green forests, and the massive triple granite peaks of Paine Massif. There is eye candy in every direction; what do you photograph next? Add to all this the exquisite hospitality of the five star Explora Lodge, nestled like a grounded ship on the shore of Lago Pehoe between peaks and waterfalls. There are breath-taking views from every room.

Most of our fellow guests were trekkers, but we were there primarily for the birds. That was no problem as every guide knew the local birds, as well as all the flora and fauna, and also the geologic history of the park. Each evening you would plan with a guide your jaunt for the next day, whether it be a half, or whole day, or on horseback or on foot. We elected the flatter half day treks on foot.

After leaving the summer heat of Santiago, we now began to feel the cooler changeable weather of Patagonia. Ferdinand Magellan first named this large, poorly defined region of southern Chile and Argentina as Patagonia in 1520. How he came up with this moniker is an open debate best left for another day. The western Chilean part is dominated by and Andes, Pacific fiords, lakes and glaciers, whereas the eastern Argentinian region is a drier steppe-like plain.

Rufous-collared Sparrow, *Zonotrichia capensis*

Whenever I visit a new part of the globe, I go armed with a target list of birds, compiled from eBird’s records of recent sightings in the area. My list was some 50 or 60 birds long, but three were especially desired. They were the Condor which was already ticked near Santiago, any species of Penguin that crossed our path, and the Magellanic Woodpecker.

Valentina was our guide for the half day, eight kilometer trek along a scenic river, ending at a waterfall. She noticed my large telephoto lens and correctly assumed I wanted to see birds, and proceeded to point them out as I stumbled down the narrow paths. She first heard, and later found the beautiful male Magellanic Woodpecker in a dense thicket, and a juvenile not far away. The other trekkers patiently waited while I took dozens of shots in the dim light, between the branches. I think they understood the excitement of a birder seeing such a prize.

Magellanic Woodpecker, *Campephilus magellanicus*

One day I hung around the lodge while Suzanne trekked elsewhere in the park. I found two Chilean Swallows nesting on a dock, as well as an unknown Grebe-like bird dabbling near the shore. After some discussion with the locals and visits to the Merlin photo ID site and guidebooks we decided it was a juvenile White-tufted Grebe.

After a long day of hiking the lodge offers a sauna, hot tub, massage, or drink at the bar. Then you are treated to a gourmet dinner with Chilean wines, all presented in a spacious dining room with views all around. It was a time to meet fellow travelers from all over the world including England, India, Israel, and the U.S. Our only difficulty was leaving it all after four short days.

But there are always new adventures just down the road. Even the five hour trip from the lodge to Punta Arenas was fascinating as we passed from mountainous Patagonia into the steppes. Birding by car I saw my first Upland Goose with hundreds more to come later. Our driver was kind enough to pull over for a perching Buzzard-Eagle, and later for a feeding Rhea and Guanacos right along the road. Those flightless Ostrich-like Rheas are an interesting bird.

Did Darwin’s Rheas evolve from flightless dinosaurs, or did they evolve from flying dinosaurs or birds and later “give up” on flight as a means of locomotion? Even though flightless, they are very fast a foot. The species has perfected a communal lifestyle with both males and females seeking multiple sexual partners every season. The males build the nests, incubate the eggs, and feed the chicks, while the female satisfies her urges elsewhere. The aggrieved male often finds a subservient male to take over his duties so he can join in the fun. The Rhea are native to Patagonia, but small flocks have turned up in Europe, probably the offspring of escaped pets.

The Black-chested Buzzard-Eagle is neither a buzzard nor an eagle, but rather a short-tailed hawk, closely related to other Buteo hawks. It’s fairly widespread in South America, but a new bird for me, nicely posed atop the pole for my upward shot.

Black-chested Buzzard-Eagle, *Geranoaetus melanoleucus*

I must take a moment to give a hearty shout-out to Swoop, the company in the UK that specializes in Patagonian vacations and arranged our entire South American excursion from Miami to Cape Horn and back. They set up every hotel and airport transfer which were flawlessly executed, recommended and arranged every hotel and air reservation, found cultural and bird guides in Santiago and Ushuaia, and booked our next leg of the trip through the Beagle Channel on the small ship, Ventus Australis. Our Swoop agents, Danny and Carys were simply superb. https://www.swoop-patagonia.com/

The Andean Condor & Friends

March 8, 2025brighamstephen 10 Comments

This February there were new worlds for us to explore in our southern hemisphere. Santiago, Chile and the surrounding mountains was our first stop on this adventure. The large, teeming city, abbreviated by locals as STGO, is nestled in a large valley between the coastal range to the west and the towering Andes to the east. Both are capped with snow and glaciers, even in the summer. This is arid country, reminiscent of Arizona and New Mexico.

When we planned this layover in STGO I decided to hire a local bird guide. The question was whether to be guided to the local urban parks, or head to the mountains with the hope of seeing an Andean Condor and other mountain-loving birds. The answer was a no brainer. I could poke around the local parks myself, but Suzanne and I sought the higher elevations.

But first we took an unguided jaunt in the park near our hotel, along an almost dry riverbed fed by melting glaciers, miles away. I should have recognized the racquet of the birds. Of course, these were Monk Parakeets that have colonized yet another urban garden. On a distant lawn there was a bird having all the GISS (general impression, size & shape) of the American Robin, but without the ruddy breast. It was the Austral Thrush, in the same Turdus genus of our Robin. Add to those the Earred Dove and Chilean Mockingbird and we had a good start at seeing new birds from a new land.

I’ve always had great luck with international guides and this time was no exception. Rodrigo Reyes and his driver Carlos picked us up at the crack of dawn and we proceeded upwards on uncountable switchbacks, the scenery become better with every turn. I asked Rodrigo to be kind on our 70+ year-old legs and lungs more use to the 7 foot elevations of Florida and Maryland than to these Andes. He obliged with short walks in the high plateaus which did reveal many new species.

Cordilleran Canastero, *Canastero chico*

There were no trees here at 8 to 10,000 feet, just some low shrubs, parched grasses, and scattered boulders giving some protection for the songbirds. Rodrigo pointed out a surprising number of these scurrying for cover as we left the car for short excursions. They included several species of Sierra-Finches, Canasteros, and Ground-Tyrants, as well as a Rufous-banded Miner and a Black-faced Ibis, among others. We saw 25 species that day, almost all new for us.

Black-winged Ground Dove, *Metriopelia melanoptera*

At one point we spotted a Variable Hawk on a power pole as we sped by. Carlos was kind enough to find a slightly wider spot in the road, without driving off the cliff, allowing me to sneak up on it on foot for a closer shot. It was obviously waiting for one of those songbirds to let down its guard for a moment, giving him a tasty morsel.

But our main destination was the top of the mountain to see Condors. At the top there was a deserted base camp for a ski resort, with empty hotels and parking lot since it was summer in Chile. We birders and some amazing cyclists who had pedaled all the way to the summit, were the only humans in sight. But more importantly, there were numerous perching and soaring Condors enjoying the relative solitude of the location.

This was perfect for me. Lugging the heavy camera and lens the thousands of miles was worthwhile. I took countless flight shots, some even from above the birds as they soared in the mountain updrafts. The Andean Condor is a New World vulture only found along the Pacific coast of South America. Its wing span can be as large as 10 1/2 feet, making it one of the largest flying birds in the world. Despite this, it has only a small sternum for the attachment of flight muscles. Some say this is because it is primarily a soaring bird, rarely flapping its wings except for take-offs and landings.

The bird is a scavenger, feeding on the dead carcasses of large animals such as deer and cows. It nests on secluded, high rocky ledges, and is one of the most long-lived of all birds. Some reach my ripe age of 70+ years. The Andean Condor is revered by the South Americans and is the national bird of Chile, Argentina, Bolivia, Columbia, Ecuador, and Peru. It has been depicted in Andean art dating back to 2500 BC. Charles Darwin contemplated the flight of these giants, just as Suzanne and I did, almost 100 years later, thanks to the guiding of Rodrigo and the driving of Carlos. Our next stop was the Torres del Paine National Park, 1200 miles further south.

Musical Birding in 2025

January 23, 2025brighamstephen 10 Comments

I can’t help trying to combine two enjoyable avocations that have consumed much of my retirement. They are birding and music. Speaking of which, it was music to my ears when Mel called to announce a new birding destination for us in Southwest Florida. Heading inland on Bonita Beach Road, just at the edge of the eastward-creeping development, there is a dirt road leading to a large, preserved wetlands called Flint Pen Strand. We’ve added it to our repertoire of great birding sites in this region.

We arrived with just a hint of early dawn light. I was still humming Moon River when I our first bird, a Great Blue Heron made a solo flyover. There would be many repeats from this species. Sunrise followed, not over the Grand Canyon as beautifully composed by Grofe, but over our very flat swamp.

Our recognition of birdsong has been measurably improved by Merlin, the Cornell app that hears and identifies the birds, even before they are seen. Sometimes they are never seen, hence the dilemma of whether to report a “sighting”. I heard, but did not see, a Least Bittern in the reed section; actually a duet of bitterns crooning to each other. I reported them since Merlin confirmed the ID.

Black-crowned Night Heron, *Nycticorax nycticorax*

Andy found Nate King Fisher early on. We chased him for a while to get a better shot without much luck. Mel was sharp and found Gladys Night Heron and the Peeps in the high grass, while I photographed a choir of Blue-winged Teal flying over in perfect unison. The percussion section chimed in with the staccato beat of a Red-bellied Woodpecker, but a Barred Owl calling in the distance seemed only interested in who was doing the cooking.

It was a cloudy day. Raindrops Kept Falling on Our Heads, but “crying’s not for me, cause I’m never going to stop the rain by complaining, because I’m free. Nothing’s worrying me”. Indeed, the rain didn’t deter us from seeing 40 some species that day. The trio of the day was Rosie and the Spoonbills, dressed in their finest pink and putting on quite a show, but Sandy and the Cranes was an estimable act as well.

eBird, as you know, wants to know how many birds of each species you saw. There was a huge flock of Tree Swallows over the swamp. Andy was thinking 500, but I guessed it was more like 5000. We normally harmonious birders don’t always sing the same song. With so many it was very difficult to count and impossible to take an adequate photo. Plus, their flight was a scattered and disorganized symphony, as Gustav Mahler might compose.

The three of us recently heard the renowned Renee Fleming in concert in Naples. Her wonderful rendition of Caro Mio Ben brought tears to my eyes. What a voice! Even the Warbling Vireo or Northern Mockingbird cannot match that performance, but that won’t stop them from trying. Compare them to the herons who can only make an atonic croak from somewhere in the bass clef, much like many of us humans. It’s all about the structure of the larynx. Renee has it and the wading birds do not.

All in all, it was a suite day of birding, enjoying the music in a new outdoor concert hall with great birding colleagues. We may not be sharp, but we are natural musical birders. We left Flint Pen with no egrets. I’m sure we’ll return for an encore performance. It will be a great finale. Sorry.

The Hudsonian Godwit

September 7, 2024September 7, 2024brighamstephen 6 Comments

Hudsonian Godwit, *Limosa haemastica* (J.J. Audubon)

You have to have a good reason to visit the Blackwater NWR on the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Bay in the summer. Oh, the tidewater scenery is spectacular, but so are the bugs. I doused myself with bug spray with far too much vigor; the fumes were overwhelming in the closed car. The horseflies were the size of a Buick, as the saying goes, and attacked my slow-moving vehicle as if it were a horse. They are not very bright.

But my reason for the visit was a potential life bird. eBird had been reporting a Hudsonian Godwit in a specific pond for several days, feeding with the Yellowlegs and other shorebirds. I finally had a chance to break away from real life and drive forty miles for a look.

The Godwit is a long distance migrator that breeds on the remote shores of Hudson Bay in Canada and winters thousands of miles away in southern South America. Many make the entire trip without stopping, but this bird, luckily for me, decided to layover for a few days and enjoy the marsh life at Blackwater.

Greater Yellowlegs, *Tringa melanoleuca*

When I drove into the preserve the absence of other cars and birders was striking. It was the bugs, I’m sure. I was forced to keep the windows rolled up tight. That gave me a good opportunity to study the underside anatomy of the horsefly as countless of the buggers landed on my windshield. I tried to get a photo of them but the telephoto lens was too long. There was, however, a good look at a Bald Eagle through the moon roof, and also views of Bluebirds, Great Blue Herons, Kingfishers, and a Downy Woodpecker, but photography through the glass was sub optimal.

Wildlife Drive eventually leaves the woods and proceeds onto a dike with open water to the left and brackish marsh ponds to the right. Here, the wind swept the bugs away and finally I could open the windows, and even get out and set up the scope.

There was another birder on the dike, Rich, from the other side of the Bay, and also seeking the same Godwit. He actually was living my dream, in the midst of a “Big Year”, hoping to see 500+ birds in the lower 48 states in 2024. According to the ABA there are 993 species of birds possible in these states. That number includes breeding birds, regular visitors, and accidentals.

We exchanged the usual birder pleasantries and shared opinions of the best birding sites appropriate for a Big Year. He had already checked out many of them and had some pelagic trips still on his docket. I’m still hoping for a Big Day in southern Florida next winter, but someday may attempt a scaled down version of the yearlong conquest.

But neither of us had seen the Godwit yet. Rich left and set up his scope further down the dike when I noticed him waving to me in a manner clearly indicating success. Sure enough, there was the bird in the same pond, just as advertised. It always amazes me that this seems to occur more times than not when chasing a lifer. Multiple shots later we moved on, the Big Year one bird closer to his goal, and one more lifer tick for me.

My Godwit picture suffers due to distance, but luckily Audubon got off a good “shot” and published his picture above in his famous “Birds of America”. I figured that the name “Godwit” must refer to some famous birder, but actually the name comes from Old English, meaning good creature.

Back home I shared my success with my spouse, but she was more interested in keeping me out of the house due to the bug spray stench. In closing I’ll share one more astro-photo I recently took. It has some relevance to a birding blog and this story about Blackwater, one of the leading Bald Eagle haunts on the East Coast.

This is the Eagle Nebula in the constellation Serpens, first seen by telescope in 1745 and made famous recently by an exquisite photo from the Hubble Telescope. This emission nebula is in our galaxy, but still 5700 light years away. The photons from it that hit my lens last week left the nebula when civilizations on Earth were just developing in the Mesopotamia / Fertile Crescent region of the Middle East. My photo is 2 1/2 hours of exposure. Hope you can make out the outline of the Eagle. There is no Godwit Nebula yet, but one never knows what the further reaches of our universe might reveal.

Not-a-Bird

July 26, 2024brighamstephen 2 Comments

Ruby-throated Hummingbird, *Archilochus colubris*

A bird-shaped leaf, a rock, a pine cone; we’ve all been temporarily fooled and embarrassed by our premature identification of a bird. But when the object flies, hovers with rapidly beating wings, and has a long proboscis sucking nectar from a blossom, but is not a hummingbird, the mistaken identity is forgivable. The photo below is by Charles Sharp (www.sharpphotography.co.uk) and is a great shot of one of these colorful not-a-birds.

Hummingbird hawk moth, *Macroglossum stellatarum*

We were enjoying a hot, pool-side afternoon with a wonderful family from Denmark, watching a Ruby-throated Hummingbird come and go for nourishment at the feeder. I started expounding about these New World birds thinking they were likely new to my European friends. Instead, Ben told me that Italy was loaded with them throughout the gardens of Tuscany. He had seen them himself. Taken aback, I wondered if they might have been vagrants. No, there were too many for that. Perhaps the Trochilidae family of birds had moved to Tuscany as we all have dreamed of doing.

White-necked Jacobin, *Florisuga mellivora*

A Google search restored the order of the universe once again. The Tuscan look-alike was a sphinx or hawk moth, a member of the Sphingidae family of moths and the Insecta class of animals. Ben, take heart; these creatures have been confusing people for years. This large family of moths contains 1450 species scattered world-wide, but are most common in the tropics. Their amazing hovering capability has evolved in only four groups of animals: hummingbirds, some bats, hoverflies, and the moths.

These four animal families, widely separated on the evolutionary tree, have “solved” the problem of hovering flight independently with some slight variations. The moths are scaly and featherless and have a prominent antenna. This organ acts as a gyroscope guiding the moth’s aerial maneuvers. I think the hummers depend on their cerebellum for this.

Hovering flight, and animal flight in any form, are great examples of convergent evolution. It’s the development of a similar anatomical feature or behavior within widely separated species which have no common ancestor. Hummingbirds and Hawk Moths have each “conquered” hovering flight and nectar extraction from a different starting point, but have met at the same flower. Quite remarkable.

I’ve had a couple other hummingbird encounters this summer. It’s been very hot and dry, with no measurable rain for two months. I left the garage door open one night for circulation and found a dead hummingbird there the next morning, hanging upside down with a death grip on a narrow shelf. I didn’t have tools small enough to perform an autopsy, but suspect its demise was heat or thirst related. It illustrated once again that the passerines’ feet grip the perch when the muscles are relaxed, and must be flexed to release the grip and fly away. This is great for the sleeping bird, and even persists in death.

Green-crowned Brilliant, *Heliodoxa jacula*

I was watering newly planted shrubs last week, trying to keep them alive in the drought when a hummingbird flew up and hovered close to my face. If I could read bird lips I suspect it was asking permission to drink and cool off in my spray. I agreed, and it hovered in the spray for minutes, leaving and returning several times. It was a first for me and probably for the bird as well. I’ve often said that one can bird while doing just about anything. Add watering to that list.

Rough Start

June 25, 2024brighamstephen 8 Comments

We were just minding our own business, reading in the Adirondack chairs under the welcome shade of the Crape Mrytles. It was almost time for sunset and relief from the blistering heat. The wind was strong and from the south and may have contributed to the following saga. A small downy bird suddenly plopped upon the arm of my very chair, looked up at me and must have said, “oh shit.” I don’t know if it was pushed or blown from its nest, but clearly it was not ready for flight. After a startled gasp from Suzanne, I did what any birder would do; try to determine the species of the observed bird. When I failed at that, I carefully picked it up and looked for a flat branch in its tree of origin; no nest was visible. We didn’t hold much hope for its survival.

When we returned to Maryland from Florida this spring we noticed a subtle change in our patch. Eastern Kingbirds seemed more abundant and clearly had displaced the Northern Mockingbirds as the yard’s enforcers. They spend a good part of their day chasing away the much larger crows, grackles, and even the Osprey, but seem to tolerate the doves, finches, and hummingbirds. Tyrannus tyrannus is an apt name for this aggressive bird. When really riled you may see a kingly patch of feathers on its crown.

Eastern Kingbirds are long distant migrators from the tropics of South America, settling into our patch even before we snowbirds have arrived. They have a grating high-pitched squeaky voice and given the exciting cry from two adults that evening, we surmised the urchin bird belonged to them. The young bird didn’t stay on its branch long before a gust of wind blew it down into the crotch of the tree, about a foot above the ground. I doubted it would survive the night, given the resident red fox, black snake, and raccoon. Indeed, the next morning it was just a motionless bundle of feathers; oh well, we tried.

But wait! I went out again to confirm the demise, but the bird was gone. The parent kingbirds acted like avian geiger counters, the squeaks crescendoing as I searched for their chick. They led me to a nearby bush of flowering Nepeta where I saw the living, but dazed-looking fledgling. I grabbed a photo just before it feebly fluttered upward and was carried by a strong gust downwind to the roof of my fortuitously placed feeder. There, it desperately hung on for several hours.

Suzanne and I spent the rest of the day watching these parents protecting and feeding their offspring, who clearly had ventured from home far too early. One parent would perch nearby as a protector, chasing away prying birds, while the other went searching for bugs. They seemed to alternate these chores as tireless parents, hovering and worrying. It brings back memories, doesn’t it? As we watched, another wind blew the frail chick off balance, landing it on the nearby wire of our party lights. That turned out to be a less precarious perch.

The muscles controlling a bird’s feet and claws contract and clench a perch while in a relaxed state. The bird must actively flex the muscles to release the grip. This served our young bird well for the rest of the day. We wondered about the nest. Did the bird have siblings? These birds usually lay 3-4 eggs, but our parents seemed totally occupied with this single hatchling. Perhaps it was the only survivor of the brood and the parents wanted to pass on at least one offspring to the next generation.

The little bird seemed to be getting stronger. I observed it preening, slowly removing the down and smoothing out the more adult flight feathers. It also got more rambunctious, stumbling along the high wire with no net, turning around and even fluttering its wings. By noon, the parents seemed to stop bringing bugs to the bird. Were they finally worn out, or was this a strategy to entice the bird to try its wings? My anthropomorphic ears heard the mother, perched on a nearby wire, pleading for it to fly to her. She was ignored.

Hot wind, no more food or water, and another approaching sunset. How long could this last? Twenty-four hours had passed since we met face to face on the Adirondack chair. The parents must have been on break while we watched from the sunroom, when suddenly the bird cast itself upward and awkwardly fluttered 50 feet to the stone wall. It stayed there, exposed, too briefly for me to grab my camera before it made another short flight into a dense magnolia tree. There we saw its wings beating proudly in the lee of the tree when its parents returned and found their chick. Forgive my anthropomorphism again. What a joyful celebration they must have had after a most difficult and rough start.

“To Kill a Mockingbird”

April 11, 2024brighamstephen 8 Comments

Northern Mockingbird, *Mimus polyglottos*

I have tickets to see this famous play tomorrow. As a birder and long time admirer of this melodious bird I have very mixed feelings about the title, but will watch the show with an open mind. I suspect the title is a metaphor for the loss of innocence, but why pick on this bird? Our language is replete with bird idioms, some of which are easy to understand while others leave one dumbstruck.

Florida Scrub Jay, *Aphelocoma coerulescens*

Take for instance, “naked as a jay bird”. It is true that jays are naked, but aren’t all birds? You could say naked as a sparrow or pelican, but I suspect you would just receive blank stares. The nude jay bird expression has somehow become ingrained in our lingo and is understood by all.

Some of these idioms are derogatory toward birds and were not likely initiated by a true birder. Take for example “ugly duckling” or “bird brain”. In my experience a duckling can appear somewhat bland but I have yet to see one I considered to be ugly. Jennifer Ackerman, in her recent great book, “The Genius of Birds” should once and for all put the use of “bird brain” to rest, perhaps even turning it into a complimentary expression. Incidentally, she put a picture of a naked Scrub Jay on her cover.

“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”. Have you ever held a bird? I have twice, one time at a banding station where we netted and banded a tiny hummingbird. Feeling its racing heart, even faster than my atrial fibrillation, was a thrill. The other time was when I rescued a Carolina Wren from my garage after it knocked itself senseless against the window once too often. I would say that a bird in the hand is worth at least six or eight birds in the bush.

Carolina Wren, *Thryothorus ludovicianus*

“Birds of a feather flock together”. Well, yes and no. One of a birders’ cherished moments is seeing a mixed, or should I say diverse, feeding flock of small passerines pass through the woods. You don’t know where to aim your binoculars or camera first, and by the time you figure that out they have moved on. But the brief feeding frenzy of warblers, tits, and wrens makes your day. I suspect that when the feeding is over they return to own kind.

Back in the 1950s, at least in my elementary school, being “goosed” or “goosing” another unsuspecting kid was great sport. I think this has fallen out of favor. Likely the expression stems from the domestic geese that occasionally peck at you in the barnyard. I can’t imagine a Canada Goose getting close enough to pull that off.

“A little bird told me”. I think my mother used that expression to stop the incessant why’s from an inquisitive young boy, or perhaps to protect the identity of the bearer of some juicy gossip. Blaming it on a bird might have been convenient, but was a real put down for the innocent bird.

So you get the idea, and I’m sure you can think of countless more. It makes for a good topic for a blog post when you don’t have something more significant to pass on. I have a couple more weeks down here in Florida before joining the other “snow birds” in the northward migration. Another bird idiom–you just can’t avoid them.

The Best Birding Sites in SW Florida

February 8, 2024brighamstephen 15 Comments

After the usual cordial greetings on the trail, and after you eye the binoculars, camera, and lens of the encountered birder, several queries quickly work their way into the conversation. They are often equipment oriented, but frequently are also about ones favorite sites to see and photograph birds. Since there are many snowbirds and first-time visitors to Florida I thought I would list for them my favorite sites which we have visited many times over the last 20 years.

In an earlier post I have trumpeted the advantages of having a personal, local patch right outside your backdoor, and one that becomes familiar over years of frequent observation. This post, however, is about public sites in Southwest Florida.

I’m putting them in the order of my preference, but none are bad sites. In fact any day of birding at any location is enjoyable in my book. One’s choice of birding destination for the day often depends on target birds or rarities reported on eBird. The weather may factor in since some locations involve hiking, while others allow birding by auto. Here they are with a short note about each.

Dinner Island Ranch
Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary
Eagle Lake Community Park
Bird Rookery Swamp
Turner River Road
Ding Darling NWR on Sanibel Island
Clam Pass
Ten Thousand Islands Marsh Trail
Harnes Marsh
Tigertail Beach on Marco Island

I got a little push back from one of my birding companions about the first choice, since it is a 60 mile drive from Naples, way out in the old Florida hinterlands. It is so different from the other more frequented sites, but that is exactly why I love going there. This must be what our state looked like 100 years ago. The huge ranch has unfettered public access and numerous gravel roads traversing miles of flat grasslands, peppered with ponds and pine hummocks. There are grazing cattle with riding egrets, old corrals, and rarely another birder in sight. It’s my best chance to tick meadowlarks, kestrels, caracara, or an occasional Snail Kite. Pack a lunch and water. My life list there measures 62 species.

Corkscrew is famous, and for good reason. Instead of the big sky and prairie of Dinner Island you’ll find a boardwalk through the cypress swamp, again a vestige of prior times. But this is a more civilized site with bookstore and gift shop, bathroom facilities, etc. You’ll share the boardwalk with many, but that is okay and a reflection of its beauty. Our recent trip was highlighted with good looks at 5 warblers, both buntings, 2 vireos and of course, several gigantic alligators.

Eagle Lake is just a short hop down Route 41, southeast of Naples. When you pull in you will wonder why such a site made my list, but be patient. Just past the parking lot, tennis courts, ball fields, and public restrooms you’ll find asphalt trails around several large collection ponds. The birds seem to love this suburban setting. Amongst the bikers and joggers we’ve seen several vagrants and rarities there. Whenever I have a new guest to Florida who wants to see birds, I take them to Eagle Lake. My life list there stands at 87 species, the greatest of all these sites.

Before you come to Corkscrew on Immokalee Road you’ll see an unassuming turnoff on the left called Shady Hollow Blvd. At the end of this road is the parking lot to the Bird Rookery Swamp, but slow down. There’s a lot to see on the approach road as it becomes a gravel drive and leaves the new houses behind. We often get great, close-up views or photos of 15+ species in the roadside ditch before we even get out of the car. This is a free site, less visited than the nearby Corkscrew, but similar in flora and fauna. You will first traverse a gravel path, then a boardwalk, and lastly a dirt trail with swamp on either side. A gator often lies across the trail–remember, they can move quickly if hungry. It’s a great spot for a Purple Gallinule and all the Florida waders.

Turner River Road (route 839) as the name suggests, is not a simple site, but instead a long road heading north through the unpopulated Big Cypress National Preserve. You’ll find it about 25 miles east of Naples on route 41. If you like to bird-by-auto and cover some miles this one’s for you. It makes sense on a day of iffy weather or when your hips are acting up. You can stop and get out for short walks and better photos along the way. There will be no traffic.

Ding Darling on Sanibel Island is a nationally known hotspot. We were just there this week, our first trip since the devastating hurricane. Repairs and rebuilding are underway, but the sanctuary is open and its waders and shorebirds still abound. Bring a scope. It’s my best site for the prancing Reddish Egret and where I finally found a Mangrove Cuckoo.

Beach birding a Clam Pass is a treat. The pass is the inlet and outlet for the tidal mangrove swamp of North Naples. The fish must love the mixing of fresh and salt water and they, in turn attract the beach birds. I’ll often pull a chair among the lounging Black Skimmers and photograph the diving pelicans and terns, hoping for a shot just when the hit the water. Access from the south side of the pass is private, but the north side is a public, with just as good of view. You get to it from the end of Seagate Drive.

If you want to admire the endless vista of unspoiled Florida swamp, check out the tower at Ten Thousand Islands Park, again off route 41 east of Naples. The birds are generally at a distance, but you’re there for the sheer beauty of this unique habitat. Marjory Stoneman Douglas referred to it as the “River of Grass” in her classic book from 1947.

Southwest Florida is all about water and water management. Canals, holding ponds, roadside ditches, and dikes are everywhere trying to control nature and make this area inhabitable. The Harnes Marsh, just east of Fort Myers is such a site, and a very bird friendly location. It’s great for a close up shot of Sandhill Cranes, Swamphens, and perhaps a flyover of a Snail Kite, Limpkin, or Northern Harrier if you’re lucky.

Lastly there is Tigertail Beach on Marco Island. As you drive through Marco look out for the stakes marking the location of the Burrowing Owls nesting on the vacant lots. It’s a great chance for a close up shot of the small photogenic birds. At the beach you will note several habitats. Trees around the parking lot host many passerines. On the first beach at the tidal estuary you’ll often see various peeps and waders. If you’re brave, roll up your pants and carry your expensive camera across the shallow tidal pool to the dunes where you’ll find the real ocean beach and its gulls, terns, and more shorebirds.

This post could go on forever since we are blessed with a birdy region, but I’ll spare you. Happy birding for now and let me know if I’ve omitted your favorite site.

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