CLASSY WINTER BIRDS

Bohemian and Cedar Waxwings are a tough act to follow if you are a Pine Siskin or sparrow. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the siskins, sparrows and my loyal Black-capped Chickadees, but when the waxwings and grosbeaks fly in it resembles a stuffy "black tie" affair.

The fly in occurs each fall and lasts as long as the berries do... that is, the mountain ash berries. The waxwings and grosbeak were almost non existent last winter in the Arrowhead. For some reason, the mountain ash trees produced no berries. I don't know if there was a blight or a stress from many years in a row of abundant berries. But few waxwings or Pine Grosbeaks showed up in my area.

This winter it is a whole different story, I have been photographing the waxwings and grosbeak since the end of November. All of January has been a wonderful photo op of these beautiful birds. I have shot thousands of photos of these birds over the two month span, more than any other year. At times the sky is filled with whirring wings of hundreds of waxwings, quite a marvelous sight to behold.

Lack of sunshine over this period has made stellar shots difficult. Until this week in January, I could count the days of sunshine since the middle of December on one hand... it has been darker than sin and not conducive to sharp photos. Everything changed this week with the frigid weather, the skies cleared up and the temperature dropped. On January 19th I photographed in sunshine and a -53 degree below zero windchill. The female Pine Grosbeak below is one of the birds photographed on that day.



Here are a set of images from this winter's photographs of Bohemian, Cedar Waxwings and Pine Grosbeaks.

Male Pine Grosbeak

Cedar Waxwing

Cedar Waxwing

"A buffet gone terribly wrong"

Female Pine Grosbeak

“Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.” Henry David Thoreau

BRILLIANCE

During the forties and fifties as a rural urchin, my criteria for brilliance was quite simple. The kid who engineered the sod dam each summer across Shingle Creek, in my mind... possessed true brilliance and was a genius.


High school and a four year stint in college, afforded me the opportunity to work summers as a telephone lineman. This was an unique experience, because the town had it's own telephone central office. The telephone operators were in command twenty four hours of the day, plugging in calls from all over the town, country and world. My boss Walt, was the first person to teach me an actual craft, from climbing poles to hanging a "crank" telephone. When he opened the back room of the central telephone office and I viewed the incredible maize of telephone wires, it was always astounding. In that old time frame I quipped, "The room had more wiring than the Pentagon." As the years passed, I would stop by the old central office and visit Walt. He was always sitting, propped up in an old swivel chair and greeted me with a smile. I would have to listen, again... to his old stories. His favorite repetition was that when he hired me, he thought the 120 pound kid... soaking wet... would be his worst lineman. He told me that he was amazed of my climbing ability and ended up being his best climber. Walt was a good friend of my dad, who passed a couple of years before I started working for him. He became a conduit to the past and shared many wonderful stories I never knew about my father. At the time, his friendship and wry sense of humor were appreciated. As time has passed, this lost craft is fondly remembered... Walt had true brilliance.


After graduation from college, I meandered through a couple different occupations. My final career, started and ended as a "country school teacher" in a small rural town.

In 1974 I met the new english teacher down the hall from me. We hit it off from the first bell. Jeff's humor and mine intertwined like two stand up comedians... and in our own minds we were "brilliant", interchangeable "straight men." Twenty two years we spent golfing, laughing, teaching and policing the "hallowed halls of ivy." Jeff and I were stalwart hall duty icons. We lined up together in the hall at the beginning of school, at each class ending bell and at the end of the school day. We were the guardians of what we affectionately dubbed, "The Gates of Hell"... that being the intersection of the seventh, eight and ninth grade hall and lockers. I could write a book on our experiences together in school, inservice training and various arduous "hoop jumping" teachers endure. We could never sit together during these sessions, for we would invariably "lose it" if we made any eye contact. It was scary that two people could have such identical perceptions. I could also write a few pages of one liners we would use in dealing with various high school "intellectuals". One such quip to rowdy seniors, who thought they were untouchable the last week of school... "You might want to tell your mother to freeze the graduation cake."


I wasn't much of a golfer when Jeff first arrived, I had played golf sparingly and my clubs basically gathered dust in the garage. My friend was as close to a professional golfer that I encountered and became the school's golf coach. He taught my two sons to be good golfers and respected students of the game. At the time my boys began golfing, Jeff talked me into resuming the golf game. I would marvel at his beautiful "draw" and prowess of chipping and putting. He got me hooked on the game and one day he told me, "You swing like you are screwing yourself in the ground." When you hear a statement like that, you either quit or strive to improve. I chose the latter. Through the years with Jeff's help and my buddy the athletic director, they shaped me into an "adequate" golfer. We played many golf tournaments together and in my "post formative" years I ended up winning the senior golf club championship a couple of times while Jeff won the club championship. His favorite saying after a good round was, "Not bad for a couple of country school teachers."


Our episodes together ended with my retirement and moving out of the area in 2003. Each time I came back to town I would stop at school and visit Jeff and other friends. Jeff ended his english teaching tenure and became the dean of students for the high school. I would always remind him of one of our concepts of "upper management." That being, the administration was busy in their offices "spinning in their chairs." I would now ask him if his chair was stationary....... I never checked.

Jeff retired a year ago and sadly, on September 26 of this year, played his last round of golf. He was found on hole 14 sitting in his golf cart, he had died of a massive heart attack... ironically, the hole where his son Jon scored a hole in one. My wife and I traveled back to school where Jeff's memorial service was held. Hundreds of students, former students, teachers, administrators and townspeople gathered to pay their last respects.


I noticed on the front cover of Jeff's memorial was a design of a Blue Jay. During my retirement years I had become interested in wildlife photography. Jeff was a computer genius and we would email back and forth information about Photoshop and images in general. We also would discuss cameras and I knew he was interested in photography, but did not know to what extent. It was not until after the memorial service that I found out from Jeff's sister how much he enjoyed my bird images. He had sent me photos of an albino deer, but I never knew he was interested in bird photography.


The Blue Jay design is now dear to my heart, for I spend countless hours almost every day of the year photographing birds. Each morning at daybreak, I throw seeds and peanuts on the lawn and watch six to eight Blue Jays fly in for breakfast... they now are a living memory of a Master Teacher, loving husband, good friend and another chapter of brilliance that has touched my life.

I don't fear death, but I sure don't like those three-footers for par.
~ Chi Chi Rodriguez

BIRDING IN ONE SPOT

The Ruby-throated Hummingbirds are now "en masse" at my feeders, fueling up for their long flight. The brilliant lavender fireweed has reached it's finality... when the bloom spirals to the top of the flower, it signals fall... at least that is the lore shared by many "Northshorites."

There are many harbingers of fall, but none so abrupt and timely as the waves of warblers heading south. My Cedar Ridge has been taken over by many species of wood warblers, as well as a host of other song birds. Some species, such as the White-throated Sparrow have been here all spring and summer... now being joined by dozens of juveniles from points north.



The title of this thread "Birding in One Spot" is applicable to most bird photographers. Many have captured stunning images from perch setups and the beauty of backyards. In the past couple of weeks since the start of what I call the "reverse migration," I have ventured to a spot in the Superior National Forest. In my view, it is a magical spot, because of many reasons. The first is that it has a variety of habitat... mountain maple, hazelnut shrubs, white birch, spruce and deadfalls. All conducive to excellent feeding spots, for the ravenous migrants that are passing through in large numbers. Secondly, I now have my second generation of chickadees and Rb Nuthatches, swarming around me, eating sunflower hulls out of my hand. Plus the loyal White-throated Sparrows that flutter around my feet, eating the seeds I toss to them. I have stood in this same spot for many days in the early mornings, watching and waiting for the migrants to fly in.

Northern Parula

They come in waves and like clockwork, they watch the numbers of chickadees and nuthatches land on my shoulders and eat out of my hand.

Chestnut-sided Warbler Juvenile

Curiosity then takes over and they fly in, ever so close to see what my bird friends are doing.

Mourning Warbler

Each day I watch as the warblers fly in, how they accept the presence of the chickadees. Some mingle in a friendly manner, while some chase the chickadees through the boughs in winding, laser flights... almost comical, but certainly entertaining.

American Redstart

Most days I spend around three hours standing in my spot observing the coming and going of the birds. When a wave of birds fly in, it is instant chaos. The term "head on a swivel" applies here, for missing good shots is a given... it seems impossible to catch all the action... but what a blast! The warblers seem to work the immediate area for about fifteen to twenty minutes, then they are gone. It becomes quiet and even my chickadees take a break and rest out of sight.

Tennessee Warbler

Wilson's Warbler

Myrtle Warbler

Black-throated Green Warbler

Nashville Warbler

Blackburnian Warbler



The most prolific warblers have been the Nashville, Tennessee, Chestnut-sided, Blackburnian, Mourning, Magnolia, American Redstart and the Black & White. I generally see up to 23 species of wood warbler through the spring, summer and fall seasons... the past couple of weeks around a dozen or so. I mentioned to my friend Al the other day... where the heck were the waves of warblers this spring, as it was very quiet with small flocks. I guess it makes sense to note, that a high percentage of the warblers are first year birds or juveniles. Making it difficult to discern the species of these nondescript warblers.

As always and as the days shorten, I will miss my warblers. It is certain as the sun rises and sets, that they will return home to their nesting grounds in April. Until then, I wish them a safe journey.
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Lying under an acacia tree with the sound of the dawn around me, I realized more clearly the facts that man should never overlook: that the construction of an airplane, for instance, is simple when compared [with] a bird; that airplanes depend on an advanced civilization, and that were civilization is most advanced, few birds exist. I realized that If I had to choose, I would rather have birds than airplanes.

— Charles A. Lindbergh, interview shortly before his death, 1974.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY

My eldest son Jean and I went fishing together on Father's Day in 2002... the following is a true story of our trip... expertly recalled and written by Jean. In my eyes, it is a true classic, worthy of sharing... thanks again Jean, a day I will not forget.

Dad & Jean

A funny thing happened at the boat landing

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

A shot of Dad with a furry friend



Back in 2002, my parents still lived in central Minnesota, and Dad and I had a somewhat regular tradition of fishing on Father's Day weekend. Mid June was always a great time to catch bluegills with fly rods, as they would be spawning in the shallows and eager to hit surface flies. So we would usually go to a favorite small lake in pursuit of panfish.

Yesterday, buried in the archives of my e-mail, I found this story I wrote to share with friends. It recaps a humorous experience Dad and I had on Father's Day weekend in 2002 while at the boat landing of Rabbit Lake in Aitkin County. I sent this to Dad yesterday just for kicks, and he has been laughing about it for the past two days now. The story seems to have gotten better with age for us, and I had forgotten how funny this whole episode was. I thought I would share it on my blog. Every word is true, and to clarify, "The Osbourne's" was a favorite reality show of ours at the time, hence the reference to Ozzy, "The Prince of Darkness" himself.

A Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there, especially mine! Enjoy...and work on your boat landing skills, will ya?! :)


Saturday, Dad and I made our way out to the little lake that we fished last Father's Day weekend. Well, we got into yet another bonanza of fish.

We caught and released over two dozen crappies (middle of the day, bright sun...what gives?), and easily three times as many bluegills on the fly rod. My hands are scarred and sore from taking off so many fish and getting stabbed with fins, etc. It was an absolutely legendary day on the lake. One for the books, without question.

However, one of the more entertaining moments came as we were trying to get in at the boat landing.

Dad had said earlier in the day that it never fails...you will always have to wait for somebody at the boat landing. It didn't matter that we were amongst the only people on the lake. Murphy's Law says that there will always be someone launching or landing when we are trying to get in.

Well, sure enough, Dad was right. Not only was he right, but we also got a front row seat to witnessing a father having a really bad day.

We cruised up to the landing where we see our Father of the Year candidate, his wife Sharon (we weren't introduced, rather, we deduced this from the occasional use of the phrase "Dammit Sharon!"), and four small children, the oldest no more than ten. They were trying to bring the boat into shore. The whole situation just screamed of somebody pressuring the dad into taking the whole family fishing on the weekend.

So, we sat quietly on the water out in front of the landing.

Dad made the observation that this guy had one of those trailers with the rollers that catch the sides of the boat, and it had no carriage in the middle to help center it. Dad also noticed that this guy had the trailer too far in the water, which meant that the back of the boat would still be floating when they are trying to trailer it, making it REALLY hard to center it. And, to top it off, Sharon and one of the children were still IN the boat, making it even that much more difficult to align on the trailer.

So, we waited and watched.

The dad is yelling instructions to Sharon. Sharon is lying on the bow of the boat, trying to hook the rope from the winch to the boat itself. One kid is in the water trying to hold the boat steady. The smallest child is sitting on shore crying. The other two kids are asking daddy lots questions. Daddy is getting mad.

Finally, after a whole lot of messing around, they seemingly have everything situated. He gets in the van to pull the boat out of the water. He pulls forward, and there is a loud "clank". I didn't see exactly what happened, but I suspect the boat shifted on the trailer. He stops, gets out, walks to the back of the van, looks at the boat, and exclaims very loudly:

"Well, what a F&%$ING load of SH&%!!!"

The guy completely lost it, unleashing a stream of profanity that might still be echoing throughout southern Aitkin County. He re-releases the boat into the water in an attempt to get it on the trailer correctly.

Now the dad is shouting instructions to everyone. Sharon says nothing. The smallest child, still crying since the time we pulled up to the landing, is having a complete meltdown. One of the middle children is bugging the dad, saying, "Daddy, I have to pee!" Straight from the pages of a Dr. Benjamin Spock parenting book, the dad says:

"Just drop your F&%$ING pants and go!"

I am absolutely dying...appalled, yet oddly entertained by this buffoon who appears to have never landed a boat before. I had to turn my back on the boat landing just so this guy wouldn't see how hard I was laughing at him. At this point, my dad is goading me into shouting to the shore to ask this gentleman if he is having a good time. I resist.

Finally, after about 20 minutes and a whole lot of shouting, they actually get the boat out of the water so we could bring ours to shore. The crowning moment was the oldest kid coming down to our boat and saying to us, "We're sorry it took so long."

This guy, the Father of the Year candidate, actually made his KID come down and apologize to us!

My Dad, ever the gentleman, resisted the urge to say, "That's OK, you weren't the dumbass that backed the trailer in too far," and just said to the kid, "Hey, no problem. Stuff like that happens when you are fishing."

We get our boat out in minutes, and we are packing up our gear as they began to leave. As the happy family was driving off into the sunset, their boat still not sitting on the trailer correctly, my Dad launches into his Ozzy Osbourne impersonation:

"Sharon! SHARON!!!"

I am doubled over in laughter at this point, thinking thoughts like "I am the Prince of f&@#ing Darkness, Sharon! I'll have nothing to do with landing the boat!!!" I was wondering if I had just witnessed Ozzy himself!

The rest of our evening was comprised of telling Mom about our great fishing stories, having incredible NY strip steaks on the grill with some Whitehall Lane Cab, and me shouting at random times for no apparent reason, "Well, what a F&%$ING load of SH&%!!!"

It was a really fun Father's Day weekend.

So with that, to my Dad, Happy Father's Day! Thanks for the awesome fishing outing!

And to the Father of the Year candidate at the boat landing...Ozzy, or whoever you were...Happy Father's Day to you too. I hope you are having a better day. :)

MAGICAL MOMENTS

I suspect "Magical Moments" in bird photography, conjures up many different ideas and visions for us all.

Through the years I have enjoyed my hikes in the forest. Each day, I usually walk, stand, listen and watch for many hours. What shows up, dictates how many miles I walk or how long I stand in one area. I have learned what brush or trees draw which birds, for nesting or a food source. As an example... I "scout" spruce deadfalls that have an abundance of spruce beetles, I then know that this would be a prime area for the Black-backed Woodpecker. In this spring time frame, I am now watching different nests built in hazelnut shrubs, birch trees, cedar trees, etc.... waiting for the hatch and fledgling feeding.
I have also learned to "whistle in" various species of birds. I also have a flock of chickadees and Red-breasted Nuthatches that follow me for hours... drawing in many curious, species of birds.

All of the above has produced some interesting "Magical Moments" for me in this spring's photography.

This first image is a Chestnut-sided Warbler. He was drawn close to me by my gathering chickadees who were eating out of my hand. I credit hundreds of photos to my chickadee friends.


The most endearing bird that has flown in this spring is the Eastern Towhee. I found this bird in the middle of May with the help of my son and wife as we were birding our ridge. I did a thread on him awhile back and figured he would be long gone in a short period of time. The reason being, I had never seen this bird in this area and he was out of his range. A few weeks ago, I was surprised to hear his piercing one note, echoing over the ridge. I followed his repetitive whistle until it abruptly quit. I began whistling his note and waited... to my amazement, he again started his one note chirp and had moved closer to me. I spent the morning watching him work the brushy ground for worms and grubs, taking time off to chirp and pose on branches.


I also observed that he interacted with the White-throated Sparrows. He was drawn to their songs as they sang from deadfall perches. Some days he seemed to enjoy their presence and on other days, he gave chase when he heard their song. It seemed to be no rhyme nor reason to his antics with the sparrows. One day he picked up dry leaves with his beak as he followed a sparrow through the dense underbrush.



I learned if I whistled the White-throated Sparrow song, it would draw both the towhee and sparrows where I waited.





My spring prize so far is this Winter Wren image. One morning I heard her long, lovely song coming from a distant, deadfall mess. I have scarred shins to show the difficulty of past and present Winter Wren hunts. This time I planted myself with the morning light to my back and repeated her long, melodic song. She started her song again and popped up on a dead fall branch and serenaded me. I caught images of her singing and she posed beautifully in the morning sunshine. I believe, from the hundreds of Winter Wren shots, this is my best.


The Chipping Sparrow shot came from a nest I discovered. The pair of sparrows watched me and my chickadees, as we passed by an eight foot spruce tree. I noticed one of the sparrows had a wisp of dried grass in her bill. I walked a short distance away and watched while the female sparrow darted into one of the short spruces with the grass. Here, about three feet above the ground she had constructed an all grass nest. She now is sitting on four eggs.

Norris and Noreen are the names of my pet Red-breasted Nuthatches. Each year and I believe it is the fourth, they introduce me to their fledglings during the first two weeks in June.


Today I almost had one of the fledglings eating out of my hand like mom and dad... it will be a matter of time and another "Magical Moment" for me.

"There was magic in a forest, on a mountain top or seashore; in the heart of a desert and, yes, even on a city street. There was beauty in humankind and the creatures with which they shared this world; and there was mystery, too."

... Charles de Lint, Spiritwalk

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