Celebrating

I'm celebrating today--another year older. I'm lucky I get to celebrate my birthday in October. I love this time of year. Every day there's a new change to notice, something fascinating to enjoy just by stepping outside your door. And I'm celebrating birds and migration and I'm celebrating the residents that hang out year round and brighten our world.
Like the Carolina chickadee.

Yesterday I heard a flicker, the shouldn't-be elusive ground feeding woodpecker that I hear daily but has eluded my camera and most of the time even a look all summer. He was close, by the sound of his call. So close, that when I opened the door, I had a glimpse of him flying from the edge of my patio to a far away tree.

I laughed and just sat down on the ground, enjoying the wonderful autumn air.

It only took a minute for me to realize I was surrounded by chickadees, busy little chickadees zipping in and out above my head, others flittering about at eye level, hanging like gymnists from the cones of the hemlock.

You see why I'm celebrating?

This post is linked to Bird Photography Weekly #7 at Bird Freak.com celebrating conservation of our world's birds.

Whooping Crane Family--Part I

It was this series of sandhill crane notecard images that prompted me to ask the question, "Is there any place on earth I could view and photograph a whooping crane caring for its chick?"I was speaking to George Archibald, co-founder of the International Crane Foundation (ICF), during a quiet moment at a wildlife exhibit in the spring of 2004. So many times, while expressing delight over this card collection, now sold out, customers asked me, "do you have any whooping crane images like these?"
I expected George's answer to be one of amusement. The original wild population of endangered migrating whooping cranes, numbering approximately 307 today, nests in Wood Buffalo in the Northwest Territory of Canada. Their nesting sites are inaccessible except to authorized biologists who monitor their numbers. Because this population was reduced to only 15 birds in the early 40's, genetic diversity is of up-most importance to the survival of the species. Captive-reared birds are carefully monitored for genetic value to the wild population and decisions about each off-spring are made by an international recovery team.
To my surprise, he responded by saying there was a good possibility that the whooping crane pair at the Amoco Whooping Crane Exhibit at ICF might be allowed to raise their own chick within full view of the public. And so it was that this door of opportunity opened.It was in June of the next year, 2005, that I received the call, "we're putting a pipping egg in the nest tonight and it should be hatched by morning." With that, I dropped everything and began the twelve hour drive from Knoxville, TN to Baraboo, WI, arriving around eleven a.m. June 19.

The sleeping chick had hatched in the pre-dawn hours. When it awoke and raised it's head, two very attentive parents greeted it with food.The image above is among my favorite photos because it captures the parents' earnest attentiveness. As the chick stirred, they moved in unison, almost as one, carefully offering the chick the tiniest of insects held in their enormous bills.The chick toppled over on his face, so new was he to life that when he reached for the morsels he lost his balance. The parents retracted their bills, waited for him to erect himself, then ever so slowly, moved their bills toward him again to offer the food.

Keep in mind that an adult whooping crane is five ft tall and its newly hatched chick measures only about four inches, not even the size of the adult's head and bill combined...
and you get a glimpse of how truely awe inspiring it was to witness the patience and gentleness demonstrated by these two parents. Next: A whooping crane chick's day.

Intimacy with Nature

My approach to nature-- a bird, an animal, a flower, a tree--has always been intimacy, to experience the nature around me as deeply as possible. As a result of that inclination, I fall in love a lot. And I laugh a lot. That's what nature brings into my life. That's what the whooping crane and ultralight migration and the tiny, fast winged creature, the hummingbird, give to me. The joy that comes with intimacy.

I decided to share this photo today as I get ready to head for the office and I will share the rest of the story soon.
This was one of the most peaceful and intimate moments I've shared with a whooping crane. Many times I was alone with this family for hours on end, with no sound but the deep gutteral brood purr of the parents and the tiny peeping of the chick. The world hushed. Time stood still. And I couldn't have been more mezmerized by what I was seeing.
More about this family soon.

The Whooping Crane’s Imposing Will

“When you sit crouched in a blind and watch an adult Whooper stride close by you, his head high and proud, his bearing arrogant and imposing, you feel the presence of a strength and of a stubborn will to survive that is one of the vital intangibles of this entire situation.” These are the words of biologist, Robert Allen, in his Audubon monograph, The Whooping Crane, September 30, 1950, when this species population numbered less than 20. While working on a children’s book project about whooping cranes, I have turned to this monograph from time to time for information. As I did so recently, I stumbled across this account:

On May 21, 1876, George B. Sennett, the inveterate collector from Erie, Pennsylvania, was hunting at Elbow Lake, Grant County Minnesota. On the previous day his companion had killed two Whooping cranes nearby and Sennett was determined to secure a specimen. He located a pair at their nest, which was built on top of a muskrat house in a burnt slough, with only short grass clumps for cover. As he approached to a point close to the nest the birds left, and Sennett concealed himself as best he could, piling grass over himself as he lay prone behind a clump.

“Fully half an hour went by and I began to cramp and feel uneasy and was on the point of changing my position at the risk of losing my covering by the wind, when one noble fellow flew over the slough and lit on the opposite side from me about two shots off. Cautiously he began to survey the situation and shortly his mate came swooping down to his side. They kept their eyes well on my bunch of grass and remained at a safe distance, yet I could see they knew their eggs were safe. Some fifteen minutes of strutting back and forth when she boldly walked out into the water, some eight or ten inches deep, directly toward me, mounted the rat house and sat down on her two eggs, some twenty-five yards from me in plain sight. I could see her wink her eyes watching me and her mate constantly. Her eyes gleamed like fire. How anxious and how handsome, was ever a sight so grand….The male stood on the ridge watching her closely for a few minutes. When feeling all was safe he calmly commenced to plume himself in grand style and shortly walked off away from me the proudest of birds….I slowly arose, turned and gave her one barrel as she was rising from the nest and the next before she had gone six feet and dropped her in the water….” (Deane, 1923).

Your reaction, I'm sure, was much the same as mine. While the introduction explains that we're reading a hunting account, the conclusion is none-the-less stunning.

Beyond reflexive recoil there is the following harsh reality: with one fallen female, a breeding pair is destroyed and a season of off-spring lost. It will take six years to replace this nesting female if all goes well-- one year to reach the next breeding season, five more for a female chick to reach breeding maturity. Unforeseen circumstances could delay breeding success even further.

By the early 1940's the entire population of whooping cranes was nearly lost, not just from hunting and collecting, but largely due to the draining of wetlands and the encroachment of settlement.

The above account took place 132 years ago. When you consider the causes of this bird's decline and our progress toward correcting them, do you sometimes wonder what will be said of us in as many years?

Ruby-throated Hummingbirds--III

It was a different kind of morning. The air was cooler, breezier, overcast.
I took my cup of coffee and my camera outside, knowing it was the last day I would get to observe hummingbirds before leaving for Wisconsin. I first spotted The King, our resident male ruby-throated hummingbird, high on his perch, fluffed up and pensive. A short time later, after warning off a visitor, he dropped down to the holly as he is prone to do when it’s windy. He sat there quietly plumped up for a long while in the dim morning light.
A Carolina wren, who also likes this perch, displaced him for a short time, but since this busy songster can never be still, he was soon gone and The King returned. When I next observed, an hour or so later, the stillness was palpable. I can’t explain how I knew, but I knew. He was gone. I looked for him at his perches, watched for any movement among the limbs, waited for the faintest sound of chirping from above. Nothing. Then the parade of visitors came, among them the young and inexperienced, the late fledglings.
If I needed any confirmation, I had it. They approached the feeder chirping, awkwardly stabbing for a drink, lingering for many tries, more than I had observed before. No King pounced on them or chased them away.
Were it not for the heartening comedy put on by this new generation, I might have slumped into dispair. They reminded me of an infant first discovering his hands, eager to use them, but not quite skilled enough to know how. Much the same, they approached the feeder from every angle, awkwardly missing, backing up, trying again. Endearing, especially knowing all they must master before they, too, begin their southward journey.
Fall migration. It is that wonderful, stirring time of year. The King has departed. I so wish him a safe and speedy journey. I wish this for them all.

Ruby-throated Hummingbirds--II

The King is camera shy sometimes. I sit in the same place every time I visit and try to move predictably.
Sometimes he could care less about my presence. Other times, he chirps and zips to the other side of the feeder, or even switches to a different feeder out of range. Today I got some lucky shots. Don't you just love those irridescent feathers?And the tuffs of white poking out from beneath his belly?
I set out to observe today and confirm he was still around. I'm curious about when he will begin migration. I'm also enjoying seeing him sleek, preened and fattening up for his journey.

I suspect we may depart near the same time. I will miss him when he's gone.
For all my posts on the "King" click here.

Cades Cove Black Bear

The prospect of bear and deer feasting on summer’s bounty lured me to Cades Cove in the Smokies for a brief visit. Brief is the operative word, here. I only have two photos to show for it. Intent on searching for bears, I passed other beauties, like the clumps of black-eyed Susans dotting the forest edges and the delicate white-tailed does that seemed to be everywhere. This one bear photo brings back all the detail—the yellow-green light shining through the canopy, the soft carpet of ferns, pine needles and moss among the boulders, the disarray of fallen tree trunks, the thick, black fur of this young female as she wove her way through it all.

I’m already sketching this image in my head, so rich was the moment of crossing the creek and watching her at a safe distance. I passed a rock she had moved, the clean dirt pattern of its shape shadowing beneath its new position. She moved along nonchalantly, until tiring of observation, she gracefully leaped over a cluster of boulders and loped out of sight.

That brings a laugh to my heart, always. I love seeing bears, but I love their freedom and privacy, too. I enjoy that moment of disappearance and imagine a life in a pristine world, undisturbed.
Above, an eight-point white-tailed buck who studied me for an instant before returning to foraging on over-head leaves.

White Tailed Doe

It was with innocent intent that I set out to snap a distant photo of two spotted fawns, their delicate faces and alert ears just visible over the grasses in the spacious yard.

But what I encountered was new to me and had me apologetically backtracking to safety.

A deer’s retina is composed almost entirely of rods, enabling them to see well in the dark, but inhibiting their ability to recognize still objects. This doe was the look-out in what turned out to be a small band of three does and two fawns.

When I stopped to snap her picture before moving a little further to capture the fawns, she turned to face me and began a stiff-legged, slow-stepping approach. I wasn’t sure what this meant and mistakenly thought, being still was the way to avoid disturbing her. But this is not entirely the case. As I stood still, snapping her photo, she continued her stiff-legged steps toward me. Then came a loud “blow”. This I had never encountered before. Was she going to charge? Certainly, she was tense. By the second blow, seconds later, I began my retreat to a safer distance. She snorted one more time and continued to watch me in stillness.

According to Leonard Rue, author of The Deer of North America, both the blow and the stiff-legged approach are designed to encourage an intruder to move so she can get a better look at the threat. Deer don’t flee blindly. They investigate so that they know which way to run for safety. While, in hindsight, I think this deer was doing just that, investigating and letting her band know there was an intruder near, I did ask a nature photographer friend if he had ever been charged by a doe. The answer was “yes.”

It’s always a good idea to follow one’s intuition.

Young Peregrine Now Wanders

With the opening of his hacking box door at dawn, Rocky, a young 7-week old, male peregrine falcon, was released yesterday.Within 30 minutes, he accomplished his first flight and was out of sight of viewers who waited a short distance away. The day prior to his release, he was fitted with leg bands which will aid in future identification and with a tail-mounted radio transmitter for tracking.
A fledged peregrine falcon remains with his parents for as long as two months, while he learns to hunt. High speed flyers, peregrines primarily feed on birds that they catch in flight or from a perch. But both the strategy and precision of this hunt must be learned.
The radio transmitter allows Dale and John Stokes to monitor Rocky’s progress for the next few weeks so they can assist if something goes wrong. Dale and John obtained Rocky from a falconer in Minnesota for a fee of $600 in order to release him in a process called hacking. The hacking box (see previous post) serves as an artificial nest and fledging home. Raptors are known to imprint on their fledging area and will generally return to that area when it is time to nest and raise their own young. Peregrines nest on high bluffs and it is hoped that after adolescent wandering for the next two years, Rocky will return to nest in the Lookout Mountain area.
It was falconers like Dale and John Stokes who alerted the world to the effects of DDT on our raptors and subsequently saved many species from extinction. Peregrine falcon populations plummeted from 1950 to 1970 due to DDT poisoning, but the hacking re-introductions that began in 1970 have restored species numbers. Peregrines were removed from the national endangered list in 1999 but remain on the state endangered list in Georgia and TN.

More than falconers, Dale and John Stokes have a combined 49 years of experience with birds and have devoted their lives to educating the public about raptors. They conduct live birds of prey shows at Rock City, near Chattanooga and visit regional schools, parks and festivals to provide programs.

Links to peregrine information: Dale and John's S.O.A.R. blog site with update's on Rocky's progress. Chattanooga Times article on release. Cornell's interesting facts on the peregrine falcon.

Enriching our World

John and Dale Stokes of S.O.A.R. are enriching our world. This is Rocky, a young male peregrine falcon, released this morning on the bluffs of Rock City, near Chattanooga, TN. The door to his hacking box, high on Lookout Mountain, was covered with a sheet and opened before dawn today. The sheet, carefully drawn open as daylight emerged, allows a gentle release so that the falcon can consider his freedom and his first attempts to fly. John and Dale then quietly await his fledging and monitor with telemetry.
Here Dale and John remove Rocky from his hacking box to secure leg bands and telemetry the day before release. More about Rocky and his stewards next post.

Western Kingbird

This lively character popped out on a limb and visited with me as I was walking along a trail at the Las Vegas NWR in New Mexico.

If you listen to Cornell’s recording of this bird, you will get a tiny glimpse into its personality. The mate was nearby and the two carried on a lively exchange as I photographed. I assume this is the male, given that he was bolder and more vocal, but both sexes look alike in this species. At home in prairies and open areas, I was first introduced to the western kingbird while standing under an eagle’s nest near Gillette, Wyoming in 2000. A pair of western kingbirds had built their nest among the sturdy, arm-size limbs that formed the platform for the seven-foot structure that was home to a family of golden eagles.
Given that golden eagles prey on birds occasionally, especially the inexperienced or injured, this peaceful co-habitation seemed unlikely, but the area biologist said it is a fairly common occurrence.

Linked to Bird Photography Weekly #23 at Birdfreak.com in an effort to raise awareness of bird conservation.

Tugged Heart Strings

At the surface, its fun to see these little jewels visit the feeder and their territorial disputes are an expected part of their temperment and feeding behavior.
But I can say that a deeper look, pulls at the heart strings. It's enough to wonder if The King will survive his daily challenges, as well as a long migration to Central or South America. I hope so. There will be lots of hardy genes passed on to the next generation.
But the fledglings are another heart-string matter. Their survival depends on their ability to quickly learn the skills of maneuvering to catch insects and navigate nectar sources while escaping combat. This little soul tugged at my heart this morning. A beauty in the making, it's clear life has not been easy thus far.

Below, a pristine beauty awaits The King's arrival.And The King?
He still salutes me at the feeder with a blur.