WildwingsBirds and Outdoor Issues as I see them

Earlier this summer I took part in a shorebird survey in SE North Dakota as part of a larger data collecting effort by the US Fish and Wildlife Service. My designated route takes me through a very diverse and rich natural landscape as part of the Sheyenne National Grasslands. It’s in this habitat–light sandy soils–that I have encountered every single Western hognose snake (Heterdon nasicus) I’ve ever found in North Dakota. Which makes sense since the animal thrives in sandy soils according to everything I’ve read.

I picked this one up and was kind of surprised at its continued belligerance. Usually these guys are all huff-and-puff which soon gives way to going completely limp in a “playing dead” strategy. This one never did play dead and even eventually “musked.” Luckily, I avoided getting any of this extremely nasty smelling substance on me.

You gotta like these tame and very handlable snakes. Unfortunately, many are needlessly killed (like a lot of snakes) and that’s too bad as they fill a nice little rodent-eating niche wherever they are found.

Not sure if you can see it well enough but the upturned face/nose is where the common name of this popular pet snake derives its name.

In the big scheme of things this technology is fairly new–Doppler radar–particularly as it pertains to bird migration. I don’t have the time to dig into the research but it was someone from the Southeast who came upon this tool as a way to track migrating birds. Some of the radar images from the Gulf Coast are truly astounding as it pertains to birds migrating across the water.

I have previously confessed to a lack of understanding as to the manipulation of Doppler for birds (as an aviator I get the weather side of it). Others in the business, however, have a keener sense, especially the weather dudes.

It came into my inbox just the other day. Turns out it was Tuesday morning of this week. A time lapse video from that night that just happened to capture the intensity of bird migration, was recorded by a guy from Grand Forks. I offer up a still from said video with a confession that I can’t figure out how to post the entire video. Still, you get the idea. Lots and lots of migratory species heading out of territory for the season only to be seen again next spring. Here’s one of the screen captures:

It’s not as if the birds themselves are flying in a donut-shaped pattern. No. It’s merely the section of the sky the radar happens to be sampling at the time the shot was captured. As you can see, for reasons only the birds know for certain, this was a night for massive movement. Pretty cool.

Thanks goes out to Daryl Ritchison for keeping me in the loop and to Mark Ewens, who captured the video in question. Pretty impressive for North Dakota (and western Minnesota).

I’ve heard it from many folks through the years especially after they hear I was a member of the US Armed Forces. It usually revolves around a common theme–that the military has a dreadful environmental record. In the past that was likely true but since I’ve been paying attention (1982?), the tide has turned dramatically.

I’ve seen the benefits the DoD has bestowed upon many thousands of acres across the West, mostly from keeping wild lands out of the hands of developers. In addition, virtually every facility has an environmentalist on staff to coordinate activities on these lands. It’s just not like it once was, it’s better. Much better.

That said, here’s an interesting article out of Oregon (Statesmanjournal.com) talking about the Umatilla Chemical Depot and the return of burrowing owls to those lands.

This is a giant piece of property with a presence in both Oregon and Washington astride the Columbia River. I’ve driven through it many times, anyone who’s gone to Portland via the usual route (I-84) has as well.

First, I find the reason for the original loss of the birds interesting:

The burrowing owls are natives to the depot lands. Historically, they used hollows dug by badgers to make their homes. But in the 1980s officials accidentally rid the area of badgers when they were trying to capture coyotes to reduce predators of antelope. 

“No badgers, no holes. No holes, no nesting places for burrowing owls,” Johnson (David Johnson, a member of the Global Owl Project and head of the burrowing owl work at Umatilla) said.

We simply never learn be it politics or environmental issues. Unintended consequences bite our butts so routinely as to be comical.

Second, the animals are returning with gusto:

In 2008 there were only three or four pairs of these owls. This year there are 61 pairs.

How’d they do it? By placing artificial nest holes among the vast acreage and simply waiting for the birds to show up.

Which illustrates a great point about the resiliency of wild things. More often than not this is pretty standard news when it comes to recoveries. That is, if left to repopulate an area undisturbed, critters usually do so, often to the surprise of “experts.” It’s amazing how often nature can quietly conquer trying circumstances. Granted this one took some intervention in the way of nest sites, but a person has to admire the almost SunTzu-like approach nature takes to winning these wars.

From the centuries-old classic doctrine, the Art of War: Military tactics (Nature) are like unto water; for water in its natural course runs away from high places and hastens downward. So in war, the way is to avoid what is strong and to strike at what is weak. Water shapes its course according to the nature of the ground over which it flows; the soldier works out his victory in relation to the foe whom he is facing.

Too jingoistic an analogy?

There are a few species of birds with a reputation for nesting very late in the year. Perhaps the most well known of these is our American goldfinch. Funny thing is I had never actually found an active nest of these ubiquitous little birds. Even more funny was the fact my first one turned out to be right alongside my own driveway.

I was pulling into the yard about three weeks ago when a small bird flew across my path. I identified it as an American goldfinch. Not only that, but its mouth was chock-full of some sort of fluff. I had little time that day and so nearly forgot about the incident until the next day when I decided to search the amur maple tree the bird was seen landing in. There it was about 12 feet above the ground, a fist-sized collection of material made into a nest. A few days later it began to be occupied by a brooding female.

As of today, she’ still there. With an incubation of 11 days, I’m positive she is now sitting on young birds. I’ve yet to see any food-carrying but I’ll keep my eyes peeled.

September rolls around and folks start to think of fall things–school starting, football season, cooling temperatures, etc. For birders fall means another seismic shift of the North American avifauna, migration.

The last couple of years I’ve taken a keen interest in trying to find out how raptors actually treat the Red River Valley as a migration corridor. It would take a team of researchers a few years to truly answer this question but I give it some hours in the fall nonetheless; mostly just to satisfy my craving for seeing hawks.

I sent out an email late last Sunday announcing to fellow birders in the area my plans for sitting in a certain spot the following day (Labor Day) to watch hawks, and to invite anyone to join me if they so desired. I was mildly surprised when five people showed up.

Unlike the previous two days, the winds on Monday were out of the south and so we ended up not seeing much. Still, some red-tailed hawks, a couple bald eagles, two turkey vultures, and an osprey were noted. This week is calling for more warmth and mild south winds so any big migratory push is likely on hold.

Good people and good conversation, just the way it’s supposed to be.

Spruce and pine trees, during the last couple of years in our area, have produced noticeably few cones. Why is this important? Well, to most folks it’s not. But to birders it means a small number of species which rely heavily upon cone seeds have been scarce as well. In particular, I’m talking about red crossbills, white-winged crossbills, and to a certain extent pine grosbeaks.

(still green cones on a white spruce)

There might be good news on the horizon however. After looking at a number of spruce trees over the last couple of weeks, I think it’s safe to say we just might be preparing a banquet feast for the northern finches.

I’ll wait for Mr. Pittiway’s definitive “winter finch forecast” before anticipating any influxes. But thus far the evidence is compelling.

Of all the shorebirds a person could reasonably expect to see in the Red River Valley during any one year, I suggest very few would be considered stunningly attractive. There are some subtly beautiful ones like dunlin or willet but, in general, shorebirds are usually adapted to a more muted color scheme, a direct result of nesting in open areas on the ground.

Still, a few stand out for the title of most attractive and here’s my candidates in no particular order: 1) ruddy turnstone, 2) black-bellied plover and 3) American golden plover.

Last weekend I happened to stumble upon a scene just west of West Fargo that hosted one of these: American golden plover. In fact there was about 20 of them. In addition to these, a lone great blue heron, a couple of greater yellowlegs, a possible willet, and some killdeer were present turning it into a nice little mix of migrant shorebirds. This group spanned nearly the entire gamut of plumage differences from near-spring adults to juveniles. Despite the weird mid-molt appearances of some of these birds, I still think you can get a feel for why I think these birds are in the running for most visually appealing shorebird.

Maybe more than anything these particular birds are known for their open-ocean fall migration, leaving the East Coast of the US to make landfall some many hours later in South America, where the birds will spend the winter. Well, actually it’d be summer in the southern hemisphere.

Note: after viewing the photo I came to realize that without a full version of it, the birds are difficult to make out. With that in mind, here’s a spring version of an American golden plover taken two years ago and within two miles of the same location: