Wasted Time?

Time is precious, particularly in today's fast paced, high pressure culture. Earlier this month, I put aside several hours for the explicit purpose of birding, with the hopes of adding the barn owl to my life list (a gross lack among the birds I've seen). I made sure my work was caught up, planned my route carefully, researched recent sightings at an appropriate hotspot, and gauged my timing to coincide with the times others had reported these elusive raptors.

It was an exciting moment, setting off for the first time in months to travel a distance - nearly an hour's drive one way - with the hopes of successful birding. It was a race against the sun as well, as it crept closer to the mountains and the light dwindled. I'd need sufficient light for proper identification, but if I arrived too early, the birds wouldn't be active.

I arrived right on time, with a glorious pink sunset lighting up the fields in great relief. My skin tingled with more than cold as I donned my gear - camera bag on the left, field bag on the right, binns in their harness. Hat - check. Fingerless gloves - check. Warm boots - check. I could see every hummock of snow, broken chunk of ice, and frost-covered fence post as I picked my way over the uneven ice onto the roadway (gated on a Sunday, but publicly accessible) and began scanning for birds.

That's what I didn't see - birds. There was a long-tailed flutter near the parking area that might have been a sparrow or a towhee, but it vanished and was not inclined to reappear no matter how much I pished. Further on, in a solitary tree, an unusual lump might have been a large raptor, but it was gone by the time I was close enough for a decent look. Far to the west I saw a large bird flying away, already too distant for identification. To the north, on a radar tower, another large raptor perched, but the distance was far too great in the failing light to note any markings. In three hours - mostly driving, and the rest during a darkening, temperature dropping walk - that was the sum total of my sightings: four might-be-birds that couldn't be identified.

This is the discouraging side of birding. Birds have wings and will use them, and no matter how prepared we may be to see them, they don't always care to be seen. Unfortunately in the these particular circumstances, I didn't have the time or inclination (bloody cold it was) to instead appreciate the beauty of my surroundings, and it felt very much like time wasted, time when I could have been doing many other things on my never-ending must-do list. It's hard enough to carve out a bit of time by myself, and harder still when that time isn't as productive as the anticipation.

Still, as the year continues, I hope to find more time to waste. Maybe one time there'll be a bird in it.

Thoughts on Albatrosses

On our trip to Hawaii, I had faint hopes of lifers, but one burning desire among the birds I wished to see most - I wanted to add an albatross to my life list. I had no true seabirds to my name, and in my eyes, the albatross - any albatross - is the pinnacle of pelagic birding.

For five days as our cruise ship sailed toward the islands, I scoured the horizon several times a day, hoping for one of these birds that I know spend their lives well out to sea, but to no avail. Then in Hawaii, at a new port of call each day, I scoured the coasts hoping to see one soaring above the cliffs and beaches, but nothing then either.

It seemed like seeing an albatross was to be an unfulfilled wish of this trip, until we docked in Kauai, our third port of call. That day, we'd planned a tour that included a visit to Kilauea National Wildlife Refuge, a recognized bird sanctuary. I spent a great deal of effort to keep my hopes grounded, but within moments of entering the refuge's grounds, they took flight.

First, it was the nene - several of these endemic geese were lounging about the roadways, casually watching the van pass by. Then, it was the red-footed booby colony - a tremendous cliff snow-covered in their white plumage and fluttering. But within seconds, a great shadow passed above me, and there it was - an albatross.

To be rendered speechless in the field is quite a feat, but there you have it. I could only stare at the bird's gracefulness, its speed, its sleek plumage, its dramatic air. And its proximity - there was one point where it couldn't have been more than 20 feet above me. I fumbled clumsily with my field guide to confirm the wing patterns as the Laysan albatross (already my suspicion based on color and range), and tried for a few minutes to get a photo, but I was wholly unprepared for the bird's intense speed. When the wings don't flap and the bird appears imperturbable, you don't realize just how fast it goes when soaring on wind currents - while there's no mistaking the views I got, they were only fleeting. Instead, I contented myself with a photo of the informational sign overlooking the coast, the only photo I could manage and the only time the bird was still enough for better than an awed glimpse. But bird or not, it stands as proof that I was there - I saw an albatross.

That shadow, the bird's elegance, the brief encounter I had on a tour that was all too short - these are birding moments I'll never forget, and those feelings are something I need to remember more: the discovery, the excitement, the amazement, the sheer joy.

This is why I bird.

Aloha!

Aloha! One word with so many meanings - goodbye, hello, love. In the past few weeks it has come to mean all of that - and more - for me. For our fifteenth wedding anniversary, my husband and I said aloha to work, children, winter weather, stress, and to-do lists to take a 15-night cruise to Hawaii, where we said aloha to relaxation, discovery, exploration, great food, fun games, volcanoes, and yes, birds. In that time, I added 16 amazing lifers to my list, and as picky as I am with adding any species to my list, I can truly say aloha to each one...

• Surf Scoter
• Nene
• Laysan Albatross
• Great Frigatebird
• Red-Footed Booby
• White-Tailed Tropicbird
• White-Rumped Shama
• Brown Booby
• Red-Vented Bulbul
• Red-Crested Cardinal
• Common Waxbill
• Spotted Dove
• Common Myna
• Japanese White-Eye
• Zebra Dove
• Java Sparrow

What an amazing experience, with lifers for the picking. We took several tours to different state and national parks, including a bird sanctuary at Kilauea Point, but this was by no means a birding-specific trip, and I was not trying particularly hard to visit top habitats or scout for elusive species. Before the trip, I'd been hoping to see just a few new lifers, but my expectations were exceeded in flocks.

More important, however, is saying aloha to other things in my life. Aloha to bitterness, betrayal, and past - goodbye. Aloha to adventure, exploration, and future - hello. But most of all, aloha to my husband and my family - flesh, feathered and other, all of which are part of me - I love you. Aloha.

Sometimes The Birds Come to You

I may not be getting out to see the birds as much as I'd like - that is to say, not at all of late, and not for some time to come - but that doesn't stop the birds from coming to me. Those feathered visitors help me keep my sanity in a life gone crazy.

The normal craziness is here in abundance, of course, with house finches and house sparrows monopolizing the feeders, as well as the more or less regular visits from jays, magpies, chickadees, quail and doves. It is the occasional, unusual visitors that really make me remember the excitement of birding however, and as fall migration has advanced there has been some of that excitement. A western wood-pewee opted to use the fence as a rest stop for a few sallying forage flights several weeks ago, and more recently a ruby-crowned kinglet picked over the insects on the aspen tree with single-minded ferocity. In the past couple of weeks, the dark-eyed juncos have begun to return, foraging on the deck and under the shrubbery, and reminding me of the importance of increasing the millet in my seed mix and sprinkling some seed kernels under my office shrubs. It's not much, but at the moment it's about all I have.

Times will change, as they always do, but it is also equally important to remember the ordinary and appreciate its extraordinariness. Several vital dates are coming up in the next few weeks that will create quite the upheaval, and I hope I'm able to keep my balance. But even if a bird falls, it doesn't stop flying, and neither shall I.

Take flight, each day, no matter where your migration takes you.

Am I Still a Birder?

It's hard to believe that not only is November already here, but that it's well advanced. This year is especially poignant for me, what with different family, work, and school issues that have arisen in the past months, and it has me questioning whether or not I can still fly.

Fly, that is, as a birder. In all the year, I've only gotten two new lifers, and the most recent was more than four months ago. My schedule is such that there are too many demands on what little time I have, and I rarely get out into the field at all. On a recent trip when I did manage some time with my field equipment, my binocular harness felt strange and my binns didn't seem to fit in my hand any longer. I still greatly enjoy my backyard birds and have marveled at a few brief fall visitors different from my normal guests, yet even refilling feeders, cleaning the bird bath, or organizing my store of birdseed seems too daunting a task for the rare minutes I have.

But how many minutes must be spent with wing and feathers to truly be a birder? I'm fortunate that my career leads me along internet connections and through published pages to all corners of the globe, spending a great deal of time with many birds in spirit. I long to see them in person, to spread my own wings even as I watch them spread theirs.

Obligations - work, family, home, school, community - are heavy weights for me to carry, and a burden that few share to help me lift higher. I can lift them, and I do, but what burdens one carries often keep them anchored to what they never wanted. Some I want, some I never realized I wanted, some I just plain never wanted. But how to choose between them? How do birds find their way?

It may be prophetic that these thoughts come to me in fall, a time of migration when I long to migrate myself, in more ways than one.

Too Many Legs to Be a Bird

I haven't been able to get out into the field in weeks - floods, work deadlines, illnesses, family commitments, and other interferences have kept me from birding the way I want to. The last time I did, however, I wasn't able to find the lifer short-eared owls I was hoping for, but I did find a lifer of another kind - with way too many legs.

We stopped at the side of the road on the west side of Utah Lake while I scanned over the shore with my binoculars, and as I turned back toward the front of the truck and told my husband we could continue on, I found him staring at the road ahead and he commented "that's one hell of a spider." I'm not a fan of arachnids, not by any means, but yes, it was one hell of a spider - a western tarantula.

I've never seen one before, and while it may not have feathers, it was certainly fascinating. I've learned that these arachnids are primarily nocturnal, but come out earlier during the late summer and fall as they're seeking mates - this particular specimen was male, and he was wandering about looking for a female's den and hoping she'd invite him in.

Tarantulas won't attack humans, but I certainly wasn't going to get any closer to test that fact. My husband suggested I should have put a nickel down next to the spider so the scale of its size would be more clear... Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. Thank goodness for zoom lenses.

Next time out, whenever that may be, I hope I see more birds. I don't mind the occasional exposure to other unique Utah wildlife, but let's just leave this one in the arid field where he belongs.

Learn more about tarantulas in Utah!

Late Summer Surprises

Most birders associate spring with when birds mate and raise their families, but little known is that one of the most colorful backyard birds - the American goldfinch - is also one of the latest to build a nest, lay eggs, and nurture its young. I was reminded of this with a pleasant surprise just a couple of weeks ago when, while mowing the lawn, my husband spotted a recently fledged goldfinch resting in the front yard mugo pine.

While the bird's coloration, pattern, and bill shape clearly identified it as a young American goldfinch, the sparse feathers - still with bare spots on the face - and the stubby tail testified to its young age. Its behavior was also a clue - while it was able to cling well to the branches and had no trouble perching upright, it was still exercising its wings without strong flights. It displayed the classic young bird behavior of staying very still and calm, just as it would in the nest, rather than trying to flee when it was closely approached, because it instinctively understood that it wasn't yet strong enough to escape.

Not that it was in danger; I made sure of that. Once my husband showed it to me, I insisted that the grass in that area of the yard wasn't nearly long enough to be mowed, at least until the bird had moved on. I watched it carefully for several minutes to be sure it was healthy and not in distress, and I ensured there were no predators or other hazards nearby. Sure enough, all he needed was a bit of rest, and shortly thereafter, the bird disappeared, undoubtedly flying along on its way. (And the mowing did get finished.)

A close encounter of the baby bird kind is an amazing experience that can remind us how much every bird is to be treasured, even when it may be a bird we've seen hundreds of times before. Summer may be coming to an end, but for all the birds hatched just this year, the adventure is just beginning.

Learn what to do if you find a baby bird!

Fluff

There's a lot of fluff in birding at this time of year - the fluff that makes up a soft bird's nest, the fluff of gentle down on a baby bird, the fluff of summer seed pods that birds may munch or gather for late season nesting. The cutest fluff I've seen in a long time is Floyd Jr., a baby Chilean flamingo at Tracy Aviary. He is one of two chicks to successfully hatch this year and is a resident in the public exhibit, slowly learning how to be a flamingo from the adults of the flock - balancing on one leg (only for a short time - it's tiring!), poking at water to sample algae (but right now his diet is crop milk), and standing tall (also tiring).

Mortality is always high for baby birds, and it's a rare treat to see one so unique. Tracy Aviary has had a great baby boom this year, with many other young birds gracing the grounds, both from their captive birds as well as wild residents who appreciate the bird-friendly landscaping.

There have been baby birds around the neighborhood as well - young barn swallows perching on wires, teenage American robins foraging in the lawn, juvenile European starlings demanding attention, immature rufous hummingbirds learning which feeders are theirs. I have seen ducklings and goslings at local ponds, and young hawks perched on poles along the highway. It always amazes me that there are so many more birds around this time of year, a buildup just before so many leave for warmer regions. But while they're here, they're welcome, and I'll enjoy their company.

Have some fun with these 20 Fun Facts About Flamingos!