(Practically) Backyard Birds

As I stepped outside for my morning run today, I saw and heard a huge flock of Sandhill Cranes flying overhead, no doubt headed for the nearby UF Beef Teaching Unit (a grassy pasture in which beef cattle are no doubt being taught to do any number of nefarious things). And I considered how lucky I was to be able to count Sandhill Cranes among my backyard birds.

The Beef Teaching Unit is only about 100 yards from my place, and as I jogged toward it, I saw two large white birds mingling with the Sandhills. Definitely too tall to be White Ibises, which also frequent the pasture. And WAY too big to be Cattle Egrets. Too tall and heavy-bodied to be Great Egrets, which don't hang out there anyhow. Which meant they had to be...

WHOOPING CRANES!

Awesome! I sprinted home, grabbed my bins and camera, and headed back out, hoping they would stay for me. And they did, just long enough for me to get a few blurry shots. As they flew off with their Sandhill Crane companions, I could see their black wing tips and the other sure field mark of a Whooping Crane, several colored bands on their legs.

Now I can rightfully claim not only Sandhill Cranes, but Whooping Cranes, as (practically) backyard birds. How lucky is that?

(Nearly) 100 Birds

Winter is on its way out.

I'm still not used to the rhythm of the seasons out here. Back in California, winter (what there was of it) ceded its way gradually to spring: days and nights got gradually warmer, the hills would shift from pale green to the bright yellow and purple and pink of wildflowers. And of course, the White-crowned Sparrows would gradually drift off to their breeding grounds, and Western Tanagers, Bullock's and Hooded Orioles, and Hermit Warblers would take their place in the hearts and minds of local birders.

And here? For the past few weeks, it seemed as if spring and winter had been duking it out in some cosmic battle for control. When I leave the house in the morning, temperatures are in the 30s or low 40s. When I get back in the afternoon, they're in the 80s. Today, I met with an out-of-town consultant in my office, and he said that when he arrived in Gainesville yesterday, he wondered why everyone was wandering around in short sleeves while lugging around heavy winter coats. After spending a night here, he figured out why.

I'm not sure what the migration rhythm of the local birds is supposed to be like out here, either. Someone told me that spring tends to start early in Florida, but I haven't seen any interesting migrant birds yet. Still, I've been hearing a lot more singing--probably year-round residents whose songs I haven't figured out yet—and there are definitely signs of nesting activity. On a nearly bird-less walk on Sunday, I found this nest hole: from the freshness of the leaves, it must have been settled fairly recently:

In the meantime, there have been reports that the local wintering birds are starting to take off. Most of the Sandhill Cranes have left Paynes Prairie, but some still remain in the field across the street from my place. Local birders have also reported that the number of wintering Chipping Sparrows at their feeders is starting to decline. I suspect that this is because they are now all at MY feeder!

For the past few weeks, I've had a noticeable uptick in birds in my little courtyard. Usually, I need to refill the feeder about once every 10 days or so. Last month, this interval dropped to once every week. And on Monday I left the house with the feeder three-fourths full, and came home to find it almost completely empty!

At first, I was angry; I figured one of my neighbors or some maintenance person took umbrage at the idea of the thing and emptied it out of spite. But only minutes after I refilled it, about a dozen chippers lunged at it, followed by a pair of Northern Cardinals, dive-bombing Carolina Wrens, and scolding Carolina Chickadees and Tufted Titmice.

For the last few days, I've been coming home to an empty feeder, which would be swarmed as soon as I refilled it and stepped out of the courtyard. Yesterday afternoon, a pair of Carolina Chickadees were perched in a tree just above me, scolding me loudly as I refilled the feeder: "Hurry up, we're hungry here!" they seemed to be saying.

In many Chinese homes (including my parents' place) hangs a large painting or embroidery featuring dozens of stylized birds--there are supposed to be 100 of them. Having 100 birds at your house, according to tradition, is supposed to be a sign of good luck.

I already feel lucky to have the little guys around. But I do hope that they'll bring me more; they're eating me out of house and home!

Neighboring Migrants

What, precisely, are the beef being taught here?

When I came to Gainesville, I moved sight-unseen into my apartment, which I chose primarily for its cheapness, and because the leasing office assured me that it was quiet—no giant undergraduate keg parties on weekends. I must have been lucky the day I chose the place: it's tiny and a bit of a dump, but it's convenient to campus, and within walking distance of both a well-stocked Indian grocery AND a Chinese/Korean grocery, so I never need to go without fresh curry leaves or black bean sauce.

Even better, it's near a minor birding hotspot: a series of cow pastures owned by the University of Florida's Animal Science department, mysteriously named the "Beef Teaching Unit." This leads me to think that they're either trying to teach the cattle something (what??), or even weirder, having them teach UF students. (I guess this could be one way for UF to deal with its budget issues...)

Do I look like I give extra credit?

The fields are always a reliable place to find Cattle Egrets (duh), but their main claim to fame is Sandhill Cranes in the winter. In the mornings since mid-December, I've been seeing the cranes flying overhead or hearing them in the distance whenever I step outside. When I'm driving around running errands, or doing my afternoon run, I see them feeding alongside the cattle:

The Sandhill Cranes at Paynes Prairie have, for the most part, already set off on their northward migration to their breeding territories. It won't be long before these guys do the same. But for now, I'm enjoying the sight and sound of these big, wild, noisy birds. I can only guess what the beef have been teaching them.

A Conspicuous Absence of Sparrows

What's wrong with this bird?

Look closely at the photo above: this is the infamous Harris' Sparrow that has been wintering in Gainesville, near the head of the La Chua Trail of Paynes Prairie State Park.

Look closer: what's that white line on its back? It's...the paper backing behind the photo (the nice contouring shadow is from me standing in front of it as the sun shone on me from behind). Some wise guy or gal (yet to be identified) pasted a life-size photo of Gainesville's only celebrity not named Tebow in the middle of the little bare tree where the REAL Harris' Sparrow has been most often seen.

Ha, ha, ha.

Well, seeing this (actually, having it pointed out to me by another birder) was pretty much the highlight of my birding weekend. Which was odd, as I managed to score two lifers this weekend. This is a good number for two mornings' worth of birding—but for some reason, it felt as though the birding scene around here was kind of dull.

On Saturday, I went back to La Chua Trail, on the hunt for White-throated Sparrows (dipped on these), as well as the Harris' Sparrow and Whooping Cranes (dipped on these, too). There had also been sightings of a Ross' Goose out there the day before, but I dipped on this as well—as did every other birder I encountered out there.

But the Sandhill Cranes were still out in numerous and noisy force, snarfing away happily at anything and everything:


At this tine of year, La Chua Trail is quite the meet-and-greet place for nature lovers of all persuasions—everyone loves those cranes! Over the past few weeks, I've run into several of my University of Florida colleagues there, as well as le tout Gainesville of the birding community. Never in a million years would I have considered putting "birding" and "professional networking opportunity" in the same sentence, but it's something to do when the birds are scarce...

Today was the much-anticipated Alachua Audubon field trip to Persimmon Point, an area of Paynes Prairie usually closed to the public and supposedly a great spot for winter sparrows. I say "supposedly" because once we made the two-mile hike up there (on a very pretty trail, which we spent regrettably little time birding), we ended up seeing three sparrows. Not three species of sparrows. Three sparrows. Period.

And this was after the trip leaders had us slog in a long horizontal line through fields of 3-foot-high broom sedge, blackberry bushes, briars, and prickly pears in order to flush out the swarms of sparrows allegedly hidden within.

We did manage to scare up a flock of Bobwhites—the first of my two lifers—but they flew off before I could get any photos or get a good look at them.

Our trip leaders were flummoxed, and had no explanation for the strange absence of sparrows up there. So we retreated back towards the lower part of the prairie where—finally—a less-common sparrow, a Grasshopper Sparrow, deigned to appear for us. This was Lifer #2 for me: Yes, I know this photo blows chunks; the little guy was quite sedate and sat in one spot for several minutes, but wasn't quite close enough for a real beauty shot:


So now I know how to pick a Grasshopper Sparrow out of a lineup, and I know the call of a Bobwhite Ia little like a truncated California Quail call So it really wasn't such a boring weekend after all.

And a weekend of boring birding is always better than a weekend of no birding at all.

Big Whoop

What everyone is looking for.

The infamous Harris' Sparrow is still being seen around La Chua Trail, and a number of Whooping Cranes have been spotted among the wintering Sandhill Cranes there as well, so I thought it would be a good spot for my first Florida birding trip of the new year.

When I arrived, something seemed definitely odd: there were tons of birders. A group of over a dozen people, all with binoculars, was gathered at the trailhead when I arrived, and took off shortly thereafter. More groups of people with binoculars and bird guides arrived and disappeared down the trail. And I didn't recognize a single one of them.

This was weird. La Chua is a popular birding spot, but I'd never seen that many people here before. And I thought I had a passing recognition of most of the hard-core local birders. Who were all these people?

I worked my way along the trail, stopping to look at a Gray Catbird and a Hermit Thrush in a tree by the trailhead. Further along—by the now-infamous dead tree where the Harris' Sparrow occasionally perches—I finally spotted some familiar faces. Yay! They said the sparrow had been seen shortly before, but the flock it was with had just taken off.

Meanwhile, more and more people with binoculars continued to slog past us down the trail, some pausing to glance at us curiously. Who were they?

The rest of us chatted while waiting (in vain) for the Harris' Sparrow to return. A large and promising-looking flock of White-crowned Sparrows flew in and worked the bushes in front of us—then a hungry Cooper's Hawk dove in and sent them flying.

"Excuse me," a passing power-walker asked, "Every time I've been here recently, there have always been a bunch of people standing exactly where you are, looking into the bushes. What are you looking for?"

This reminded me of something David Sibley said at the Sea and Sage Audubon annual dinner last year: There is a fine line between bird watching and standing around looking like an idiot.

It was time to move on.

My next goal was the Whooping Cranes. And the others told me that this was the goal of the hundreds of other people on the trail as well: there had been an article on the wintering Sandhill Cranes and Whooping Cranes in the Gainesville Sun , and birding La Chua Trail was apparently on their weekend list of Things To Do For Fun Now That Football Season Is Over.

This was impressive—I remembered how hard we had to work back in Orange County to get any media or public attention at all for bird-related matters. And here, all that's needed to get hundreds of people out of bed and into the field with their borrowed/secondhand bins on a cold Saturday morning are a few column inches of type? Wow. Either Gainesville has the most inquisitive and open-minded population of any place I've lived in, or it's the world capital of peer pressure.

No matter. The birds (except for that Harris' Sparrow) put on an excellent show for all comers. The Sandhill Cranes were out in huge numbers. The gray lumps that look like big rocks in the photo below are actually Cranes:

There were literally thousands of them: huge lumpy grey plateaus of feeding flocks out in the distance, flocks of dozens flying overhead, calling loudly, other equally large flocks feeding and fighting in the fields just off the trail.

The Whooping Cranes weren't hard to find, either: one of the other birders I knew said that they had been feeding not far from the trail a few days earlier. Today, they obliged us by doing the same, and I got my first lifer of the year!

The birds are apparently a mated pair; the female has the blue and yellow leg bands; the male has two yellow leg bands.

The Cranes weren't the only birds out. Among the other birds out were several adult male Bald Eagles, about half a dozen Red-shouldered Hawks, an American Bittern, Wilson's Snipes, Snow Geese, Swamp Sparrows...lots of good stuff.

Just as fun to watch as the birds were the awed reactions of the flocks of new birders when they finally got to the top of the observation deck at the end of the trail. "Oh my God--it's so beautiful up here!" "Look at THOSE BIRDS!"

Yup, it really is beautiful out there, and those birds are really something to see. As a teacher, one of my favorite things is that amazing way people look when they finally get it.