Every Bird is Best

I was recently invited to join Alaskan birder Dave Sonneborn, with whom I have a mutual friend in Anchorage, on a series of pelagic trips out of Hatteras, North Carolina to look for seabirds.  I enjoyed getting to talk with Dave about his experiences birding in Alaska, including as a guide on the legendary Aleutian Island of Attu – the western-most point of land in the United States and magnet for lost and storm-blown Asian rarities. 

White-tailed Tropicbird, 29 May 2014

It turned out that Dave was meeting up with Virginia birder Bob Ake, who in 2010 did a Big Year and ended up observing and checking off 731 species of bird in the ABA area.  It turns out almost all the birders who listed more than 700 species during their Big Year were getting together to celebrate the achievement and do some offshore birding.  It turns out that the end of May off of Hatteras is the best time and place to try to find some rare but regular seabirds, including a bird that for several hundred years was thought to be extinct – the Bermuda Petrel.  

Great Shearwater

Between fighting off sea sickness in the rough conditions and scanning through the birds that were incessantly following the boat drawn to the chum and fish oil slick, I missed out on many of the Big Year stories that were surely being recounted.  At one point, though, I found myself standing next to Al Levantin, who became famous for getting seasick on pelagic trips after his Big Year attempt was chronicled in the book, The Big Year.  I could sympathize with this, so when I noticed that his scopolamine patch was incorrectly applied to the skin behind his ear – sticky side out – I thought I should say something.  When we finally got the confusion resolved and the patch applied correctly Al said, “I wish you hadn’t told me because I am actually feeling pretty well for a change.”  You can never discount the placebo effect. 

Trinidade Petrel, 31 May 2014

I was on board for 3 trips and a possible fourth trip was cancelled because of rough weather conditions.  We never did see the elusive Bermuda Petrel; it had been seen on a previous trip about a week before and so it continues to be regular but rare.  We did get to see many very cool and remarkable birds.  I was going to say that the “best bird” was a Trinidade Petrel, a rare seabird that breeds off of South America.  However, whenever I or another birder talks about the “best bird” they observed, it reminds me of a story:

A Zen master, Banzan, was walking through a market and overheard a conversation between a butcher and a customer.

“Give me the best cut of meat you have,” said the customer.

“Everything in the shop is the best,” replied the butcher.  “You cannot find here any piece of meat that is not the best.”

So here is another of the best birds from the trips, also from the south of the equator and one of the most numerous birds seen on pelagic trips off of Hatteras - Wilson's Storm-Petrel.

Wilson's Storm-Petrel

Snowy New Year's Eve in Florida

On our way home from visiting family in Florida during the holidays, we passed by Hugeunot Memorial Park north of Jacksonville where a Snowy Owl had been reported the day before.  However, no one reported finding the bird that day and it was nearing dusk, so we pressed on north to Amelia Island, where we planned to look for sharks' teeth on the beach.  I had a haunting feeling, though, as we drove past all those white dunes and called a local birder to confirm that no sighting had been reported that day.  

The next morning I was up early, anxious to hit the beach.  My wife and daughter, on the other hand, had a different idea of wake up time, and told me basically to clear out and stop making noise.  I had already made a run to Starbuck's for coffee for my wife and some breakfast items and was still looking at an hour before light and two before I would have company on the beach.  

I decided to try a spot at the south end of Amelia Island that is good for sea duck, but when I arrived there I realized a was only 5-10 minutes from where the Snowy Owl was last seen.  Needless to say, I kept trucking south back to Hugeunot Park to scan the dunes with my spotting scope.  Although I could just picture the owl sitting on the dunes, I had no better success than those who had searched the day before.  As I had not been too hopeful in locating the bird and my family would be ready to go soon, I packed it in and started back north.  

Just after crossing the bridge from Huguenot Park to Little Talbot Island, where the owl had originally been discovered, I saw a sign that said 'No Parking', a wide area next to the road that looked like a perfect place to park, and a short trail down to the dunes.  I slammed on the brakes.  We could be onto something.  I walked a short distance to where the trail ended at the dunes and set up my scope.  I though I saw something white - a sign.  In fact, many white signs were marking the boundary of a summer breeding area for birds and warning 'Area Closed'.  I scanned four, five, six times.  I had to get going so one last scan.  As I panned from left to right with the scope something stopped me cold.  A large white bird partially hidden by a white sign and two eyes staring at me.

Because I had not been very confident in finding the owl, my camera was back in the car.  I ran back for it and took a few photos through the scope.  I then excitedly called my birding friend and one-time Jacksonville resident, Rex Rowan, with whom I often bird when I am in Gainesville, and let him know the bird had been relocated so he could alert others who would want to see it.  It was time to rejoin my family for a spot of fossil hunting.  There still was a small matter of a Harlequin Duck that had been reported at Fort Clinch State Park on the north side of Amelia Island.  That bird had also come a long way to Florida, but I supposed he would be nice and content working the jetty until I made it there.  It was a nice way to close out all the great birding in 2013.  Peace.
 

Red-necked Phalarope Community Sighting

About the most fun I have had birding this year was a sighting of Red-necked Phalarope at Austin Springs, a local birding spot on the Watauga River in Johnson City, Tennessee.  It was a Monday afternoon, and I was at work when I received a call from a friend alerting me the bird had just been found.  Earlier that day three Snowy Egrets, which are rare in northeast Tennessee, had been reported at Austin Springs.  Tom McNeil and Cathy Myers went to see the Snowy Egrets, and Cathy noticed a small bird swimming erratically upriver from the bridge.  It turned out to be a Red-necked Phalarope, also rare in northeast Tennessee.  Word went out. 

By the time I got off work and out to Austin Springs bridge, all of the local birders had already left and apparently so had the phalarope.  As I was viewing the Snowy Egrets through my spotting scope, I saw my wife and daughter in the distance around the bend in the river.  They have a milk weed plot along the river that they monitor for Monarch butterflies.  As I was pleased to see them, I called them on their cellular phone.  My daughter answered and immediately asked, “Dad, where are you?  The whole bird club is over here looking at some bird.”  Needless to say, I rushed right over to find the local birding community enjoying the rare sight.  We celebrated with high-fives all around to the embarrassment of my daughter.  I am heartened that, although sometimes competitive, birding is not a zero-sum game. 

 

Another Red-necked Phalarope, AK, June 2013

The Tao of Birding

Remembering some embarrassingly public bird misidentifications brought to mind a Taoist tale reproduced in a JD Salinger story.  It is about a person who is so excellent a judge of the inward quality of horses that he loses sight of more obvious details such as color or sex.  With a little imagination it is easily adaptable to birding, although unfortunately I cannot blame my inability to distinguish species and plumage on attentiveness to the spiritual qualities:  

Duke Mu of Chin said to Po Lo: "You are now advanced in years. Is there any member of your family whom I could employ [as a bird guide] in your stead?" Po Lo replied: "A good [bird] can be picked out by its general build and appearance. But the superlative [bird] is something evanescent and fleeting, elusive as thin air. The talents of my sons lie on a lower plane altogether; they can tell a good [bird] when they see one, but they cannot tell a superlative [bird]. I have a friend, however, one Chiu-fang Kao, a [hawk watcher], who in things appertaining to [birds] is nowise my inferior. Pray see him." 

Duke Mu did so, and subsequently dispatched him on the quest for a [bird]. Three months later, he returned with the news that he had found one. "It is now in Shach'iu" he added. "What kind of [bird] is it?" asked the Duke. "Oh, it is a [basic-plumaged Dunlin]," was the reply. However, someone being sent to [confirm] it, the animal turned out to be a [breeding-plumaged Curlew Sandpiper]! Much displeased, the Duke sent for Po Lo. "That friend of yours," he said, "whom I commissioned to look for a [bird], has made a fine mess of it. Why, he cannot even distinguish [species or plumage]! What on earth can he know about [birds]?" Po Lo heaved a sigh of satisfaction. "Has he really got as far as that?" he cried. "Ah, then he is worth ten thousand of me put together. There is no comparison between us. What Kao keeps in view is the spiritual mechanism. In making sure of the essential, he forgets the homely details; intent on the inward qualities, he loses sight of the external. He sees what he wants to see, and not what he does not want to see. He looks at the things he ought to look at, and neglects those that need not be looked at. So clever a judge of [birds] is Kao, that he has it in him to judge something better than [birds]." 

When the [sighting was confirmed], it turned out indeed to be a superlative animal. 

-Adapted from “Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters” by JD Salinger

Birding in Anchorage

June 1, 2013 - Anchorage, AK

I had the opportunity to bird with good friend Joe McLaughlin (left), who had just broken his nose kayaking, his partner Kim (center right), and their friend and renowned Alaskan birder Dave Sonneborn (right).  Ashley (center left), a birder from North Carolina, joined us.  I had met Dave on a pelagic trip out of Hatteras, North Carolina the previous spring and discovered he knew Joe.  On the choppy ride out to the Gulf Stream, we discussed all getting together to do some birding if I made it up to Anchorage.  It sounded too good to pass up so I started saving up Alaskan Airline mileage points. 

As one of the birds I was looking for was American Three-toed Woodpecker, we headed to Hillside Park straight from the airport.  After finding some nice local species - Olive-sided Flycatcher, Gray Jay, Townsend's Warbler, and a North American Porcupine, we decided to call it an evening.  Luckily for me, back at the cars Joe suggested one last loop around the trails.  Just a short distance from the parking lot we were startled by a loud drumming directly above us and looked up to great views of a male American Three-toed Woodpecker on territory.  

The next morning we woke up to light rain.  We had agreed to get back together for some more birding.  Dave had a special guest in town who happened to be looking to photograph a Three-toed Woodpecker.  Sandy Komito, 2-time big year record holder, was working on his photo life list - trying to photograph as many of the species of birds that occur in North America as possible.  Unfortunately, we could not reproduce the magic of the previous evening, but we enjoyed the company.  

Birding in the rain always reminds me of a Zen dialogue between a student and master I once read:

Student:  How is it when you are far, far on the one road [your life list]?
Master:  Not going [birding] while the sun is out, waiting for the rain to soak your head.