Kettling

The weather has been unseasonably warm here, and dry even for Utah, which has put a bit of a damper on birding in the last few weeks. Migration should be well underway, but warmer weather tends to slow the birds down as they see no need to rush toward the south. A lot of birders look for a sign that migration has well and truly begun - the appearance of a known migrant, or perhaps the disappearance of regular residents. As most of my backyard birds are not migrants at all, it's hard to see migration from my backyard.

Until this week. When refilling my feeders a few days ago, facing to the northwest, I saw a speck of movement in the sky and looked up to see a raptor - large, dark, with white under the wings - a turkey vulture. I don't see them in the skies above my urban backyard frequently, so I smiled.

That smile quickly turned to a dropped-jaw stunned look as that first speck was followed by two, three, then five more. I glanced back at the first bird, which had been soaring toward the southeast, and was even more startled to see these birds' destination: a whirling, circling kettle of vultures poised nearly right above my house. I dashed for my camera and binoculars, confirming the birds' identities and capturing a sight like I've never seen.

For the next twenty minutes, I was enraptured by roughly 100 turkey vultures wheeling and soaring in my skies, banking and turning lazily in the warm autumn sun on a thermal that had the grace to know where an avid birder lives. Eventually I was privileged to see the birds reach the top of their thermal and turn, in unison, toward the southeast and the mountain ridges they will follow on their migration. I bade them goodbye and good journey, with well wishes to see them next spring.

There can be no denying that migration has begun here in Utah.

Do you know what to call the groups of birds you see during migration?

Survivor

It can be brutal to be a bird, especially to be a nervous mourning dove in a backyard regularly visited by Cooper's hawks. Such was the case several weeks ago, when I looked out my patio doors and saw what appeared to be the remnants of another hawk hunt - a pile of feathers pressed into the grass. This is a relatively common occurence in my yard, and typically one or two birds fall prey to my hawks every week. Walking closer, however, I realized this time it wasn't simply remnants - the entire bird was still there, as still as death, or so I thought. Coming to within five feet of the bird proved it wasn't death after all, as the bird burst from the battered hollow and flew a few feet away.

Curious about the dove I followed, watching its behavior. It clearly didn't want to fly, but nor did it want to venture far. While it was wary of me it wasn't exhibiting the fear most of my mourning doves do when I step outside, but instead it wandered onto the concrete driveway and it wasn't until the dove paused by the garage door that I realized just how close to death this bird had come. Blood was flowing thickly down its leg, obviously draining from a chest wound where the hawk had begun its interrupted meal. Further examination showed just how many feathers the bird had lost around its neck and chest, giving it a mangled, battered appearance.

I had a choice of what to do; I could have traumatized the bird further by capturing it, keeping it confined until I was able to get it to a rehabilitator several hours later, or I could let it be. Given that it was still capable of flight, was breathing and walking well, and knew that the best thing to do was to keep still and slow, I let it be. I kept checking it throughout the day, and it moved locations, seeking shade and shelter which I was happy to give it. When it roosted under the lilac in the evening, I left a dish of water a few inches away and sprinkled some seed nearby for a meal.

Never having known a hawk to pull down its prey but abandon the meal when the bird was so gravely injured, I reexamined the scene of the attack. Sure enough, lightly tossed on the grass I found a clue - one tawny feather obviously from the chest of the hawk itself. This dove had fought back, forcing the hawk to abandon its meal if for nothing more than aggravation - dinner shouldn't bite.

Sad to say, the dove did not survive the night; I found it the next morning still beneath the lilac bush, though it had obviously fed and drank as best it could during the night. One might question, then, why I consider this mourning dove a survivor when it did not, in fact, survive. It may have died, but it was never prey. It might not have lived, but it didn't die under a hawk's talons. If that's not surviving when you're a bird in a world filled with predators, what is?

Learn how you can try to protect your backyard birds from hawks!

Mind Your Own Pishness

To pish or not to pish is an aggravating question for many birders. Pishing, the practice of making subtle noises to encourage reclusive birds to move into a better viewing position, can give birders a clearer view of an otherwise hidden bird, but it can also agitate the birds and keep them from foraging, preening, incubating nests, caring for hatchlings, and doing other necessary things.

Personally, I pish, but as with all things, in moderation. It can be rewarding, as it was this past weekend on a walk down to Skipper Bay. The short section of trail I enjoy has changed character drastically over the summer: irrigation water has dried up, reeds have skyrocketed, and most of the waterfowl have moved on. There are still quite a number of black-capped chickadees about, as well as a few hardy mallards and great flocks of European starlings, but other birds appear only haphazardly. If not for my pishing, the best bird I saw might not have appeared at all.

Walking along the beginning part of the trail just a few dozen yards from where I'd parked, I heard rustling and a buzzy "chuk" call from the reeds to the east. Watching carefully, I saw a bit of flitting accompanied by tail flicking, and knew there was a wren hopping about. But which wren? After just a pish or two, the curious bird poked out of the reeds to watch me as intently as I was watching it, and a few minutes of pishing later, the beautiful marsh wren came into full view. It was a delight to interact with such an inquisitive and responsive bird, and that is why many birders do enjoy the occasional pish.

This time of year, when juveniles are maturing and birds are prepping for their long flights or frigid winters, a moderate amount of pishing does no harm. I try to avoid pishing in the spring and early summer, however, when young birds might be left defenseless as parents respond to the threat my calls may sound like. And while this wren may have been simply curious and willing to play, many birds wish birders would just mind their own pishness.

Learn more about pishing, including how to do it and when to know you shouldn't!

An Uncommon Encounter

Sitting out on my patio a couple of evenings ago, I was treated to an aerial show as a half dozen common nighthawks were feeding at twilight. Their grace, speed, and agility is unmatched, and seeing them led me to muse how glad I was that the common nighthawk is already on my life list. Close study of them on the wing would be an incredible challenge.

I was reminded of how I added this beautiful bird to my life list, earlier this summer. It was a hot day in mid-June and I was idly staring out one of my upstairs windows, contemplating my very dirty bird bath and half empty feeders, knowing I ought to tend to them, when a quick dart of a tapered wing with a bold white slash caught my eye. I recognized it instantly as many birders would, though they might never have had the pleasure of seeing one before, but I couldn't believe that a common nighthawk might be flitting about my neighborhood in mid-morning. It had appeared to land in a tree in the adjacent condominium development, however, so I grabbed a field guide, my binoculars, my camera, and took a quick constitutional.

What a stunning sight I found. Not only was the common nighthawk roosting in a nearby tree - less than thirty feet from my backyard - but it was only six feet from the sidewalk and resting on a branch almost precisely at eye level. I couldn't get better views if I birded for nothing but nighthawks for a hundred years, and I was able to examine the bird from every angle and for as long as I wished (I have tolerant neighbors who don't mind a slightly psychotic birder circling a tree on their front lawn). It patiently kept an eye on me, never even ruffling a feather. Of course, I did keep my distance - a zoom lens is easy for brilliant photos when the bird doesn't move - and kept from stressing it.

Close observation of a bird - any bird, but especially one so rare to see at close range - ultimately reveals details you never could have imagined. No field guide can compare to intimate study that reveals the intricate mottling of the common nighthawk's plumage, the delicate curvature of its bill, and the deep pools of its eyes. I was awed at the experience, and will remember it unceasingly.

Indeed, there was nothing common about adding the common nighthawk to my life list.

Reacquainting, and a Reward

Sunday morning, while the sun was still low and the air still cool, I headed out for my first bird walk in several months. My only intention was to refresh myself with one of my favorite walks - a loop from Canyon Glen Park east along the Provo River - and hopefully to see some of my favorite birds in the area, including American dippers, song sparrows and black-billed magpies. What I got was far more than I expected.

I did see my familiar birds, all enjoying their regular spots. I heard western scrub-jays calling vociferously and watched their family busily foraging at a fallen log. I pished at a young song sparrow and sparked its curiosity, and I shook my head at the energetic antics of the western wood-pewee that refused to sit still for good observations. I watched a family of young American dippers plunging in and out of the river, swimming and flying simultaneously. I even smiled at the upside down foraging of the athletic black-capped chickadees.

Just over halfway through my loop, I paused near a stand of brushy berry bushes. I'd seen a silhouette I didn't recognize, something between the size of a sparrow and a robin. The initial bird I'd spotted moved deeper into the brush and out of view, but another quickly popped up just to the left, and I was able to get a crystal clear view through my binoculars - and my jaw dropped.

A gray catbird. A lifer.

This area of Utah is on the extreme western edge of the gray catbird's summer range, and they're quite rare and unexpected here. I certainly wasn't expecting it, no more than I was expecting to get a new lifer on my first bird walk in so very long. Several of the birds were foraging in those bushes, and I got very clear views of the black cap, rusty undertail coverts, gray plumage, and black eye. I couldn't ask for better views, even if they were all too brief.

I went out on that bird walk to just refresh my memory of how much I enjoy being out in the field rather than in front of a screen, and instead of just refreshed, I ended up rejuvenated, energized, and ready for more. You never do know what you'll see whenever you visit a favorite birding spot, and I can't wait to go to another of my personal favorites this coming weekend.

Taking Flight for Fall

I know I haven't blogged much in recent weeks, but in truth I haven't birded much either. Summer in Utah is viciously hot, with unrelenting sun and no relief even from the occasional thunderstorm or brief shower. The birds are less active, and so are the birders.

I have been less active as well, only keeping up my feeders and caring for my backyard birds. They appreciate the attention for sure, and I appreciate seeing them visit my feeders, peek in my window, and splash in my bird bath. I still long for the morning bird walks when I'd see amazing warblers, or the visits to the local pond with widely varied waterfowl, but it is the birds here at home that are amazing companions with their fun personalities and energetic lives.

In the next few weeks, as fall gets underway and bird activity increases, I hope to increase my posting as well. The actions of birds are erratic and you never know when something may happen, or how long a period may pass when it seems you only refill the feeders and never have any avian excitement. It is time, however, to learn to re-appreciate all the birds around you, every one.

I may have landed for a bit, but it's time to take flight again.

Getting a Life, Getting More Birds

Part of getting a life is giving yourself time to live it. As a freelance writer, I work continuously - it's always easy to do just a bit of work in the evening, tend to one task on the weekend, or take a few moments on a holiday to cross one more thing off the to do list. My work is such that for over a year I've not taken a real vacation or holiday - every day, all 365, I've worked in some way. That includes on birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays, and in the end, none of the days feel special. This past month, however, has been different.

For the first half of July it was work as usual - in fact, more than usual as I crammed in a whole month's worth of work into less than three weeks. At the end of that time, though, the computer was turned off, the notebooks put away, and the laptop unpowered. They would sit unused for more than a week as my husband and I explored Portland and the Oregon Coast. We rented a luxury condo with a private hot tub, enjoyed Pacific sunsets, poked carefully into tidepools, tasted cheese curds, walked along the beach, and just had time to relax, to talk, to decompress.

For a birder, though, no relaxation is complete without birds. We visited Cannon Beach and Haystack Rock, walked through Portland's public parks, found trails around Lincoln City, and along the way, I added a dozen new birds to my life list...

• Black Oystercatcher
• Common Murre
• Pigeon Guillemot
• Tufted Puffin
• Pelagic Cormorant
• American Crow
• Chestnut-Backed Chickadee
• Brown Creeper
• Black Turnstone
• Brant
• Hermit Warbler
• Fox Sparrow

Since this wasn't a dedicated birding trip and we didn't take any lengthy birding walks, I was surprised to add as many lifers as I did. The hermit warbler, chestnut-backed chickadee, brown creeper, brant, and fox sparrow were the most exciting - each one took some study on my part from different views, but I was rewarded with really being able to see the birds and enjoy them. What I learned was more important, however -- just like the birds, we all need time to let ourselves fly.

I won't be working myself to death anymore, nor will I be working 24/7/365 again. Oh, my lists are just as long as they ever were, and there is just as much to accomplish, but priorities have to be made. It's time I made myself one, and took flight again.

A Longer List, But No Life

It's been far too long since I've blogged, but as the time gets longer so does my life list. I've had a range of fantastic sightings this spring, from more than 40 birds in Jamaica to a few new western birds on a press trip to Fallon, Nevada, to a common nighthawk sighting within feet of my backyard. My new lifers are...

• American Redstart
• Arrow-Headed Warbler
• Bananaquit
• Black and White Warbler
• Black-Billed Streamertail
• Black-Faced Grassquit
• Black-Throated Blue Warbler
• Black-Throated Gray Warbler
• Black-Whiskered Vireo
• Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher
• Cattle Egret
• Chestnut-Bellied Cuckoo
• Clark's Grebe
• Common Ground-Dove
• Common Nighthawk
• Crested Quail-Dove
• Gray Kingbird
• Greater Antillean Bullfinch (pictured)
• Greater Antillean Grackle
• Greater Yellowlegs
• Green Heron (pictured)
• Harris's Sparrow
• Hermit Thrush
• Jamaican Becard
• Jamaican Blackbird
• Jamaican Lizard Cuckoo
• Jamaican Mango
• Jamaican Oriole
• Jamaican Pewee
• Jamaican Spindalis
• Jamaican Tody
• Jamaican Vireo
• Jamaican Woodpecker
• Loggerhead Kingbird
• Northern Parula
• Orangequit
• Ovenbird
• Red-Billed Streamertail
• Ring-Tailed Pigeon
• Rufous-Tailed Flycatcher
• Rufous-Throated Solitaire
• Sad Flycatcher
• Smooth-Billed Ani (pictured)
• Sora
• Tricolored Heron
• Vervain Hummingbird (pictured)
• Western Wood-Pewee
• White-Chinned Thrush
• White-Collared Swift
• White-Crowned Pigeon
• White-Eyed Thrush
• White-Winged Dove
• Wilson's Warbler
• Yellow-Billed Parrot
• Zenaida Dove

That's quite a few new members of my life list flock, but it's been fun getting them all. Some were easy sightings that just needed a good look for verification, while others needed a long time studying swapping hands with a field guide and my binoculars. All are welcome, however, and I'm thrilled to be up to 230 on my life list -- more than 60 new birds since the beginning of the year.

Of course, without the trip to Jamaica I'd not have seen nearly as many; not only was I able to see more than 20 of the island's endemic species, but the trip was in the midst of spring migration and a lot of neotropical migrant warblers were around as well. The biggest lesson I learned from it (and there were many) is how richly diverse birds can be, if only you seek out something different that what you're accustomed to. You have to fly past your comfort zone, stretch your wings, and keep gaining height, but you can soar.

A good lesson for all birders, then, not just for listing, but for life. It's time I go get one.