CEDAR RIDGE - A DOOR TO THE SUPERIOR NATIONAL FOREST

CLASSY WINTER BIRDS

2012-01-21T19:28:00.000-08:00

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

"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

2011-10-14T12:48:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-23T06:08:00.000-07:00

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.
__________________

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

2011-06-19T11:51:00.000-07:00

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

2011-06-17T05:59:00.000-07:00

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

__________________

THE BLACK BUCK

2011-05-30T10:40:00.001-07:00

Through the years, Cedar Ridge has produced some colorful, wildlife characters. We have had tame Fishers, Red Fox, Gray Fox, numerous birds, interact with us... but non so endearing as the White-tailed Deer we call Black Buck.

The Black Buck showed up as a first year twin fawn in the winter of 2005. He and his brother were orphans from either the fall hunt, wolves or highway 61. The little guy and his brother hung around our house each day, yarded up in our white cedars with a few other deer.

Each morning and before dark, I would bring them a bucket of corn in the front yard as a treat from a day of browsing. Blackie was precocious from our first meeting; when I would walk out with the corn, he would be first in line with his head in the bucket. I told Mary, that I hoped he had more sense when he wandered the forest, especially during the hunting seasons.

The advent of warm weather and the snow melt, signals the "inland deer" departure. The angle of the sun on February 13, starts the drip of icicles and the melt of snow on southern exposures. Especially along the steep ditches of highway 61, adjacent to Lake Superior. March and the first weeks of April, are dangerous times for drivers on highway 61. At times, I have counted deer by the dozens along the sixteen mile stretch of highway to Grand Marais. This "melt", signals the large number of deer in the "Jonvick Deer Yard", to begin their slow migration back inland for the summer months.

Blackie left in April that first spring, along with his brother and a few friends. I remember it was a particularly nice day, I told Mary I was going to have a "talk" with them about leaving. I gave them their last corn treat and told them it was time to go... no more corn until January of 2006. Blackie ate out of my bucket for the last time and I wished him a safe journey. A couple of his friends came back the next day, but he and his brother never returned... bizarre, I know.

We do have what I call "local deer" hang out through the summer months. I am in the forest every day and I see very few deer anywhere on the ridge during the summer. I have never seen my friend Blackie any time during the summer and fall, nor any other deer that winter with us.

I am constantly busy during the summer and fall, chronicling the advent and departure of song birds, especially the Wood Warblers. The thousands of photos and editing keeps my mind off past bird and animal departures. It is not until the middle of October or so, that I think of my friend Blackie and wonder of his safety and location. Firearm deer season usually begins the first weekend of November. At that time, I take a hiatus from wandering the ridge as I would be "running the gauntlet" of blaze orange hunters. I have pretty much given up "pulling the trigger" on deer, Ruffed Grouse or hunt any other bird or animal. Not that I have altered my views of others hunting. When you have snowshoed through a herd of deer with a camera... or sat and photographed a drumming grouse on the same log, I now find I haven't the heart to hunt them. I have had deer follow me home through the forest in the dead of winter and Ruffed Grouse hop off their drumming logs and walk with me to the edge of their territory... so now I hunt with a camera and actually get much closer to these magnificent creatures, in more ways than one.

Every year since the winter of 2005 Blackie has returned home, except the winter of 2007. I will never know the reason why he didn't return that winter, but he never showed up. The January of 2008, I was sitting in my chair watching television and a deer walked up on our patio. I did a double take, because low and behold, this skinny, geeky deer staring at me through the glass was my friend Blackie. I jumped up and opened the door and yelled "Blackie." He stood there and waited for me to put on my jacket and grab my empty corn bucket. I went out our side door and headed for the garage to fill up the corn bucket.... on my heels, strolled the geeky one in his own slow fashion, following me to the garage. He stood outside and waited patiently, I held out the bucket and he immediately stuck his head in it... my old friend had returned home for the winter, missing an entire year.

Each year I expect not to see his return. Bow season, firearm deer season and now with the addition of black powder muzzle loading season, the hunt is on from September into December. Plus Gray Wolves and highway 61, add to the dilemma of the White-tail's longevity. So it is always a pleasant surprise to see Blackie wander in, usually the second week in January. I wrote a post earlier on this blog, discussing if his survival was that of luck or intelligence. As years have passed, I believe it is definitely luck, but after observing his demeanor and alertness, he never misses a sound or scent. He is truly a furry, alarm system.

Other deer follow him home, we usually have eight or so, I don't want to feed a "herd" of deer for various reasons. So I will feed Blackie out of a bucket and give a couple of the little first year "goats" as I call them, some treats. His buck friends, fight over the residue while Blackie stands on guard, always alert. He is the kindest buck I have observed, he doesn't rear up and beat the little deer and does with his hooves. Rather, he avoids any conflict all together... walking away and constantly watching. I told Mary, "I see why he has survived these past seven years."

"Goat"

This year was a bit disconcerting as Blackie returned the last week of November for his seventh year. Disconcerting, because muzzleloading season was still open into December. This was the first year I didn't recognize him as he was sporting a spectacular, fifteen point rack. Every other year, he would return in January having shed his antlers. Mary and I saw this beautiful buck walk into the yard and stand looking at the house. I quickly ran to get my camera as this was one awesome looking buck. I carefully shot some photos through the glass door so I wouldn't scare him. We both silently moved from window to window, trying to figure out how to get a window open for an unobstructed photo. We both were admiring and counting the fifteen point rack, until I carefully looked at his head and ears. Focusing on his right ear, I noticed the tell tale "notch" that Blackie had acquired at one point in his seven years. Finally, we had gotten to see what the old deer looked like in all his buck-like splendor. I opened the door and talked to him and as always, he followed me to the garage for his corn treat. Now the trick was, to get him through the rest of the hunting season......

Blackie didn't keep his antlers for very long, one day he walked up on the front lawn with one antler. I had seen him not long before with both antlers, so I knew it couldn't be far from our house. I went out and walked a short distance down the hill and sure enough, it was protruding nicely out of the snow. The next day he walked up and shed the remaining antler on the lawn. We thought it kind of him to leave us his memorabilia. We are now trying to figure out an appropriate way to display them in our house.

This year was a particularly difficult and cold winter, the deer browsed heavily and the wolves had a record year in deer kills on my ridge. Blackie again survived the hunters, weather and wolves... he departed in April, he didn't leave leave leading the other deer as usual, but hung around and spent late afternoons with me. I told him it was time for him to leave and find his inland "safe house." I would love to have a GPS attached to him so I would know where he goes and where he hangs out.

In retrospect, maybe watching, waiting and anticipating an old friends return is more appropriate and heartwarming... we will see.

"I ask people why they have deer heads on their

walls. They always say because it's such a

beautiful animal. There you go. I think my

mother is attractive, but I have photographs of her."

Ellen DeGeneres

WORLD OF THE WINTER WREN

2011-04-10T07:23:00.000-07:00

Winter Wren

This week I was checking my bird migration journal and found that in 2010, the first Winter Wren flew in to my forest on April 3rd. Last year, April was a marvelous month here on my Cedar Ridge. Not only was it a record early arrival of the Winter Wren, but the Ruffed Grouse started their "drumming" on April 10th... which was also quite early.

Winter Wren

Ruffed Grouse

This year the snow is still deep in the forest. Today when I was out investigating a massive flock of screaming crows... I was sinking in snow almost knee deep. It seems many migrating birds that arrived early last year, are on hold. The juncos arrived April 1st and yesterday the first Purple Finch flew into my front yard... five days later than last year.

Purple Finch

There are many sounds of spring that uplift the birders spirit. I always enjoy the Black-capped Chickadee's "pee-wee" song, a chorus that grows as the days pass into spring. Many think of spring as they first hear the American Robin's roosting melody, as it drones into early evening. However, my favorite spring bird song is that of the Winter Wren. The little wren's song is arguably the longest and most beautiful, as it that echos through the forest. When I hear it the first time, it erases many of winter's cold memories.

Through the years, I have attempted to follow this little bird from nesting to fledging. In 2008 I found a wren nest under a tangled deadfall. I watched the adults zip into the underbrush with bills full of insects, never able to see the chicks. I was fortunate to capture the fledgings and have included some past shots I took with a super zoom camera. Wood warblers and the various sparrow species, I think are difficult to capture. These birds are my principle photo targets during the spring, summer and fall months... but for me, the Winter Wren remains the most difficult bird to capture in the forest. The "tangled deadfalls" and in my forest they are a photographers nightmare. Great for photographing a "working woodpecker", but for following a bouncing, feathered "ping pong ball"... not so much.

One thing I have learned, the mother will sing constantly and fly in a large circle to distract you from the fledglings. When this happens you know the fledglings are close at hand and it is best to stay in one spot and wait... she will eventually fly in with insects and you can find the family. The fledged wrens usually gather or bunch up on a deadfall log... trying to photograph them without an explosion of tiny feathers is difficult.

The little wren is not back yet, but I hope to hear her beautiful song soon... and begin the new season's merry chase.

"He who shall hurt the little wren/Shall never be beloved by men." ... William Blake

THE FOX OF CEDAR RIDGE

2011-04-04T07:36:00.000-07:00

Red Fox

Over the years, we have had a number of interesting fox interactions on our property. I say interesting, because we have had two "phases" of the Red Fox, plus the Gray Fox, entertain us almost every night for the past eight years. In the archives, the Gray Fox has been discussed, especially the story of raising kits from under the floor of our dog kennel. They still arrive each night at dusk, in varied numbers, depending on who is giving birth and raising kits.

Cross Fox

The Cross Fox who shows up is a real treat. I have never seen a Cross Fox close up until this year. We named him "Goofy" because he is such a free spirit; he shows up the least of the fox, but he thinks he is part owner of Cedar Ridge. When he arrives, which is mostly at night, he sits on our patio and looks in the window. He is the most tame of all the fox and perhaps the most unique. As all the fox, I treat him to chicken scraps I get at the local grocery store. I can always tell if he had a successful, recent hunt if he eats little and leaves carrying his "booty", to bury it someplace close by.

Cross Fox

This winter the little guy developed "mange", a disease that is caused by mites and creates a ugly condition to the skin and causes hair loss. He gradually was losing fur on his tail and I purchased mange medicine and started treating him. I would put the medicine in chicken or hamburger and treated him when he showed up.

Cross Fox

I am happy to report that the fur is growing back and the little guy is doing well. He is a gorgeous fox.

Cross Fox

"Red" is the second most tame of our three fox guests. He also arrives at different times, but mostly he is nocturnal. He won't sit on our patio, but he will pose around ten feet from the front door... usually with his tail curled around his feet; in a classic fox pose.

Red Fox

The other day I was feeding corn to my three bucks that come by each afternoon. They were standing in my driveway parking area and I went to the garage to get their corn treat. When I came out the side door, my largest buck came running by me in "great haste"... almost knocking me down. I looked out in the parking area and the other two bucks were gone. Sitting on a hill was my little Red Fox, he must have heard me talking to the deer and came out of the woods.

Usually the deer flare their tails and "stomp" when a fox shows up. But the Red Fox is bigger than the Gray Fox, so the bucks were alarmed by "Reds" presence.

Two of my bucks are tame and they eat out of my hand, so I called them back and put corn on the driveway in three neat piles... they really don't like to share and the largest gets the most if you don't spread it out.

The Red Fox patiently waited on his snow bank until I finished with the deer. I called him to the front of the house and went in to get his chicken scraps. Like a pet dog, he trotted to the front lawn and waited for me to throw out his lunch.

The most endearing fox and the most punctual are the Gray Fox. They have hardly missed a night for the last eight years, giving us endless delight in their antics and the kits they bring to the front lawn each fall. The patriarch is now five years old, his mate died for some unknown reason and was discussed in a past post. He is one tough hombre and I recognize him by his size and battle scar in his right ear.

I will not see the females for sometime, for they are now having kits... but the males will be stopping by at times when the hunting is poor, to pick up "fast food" at our door step. We will be looking forward to seeing the new kids on the block at the end of summer...

Mother & Jr. Gray Fox

"A Fox is a Wolf who sends Flowers"... Ruth Weston

COMMON & HOARY REDPOLLS

2011-02-25T13:30:00.000-08:00

Earlier this week, my friend Al from Rainy River, suggested to me that it might be interesting to post a comparison of the Hoary and Common Redpolls. This has been a good year for redpolls in my area... unfortunately, last year I saw two, all winter... while in 2009 there was an infestation of thousands in the Arrowhead region; as well as other areas of the northern USA.

The Hoary Redpoll has flown in at different times this winter season. I usually see a couple with the Common Redpolls every now and then... but this year there have been more than usual, at least in my area.

There are two redpoll species... the Common and the Hoary. Both have two subspecies breeding in North America... so there are four subspecies of redpolls...

The Southern Common Redpolls - more streaked flanks and under tail coverts, this subspecies seems to get mixed up more with the Hoary because of the varied whiter flanks and under tail whiteness... plus the different pinkness and reds of the breast.

Common Redpoll

The Southern Hoary Redpoll - breeds in the southern parts of the Arctic, overlapping with the Southern Common Redpoll, which I assume is the reason there are always intermingled sightings. The Southern Hoary Redpoll is paler by comparison to the Southern Common Redpoll. The neck and back of the Hoary Redpoll is whiter than that of the Common Redpoll. This Hoary Redpoll has less dark streaks on the flanks, sometimes non existent; plus the under tail coverts are usually pure white, without any streaking or brown "dashes." The more difficult ID in my opinion, is recognizing the stubby or shorter bill length on the Hoary.

Hoary Redpoll

The Greater Common Redpoll- is a larger sized redpoll that breeds in Greenland and on Baffin Island. I have never seen this subspecies, but I would imagine my friends in eastern Canada have.

Hornemann's Hoary Redpoll- breeds in the high Arctic and Greenland. A larger, whiter redpoll with the faintest streaking on the flanks... often described as having no streak marks at all on the under tail coverts... I don't think I have ever seen this bird as it would be a rarity in my range.

Since the Hoary Redpolls breed in similar areas as the Common Redpolls, I always wonder why they are fewer than the common cousin in my area. Even in 2009 when I had the redpoll "infestation" or "eruption" caused by pine cone and seed shortages in the far north, I saw fewer Hoary Redpolls than I have this year.

On my ridge, there is one thing for certain, they provide a varied beauty of "rosiness" to a stark, white, winter world.
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BLACK-BACKED WOODPECKER REDUX

2011-02-25T12:52:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, I walked up one of my ridge trails to feed my chickadees. I began to think I could have stayed in my yard, because most of the chickadees are there at my winter feeders... but a number of them came along when I whistled for them and ate hulled sunflower seeds from my hand. I positioned myself by a deadfall covered with lichen, so I could get a few photos of them on the decorative branches.

Black-capped Chickadee

I was with them for a half hour or so, when I heard a familiar "tapping" sound from a cedar wash about a hundred yards away.

I walked through the deep snow onto the packed down deer trails in the cedars. I would stop and listen for the pecking sound, because I was quite sure I had heard a Three-toed Woodpecker. Over the years, I have learned to discern the rhythm and torque of the three-toed variety. It is quite different sounding from the Downy and Hairy Woodpeckers... the intermittent pecking is a giveaway, as they stop to pry and scrape the dead bark away on the dead spruce... searching for the spruce beetles, larvae, etc. When I heard his tell tale "chirp", I knew it was one of the three-toed woodpeckers.

Black-backed Woodpecker

I waited until he resumed pecking; this blue collar woodpecker is so focused on his work, that if you are patient, you can walk right up to him... which I have done many times.

Black-backed Woodpecker

This time it happened to be the Black-backed Woodpecker, who used to be called the Arctic Three-toed Woodpecker... the lessor observed one of the north woods is the Three-toed Woodpecker; which has a ladder back and is a tad bit smaller. The bonus with this little beauty was that he was the male, with the perfect yellow "dollop" decorating the top of his head.

Black-backed Woodpecker

I proceeded to take a number of photos and spent quite a bit of time watching him work, until a red squirrel came into the area and chased him away...

Nemesis

I don't get a huge diversification of birds here in the winter, so the finding and capturing one of the sought after "recluse woodpeckers of the north woods," was a highlight of my winter.

ONE REASON TO WINTER IN THE NORTHLAND

2010-12-16T10:19:00.000-08:00

When the first snow flake falls on the north shore of Lake Superior, "the question" is inevitably asked me, "Do you stay here for the winter?" More often than not, the hope of an affirmative yes can be seen in the eyes of the questioner.... I always have the feeling my yes answer, validates their sanity.

First of all, there are many reasons Mary and I choose to winter on Cedar Ridge. A few I have alluded to in past posts, but the main reason is we enjoy all the wildlife seasons here on the north shore. Each season spotlights varieties of different birds and animals and we would greatly miss these events.

One of these events is the winter return of the Gray Jay, aka Canada Jay, Whiskey Jack, Camp Robber or Chickadee on Steroids. The winters of 2008 and 2009 were void of this gregarious bird of the north and we greatly missed his presence. This fall on November 5th our "reason not to go south" flew in to our yard. A beautiful immature Gray Jay landed in our front yard cedar tree. I immediately cut some small pieces of beef summer sausage our Gray Fox enjoys and tossed it on our patio. Without hesitation, the gray one dove in and helped himself. I added a few cubes of bread and he flew back and forth from the forest gathering up his new found booty.

Usually when you begin feeding a Gray Jay, they hang around for the duration, that being the winter and then departing in the spring to their breeding areas. This guy stayed for the remainder of the day and then disappeared for the next day or so. I thought my theory of "feed and stay" did not apply to this bird... but about the time I thought he had continued on his way, he returned. Now I was prepared with all the jay's favorites: white wieners (the cheapest and worst looking), hamburger morsels and white bread cubes. The gray one will pretty much eat any meat scrap you throw out the door. I do know that they have an affinity for baked beans... and I have friends that have watched them steal hot dogs off a grill and chips off a picnic table. Thus the appropriate handle, "Camp Robber."

The Gray Jay is arguably the most social of the birds of the northland. They thrive on contact with humans; obviously because we return their affection and bravery with the food they love. This new arrival took food out of my hand on the second day he was here. He comes every morning at sunrise and returns intermittently during the day. Every afternoon at sunset, which is now around 4:15 pm, he flies in to "pork down" for the long, cold night.

We received a surprise soon after his arrival, when another Gray Jay accompanied him into the yard. At first he was not too enamored with the new arrival, but soon they were both flying in together. The new guy would not land in my hand to grab his scraps, he would perch in a cedar or on my suet post and watch his friend land in my hand. He always waits for the original jay to eat first, then he flutters in and waits for me to toss his scraps on the ground. I am wondering if he will someday eat out of my hand before he leaves in the spring.

Mary and I love to watch them flutter from long distances into the yard. They have the longest and most beautiful glide to my outstretched hand. Yesterday I placed a slice of hot dog, piece of hamburger and bread cube in my hand. I was curious to see which one he would choose. He landed in my hand, perused the buffet and proceeded to scarf up the hamburger, hot dog and bread cube in that order... leaving none behind.

The Gray Jay's range is extensive throughout Alaska and Canada; in the U.S.A. he flies the northern border states from Minnesota, east to Maine... the northwestern states of Washington, Oregon and a finger extends throughout the Rocky Mountain range south into New Mexico.

Where ever he is seen, he provides endless delight and entertainment for the birder, hiker and camper... as the book "Birds of America" states: "He is about the cheekiest thing that wears feathers."

SNOW BUNTINGS & LAPLAND LONGSPURS

2010-10-30T06:20:00.000-07:00

The past couple weeks I have been fortunate to photograph Lapland Longspurs and Snow Buntings. They have been passing through here each day and landing in an old gravel area next a road that leads into my driveway. Each morning I have been staked out by some small spruce trees, waiting for them to land and feed on weeds and seeds.

Lapland Longspur

Snow Bunting

Lapland Longspur

I have spent many hours watching the longspurs and buntings... and have begun to understand their quirky flight habits. It seems that each flock closely resembles a kindergarten class. I see the "line leader" swoop in and perch on a taller weed or rock. He almost always is the most colorful male of the flock and peruses the area and may peck a few seeds. He then either flies off and brings back the rest of the flock or the flock joins him in his newly found area.

Snow Bunting

I slowly move towards them taking a few steps and then waiting five minutes or so... then repeat until they are used to my presence. This goes on until the "line leader" cheeps and they are off with their flashing, white wings. More often than not, the flock will fly in a large circle and land almost in the same spot or a short distance away. Once, they flew in the circle and I had them land a few feet from me... to close to focus with the 400.

Snow Bunting

John Burroughs rises to his best literature as he speaks of the Snow Buntings ("Far and Near"): "The only one of our winter birds that really seems a part of the winter, that seems to be born of the whirling snow, and to be happiest when storms drive thickest and coldest, is the Snow Bunting. The real snowbird, with plumage copied from the fields where the drifts hide all but the tops of the tallest weeds, large spaces of pure white touched here and there with black and gray and brown. Its twittering call and chirrup coming out of the white obscurity is the sweetest and happiest of all winter bird sounds. It is like the laughter of children. The fox-hunter hears it on the snowy hills, the farmer hears it when he goes to fodder his cattle from the distant stack, the country schoolboy hears it as he breaks his way through the drifts toward the school. It is ever a voice of good cheer and contentment."

Snow Bunting

It is a celebration for me, to have the opportunity to observe these beautiful tundra birds at close range. I think they are the most uniquely marked birds I see in the late fall and arguably the most docile along with the Lapland Longspurs. I look forward to the return of these beautiful birds in the spring... adorning their gorgeous breeding plumage.

Lapland Longspur... spring breeding plumage

Snow Bunting... spring breeding plumage

"One bleak March day,...a flock of snow-buntings came...Every few moments one of them would mount into the air, hovering about with quivering wings and warbling a loud, merry song with some very sweet notes. They were a most welcome little group of guests, and we were sorry when, after loitering around a day or two, they disappeared toward their breeding haunts." Theodore Roosevelt

ENTERING WINTER

2010-10-14T14:44:00.000-07:00

October on the ridge is usually a month of transition. Last year at this time we had snow on the 10th of October and lows the last half of the month in the 30's and 20's. Then November and deer hunting arrived and we ended up with warm temps and golfing weather.

Now in mid October, we have enjoyed warm temperatures with highs reaching the 60's and 72 on October 9th. The fact of the matter is, so far, the whole 2010 year has been incredibly warm and pleasant.

We had a half dozen or so deer we fed in our yard this past winter. Usually they stay until the middle or end of April and sometimes the first week of May. This year, they exited in mid March because of the exceptionally warm temps. Here on our ridge we had a grand total of 18 inches of snow for the entire 2010 winter. Inland there was "thigh high" snow at mid winter, but all we got was rain off the Big Lake. I took photos of drumming Ruffed Grouse in a light Gore-tex jacket the whole month of April.

The spring advent of the wood warblers was quite disappointing, as mentioned in a previous post. A number of species either by passed our ridge, flying at night or completely blew us off, missing us for the entire nesting season. In the breeding and nesting season of 2009 we identified 21 species of warblers. This year we spotted 16 species and in 2008 we saw a grand total of 23 species. I had hoped because of the wonderful weather the warblers would have a banner year. It ended up being the opposite, with an added negative, full blown leaves... two weeks early.... making warbler observation and photographing, difficult at best.

Each fall, the media weather prognosticators, gaze into their crystal balls and make an educated guess about the impending winter wrath. If their predictions are anything like the year of 2010, they will be dead wrong.

I always used two scenarios in my winter prediction: 1. the width of the band of the "Wooly Caterpillar." 2. An elderly Native American gentleman used to fish on the banks of a creek that flowed behind my house. I would sit and listen to his historic stories about past Native American encampments in the area of my house. The topic of winter came up. I thought that certainly, this wise old sage would enlighten me with a similar wise prediction. Not missing a beat, with a twinkle in his eye, he said.... "By the the size of the white man's wood pile, it is going to be a bad one." .... This year the 40 pound bags of wood pellets, for our pellet stove are piled quite high. We will see if the snow matches their height....

The first 14 days of October had interesting birds stopping by. Some are my "usual suspects" that remain here with me all winter, such as the Black-capped Chickadees, Red-breasted Nuthatches, Blue Jays, Bald Eagle and the Downy Woodpecker.

Bald Eagle

Blue Jay

Black-capped Chickadee

Downy Woodpecker

Red-breasted Nuthatch

Others such as the Winter Wren, Fox Sparrow, Dark-eyed Junco and Lapland Longspur are passing through.

Winter Wren

Fox Sparrow

Dark-eyed Junco Juvenile

Lapland Longspur

The Purple Finch seems to be here at various times throughout the winter months.

Purple Finch

A couple more of my friends that flew in...

American Tree Sparrow

White-breasted Nuthatch

And one that trots in each night...

Gray Fox

"Entering Winter" can be like a slamming storm door or a slow progression of "Indian Summer Days." I have discussed this proposition with my chickadees and nuthatches and we all hope it is the latter.

HAWKS & JAYS

2010-09-21T16:25:00.000-07:00

In the Minnesota arrowhead, September is the key month for migrating hawks.
Also, impressive numbers of migrating Blue Jays are being seen all along the North Shore, including a record-high count of 7,612 on the 14th at Hawk Ridge in Duluth.

Broad-winged Hawk

American Kestrel

Red-tailed Hawk

Cooper's Hawk

The migrating Blue Jays are not only impressive in numbers, but impressive in their degree of handsomeness. I enjoy photographing "His Blueness" this time of the year, as each jay has perfect feathers. These long distant, deep woods jays are in flocks numbering in the teens, to the hundreds... it is quite a sight to see as they pass over my ridge.

Blue Jay

I am entertained by their antics around the invading, small Accipiter hawks. Unlike my little birds, the chickadees and RbNuthatches who chant their robotic chirps and then hide in the trees... the robust Blue Jays taunt the Sharpies and Cooper's. The hawks dive at the jays and they hop or fly out of the way... at times, they sit above or around the hawks in the trees and pretty much drive them nuts. The one pictured in this series was worn out by a morning of chasing the elusive Blue Jay.

Sharp-shinned Hawk

At this date, 35,396 hawks, Merlins, falcons, eagles and Turkey Vultures have flown over Duluth and Hawk Ridge.

STOPPING AT THE RIDGE

2010-08-20T12:26:00.000-07:00

Mid August brings waves of warblers and other song birds to my ridge overlooking Lake Superior. These returnees do not have the blaze of color I see in the spring, but a more subdued smattering of golds and olive greens. Although, some of the youngsters are showing some bright color.

The juveniles seem to make up the most numbers, flitting through the spruce, birch and hazelnut shrubs. I enjoy watching these flocks of subdued beauties, as they feed for their long trip south.

Here are some images of birds that are here this month of August.

Alder Flycatcher

American Redstart

Bay-breasted Warbler

Blackburnian Warbler

Black-throated Green Warbler

Black and white Warbler

Blue-headed Vireo

Canada Warbler

Juvenile Cedar Waxwing

Chestnut-sided Warbler

Thankfully the little Black-capped Chickadee is with me year around.

Golden-winged Warbler

Least Flycatcher

These next three photos are birds that arrive in my Jonvick Creek each year.

Least Sandpiper

Solitary Sandpiper

Northern Waterthrush

A pretty little Nashville through filtered leaf light.

Nashville Warbler

Philadelphia Vireo

Red-eyed Vireo

The White-throated Sparrow is one of my favorite birds that follows me each day and eats sunflower seeds by my feet.

The Wilson's Warbler is a rare sighting each year.

I will see many of these birds into September. I always hope for a long, extended fall every year; for it is a long time until they return in April.

Use the talents you possess - for the woods would be a very silent place if no birds sang except for the best. ~Henry Van Dyke

THE LAUNCH... A NORTHERN PARULA WARBLER STORY

2010-07-31T18:05:00.000-07:00

I have been pursuing, waiting and watching Northern Parula nests the last 7 years. When you consider choosing, building/weaving of the nest... laying and hatching the eggs and then the fledge... it encompasses about a month of observation for each nest. So over this time period, I have had many interesting moments watching one of the smallest warblers raise their young. The moment that has always escaped me for these 7 years, was the "launch" of the chicks into the world for the first time. You would think that knowing the fledging time of 12-14 days, one could get positioned to catch this fleeting moment... but I have always missed it. For one thing, it is difficult to know the exact time of the egg laying. The nest of the Parula is weaved out of usnea moss, a lichen called "Old Man's Beard", similar to Spanish Moss. They will only nest in this material and when completed, it hangs like a Baltimore Oriole's nest and you can not see into it.

This year I found a nest and watched it for the duration and as I noted in a past thread on the Parula... missed the launch. I must have missed it by minutes or a few hours at the most. I talked to a friend that is a bird expert and he told me to watch the low shrubs for feeding, because he read it was perceived that the chicks could not fly well out of the nest. I spent two days circling the nest and waiting for feeding action... and came up with nothing.

A few days later, farther up my ridge, I noticed a male Parula fluttering around in a wisp of usnea moss hanging from a dead branch.

It was hanging straight down, about 12 feet from the ground. I took photos of the warbler in the moss and watched as a female arrived and started doing the same thing inside the moss. Being that most of the Parulas had finished nesting, I thought nothing of it and left. The next day, I was back in the same area and saw them still around the same hanging moss. The female was starting to weave a nest. I deduced that something must have happened to their old nest; predators or a wind that broke off the branch that holds the nest. This happens quite often, as the moss hangs on dead branches, vulnerable to breakage. At any rate, I started keeping track of the building and watched until I thought she laid her first egg.

I continued watching each day until I knew she was sitting on eggs. I thought I knew the first day she started feeding, so I figured 12 days would be close to the fledge.

A sad note, was that the male disappeared very early into the egg laying. They do not help with the nest building, but they vehemently guard the nest and bring insects to the female on the nest. Something had happened to the male and the little lady was on her own.

This past Wednesday was the 11th day of feeding the chicks. After nearly a month of building, sitting and feeding, the mother Parula hardly noticed me around. As I mentioned, the 12 foot high nest was easy to observe and in the early morning light... I could now see silhouettes of two heads and bills through the weaving above the cup of the nest. On this day they were quite animated and hopped around and even delivered fecal sacs to the mother as she sat in the entrance. I knew launch time would be soon.

The next morning, l walked up the ridge to the nest. When I got there, mother Parula just delivered a bill full of insects to the two youngsters. I stood there for over three hours watching the tykes through the weaving, become more animated. Just before noon I saw the face of a chick in the entrance hole for the first time.

He backed in, mother showed up and fed him and when she left... he crawled out the hole and hung against the moss.

He abruptly took off like a laser beam or a NFL pass analogy, "on a frozen rope."

Interesting enough, the first thought that popped into my head, was no wonder I could never find the fledglings as they fly like little jets without a con trail. So whoever was the author that wrote, "fledgling Parula Warblers have a difficult time flying and feed in low shrubbery." must have been on drugs or a lot of excellent single malt scotch.........

Fortunately I got the following shots, the first ones I have ever taken of fledged Northern Parula Warblers.... it was perhaps one of my most rewarding birding days.

The last photo of mother by the nest.

The "empty nest syndrome"

I'm very concerned for the future of the earth and its amazing creatures. We've got to be careful and make sure we don't foul our own nest. John Lithgow

RETURN OF THE WARBLERS

2010-06-15T17:09:00.000-07:00

After one of the most beautiful winter and spring I can remember, I patiently waited for the advent of the wood warblers. I figured with the gorgeous weather, I would have an abundant number of species flying in to Cedar Ridge.

The first warbler arrived April 16 and as per usual, it was Myrtle. I thought with this extremely early arrival, the migration would resemble the perfect weather. But alas, the first shot I got was his second sighting on May 10th.

Myrtle Warbler

One by one, the warblers have slowly returned. Usually the second returnee is the Palm Warbler; this year the species completely missed the ridge. At this point I have seen and photographed 12 species of the wood warblers; last year at this time I had photographed 21. It seems there is not a good answer to the question, of "What happened to all the warblers?" Many feel they slowed down because of the bad weather that plagued the mid section of America. The speculation is, that when the weather changed, the migration that heads for northern Canada and the Arctic, by passed our region. Whatever the reason, I am now hoping that on the return trip, the missing warblers will touch down here in the late summer and fall.

Here are some images of the warblers that are here and nesting at the moment... in basically the order of their arrival.

Black-throated Green Warbler

Ovenbird

Blackburnian Warbler

Black and White Warbler

Northern Parula Warbler

Magnolia Warbler

Chestnut-sided Warbler

Canada Warbler

Mourning Warbler

And one of my favorite non warblers that showed up this last week.

Indigo Bunting

"In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks." John Muir

SPARROWS, WOODPECKERS & OTHER VISITORS

2010-05-12T07:38:00.000-07:00

Spring brings in a variety of birds to Cedar Ridge. The following post details this variety in two groups: the loyal year around residents and the migratory birds that start showing up in April.

The largest, year around birds to fly the ridge, is the Pileated Woodpecker and the Common Raven. The female Pileated is now being serenaded by her "drumming" male counterpart... who is hammering out his drumming sound as I write. He has been doing his "drumming" thing for many days, from sunrise to sunset.

One of the most beautiful and rare woodpeckers of the Arrowhead is the Black-backed Woodpecker. They are here twelve months of the year, but are seldom seen. I am not sure if they could be categorized as a recluse woodpecker, but I have only seen one twice this winter. This woodpecker is the three toed variety and loves to pry, scrape and drill on dead spruce. The spruce bark beetle and larvae being his favorite food.

The Downy Woodpecker is one of those taken for granted woodpeckers of the northland. This beautiful little woodpecker is the most social of the woodpeckers. They are with me in the forest almost all the time. They love to fly along as I hike the forest with my entourage of Black-capped Chickadees and Red-breasted Nuthatches. I have had them land on my jacket sleeve and shoulder, seemingly wondering why these other birds are eating out of my hand... I suppose I should carry suet with me.

The raven has already nested and their chicks have fledged and entered the spring world of the Arrowhead.

In the "other visitor" category, the Gray Fox and the Cross Fox have passed through our front yard, turning on the motion light. It is always a treat to see the fox show up along with the occasional timber wolf and the raccoon.

Gray Fox

Cross Fox

In the migratory category we have two woodpeckers that show up in April and May. They are the Northern Flicker and the Yellowbellied Sapsucker. The sapsuckers cruise in and head for what I call their "honey tree." It is a 70 foot white cedar tree that is inundated with holes... it looks like a movie background for a Foreign Legion "firing squad." There is a hole every square inch from the bottom to the top of this tree. They have been on it for the last two springs and the pair is there almost every day.

The Northern Flicker is a treat, this guy has a piercing cry akin to the Pileated Woodpecker. I almost got a headache listening to him scream from the highest tree top. Tis the mating season and he is desperately searching for a companion.

The prelude to the warbler migration is the sparrow invasion. Each April and May I have many different sparrows flying in to my ridge. Always first is the American Tree Sparrow.

The Fox Sparrow never stopped by this spring, so since he is the second sparrow to show up, this is a shot from last spring.
I really miss this bird as I think they are not only a beautiful sparrow, but hugely entertaining to watch scratch in the leaves with both feet.

The next sparrow to show up is the Song Sparrow and his name implies his outlook on life. I never tire of his lovely song echoing across the brushy meadows.

The White-throated Sparrow is probably my favorite sparrow. They nest farther up our ridge and are the most social of the sparrows. It is a joy to listen to their beautiful, clear songs across the woodlands. They perch on the highest branch of a deadfall and sing their hearts out. I love to whistle back their song and draw them in for a photo op.

The Chipping Sparrow is one of the smallest sparrows that arrives here in the spring. They are here on my lawn by the dozens and they also nest below our wildflower garden. A dapper looking sparrow to say the least.

The last sparrow to arrive is the White-crowned Sparrow and he has not showed up yet. I hope, like the Fox Sparrow, he hasn't missed our ridge this spring.

I am still awaiting the throng of twenty some assorted species of warblers to arrive. So far Myrtle and the Black-throated Green Warbler have been spotted. I am impatiently awaiting for the rest to appear in their splendor.

"I once had a sparrow alight upon my shoulder for a moment, while I was hoeing in a village garden, and I felt that I was more distinguished by that circumstance that I should have been by any epaulet I could have worn." ~Henry David Thoreau

WAITING FOR THE WARBLERS

2010-04-30T07:08:00.001-07:00

Canada Violet

I have said this before, but the "anticipation" of a favorite event is almost intoxicating. That pretty much describes the wait for my favorite photography subjects... the wood warblers.

2009 shot of the Black & White Warbler... chosen for the inside back cover of the "Loon", a MOU magazine.

There is some truth to the old adage I recall as a kid, "A watched pot never boils". I find I am better served, if I use the approach of enjoying what nature serves up each day.

The Lapland Longspur is one of the first migrants that proceeds the warblers. It is a stunning little bird, that is on it's way to the breeding grounds of the high arctic. It makes a relatively short stay here in the spring and a longer stop over in the fall. The following image is one I took April 12. It is the first time I had ever seen a male longspur in breeding plumage; thus the black auriculars. A fascinating fact, is that some flocks of these birds can reach into the "millions"... my little flock numbered in the teens.

Another bird that is prevalent here in the early spring is the Pine Siskin. This tiny, gentle bird is a finch, it is a year around resident of my area and is now in the nesting process. I saw one of the little birds carrying a bill full of feathers into the top of a spruce tree last week... I suspect the egg laying is now in progress.

The Dark-eyed Juncos arrived in large flocks this April. I did have two of them that stayed all winter in our yard. Since they are ground feeders, I threw seeds out to them each morning and evening throughout the winter. When the larger flocks of juncos arrived, they left for the breeding grounds, not far from us in Canada.

Thankfully, the Pileated Woodpecker, one of my favorite birds, is here on the ridge twelve months of the year. Big Woody is a treat. I have a pair that is now nesting in a dead white birch tree. They both took turns hollowing it out and are now sitting on eggs. Hopefully I can keep the Pine Marten out of there this year; in the spring of 2009 the marten destroyed the chicks in their nest. The first photo is dad Pileated sitting on eggs and the second is the female "communicating" with the male. You can hear their calls to each other every day, echoing throughout the forest.

Spring would not be complete without the arrival of the Brown Creeper. This little bird is a "stitch" to watch work a tree. They start from the bottom and encircle the entire tree from the bottom to the top. I don't get the "creeping" aspect of the name, to get them in focus is a trying circumstance. I have found if you get the camera focused mid way up the tree, you have a 50/50 chance of capturing this elusive bird.

One of the more beautiful spring bird songs is that of the Purple Finch. I take this bird for granted sometimes because of their numbers; we have them here year around. They nest in our area, so there are many in the forest and at our feeders. I love their sweet song and the feather glint of the male in the morning sun is spectacular.

The advent of the sparrows is the prelude to the warblers. Each spring the first sparrow arriving on the ridge is the American Tree Sparrow. This sparrow is on it's way to the far reaches of northern Canada and Alaska. They are also the last sparrow through here in the fall.

My favorite sparrow nests here on the ridge. The White-throated Sparrow is not only beautiful, but it mingles with my tame chickadees. I get to "talk" to them all spring and summer. The "talking" takes place when the territorial males are setting up residence on the ridge. I whistle the White-throated Sparrow song and the male flies in with gusto and answers my call. I have done this for many minutes a day during the breeding season. This little beauty answered my call and I got this shot of him.

If you go back to my past posts in the archives, you can see and read about my little friend "Stubby." This little White-throated Sparrow arrived in the fall of 2008 and again in the spring of 2009... and now I think she is back again. She meets me in the same area and flies to my feet and eats hulled sunflower seeds. I have no way of proving it is her each year, but I have no other White-throated Sparrow that acts like this.

The Song Sparrow has a beautiful voice and song... I can hear it echoing along the woodland edge all of April. These sparrows also nest here, so I see them all summer. I took this photo along our driveway a few days ago.

The Chipping Sparrow is the last to arrive, so I should be seeing his return any day now. I have them nesting in our yard each spring.

Arguably the longest and most beautiful song in the forest emits from one of the tiniest birds. That would be the Winter Wren; her song is lovely and long... also, she is perhaps the most difficult bird in the forest to photograph. At least for me. She also nests in our area, I hope this is the year I find her fledglings, for I missed them last year.

My previous post was on the Ruffed Grouse, but I would be remiss not to add this final composition of the "little drummer boy."

"A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song." Chinese Proverb

APRIL RUFFED GROUSE

2010-04-15T09:05:00.000-07:00

Last year, I posted a story of "April Thunder", which chronicled a series on the drumming of the Ruffed Grouse. The drumming of the ruffed one is his amorous display during the breeding season... hopefully to attract and entice the female of the species, waiting in the wings.

Mary and dad Brett, were giving grandson Will a ride in his "Radio Flier" wagon on the 7th of April. I was home getting ready to head out into the forest, to check on any migratory newbies flying in to Cedar Ridge. They called to inform me they heard a Ruffed Grouse drumming not far from our driveway. I hustled down there and found him drumming in a thicket of spruce. Unfortunately, he was covered with spruce boughs which made it impossible to photograph him. Since this was the first drummer heard this season, I immediately started my spring search.

I headed up the ridge into my old grouse drumming country of past years. The forest is terribly dry, a lack of moisture from a basically snowless winter. The leaves and sticks crunched under my boots, creating noise akin to a small herd of buffalo. I imagined I was scaring every bird and animal in a mile radius. To my surprise, I heard a muffled thumping of wings. I guessed by the sound, the Ruffed Grouse was drumming approximately 100-150 yards away. When you first hear the drumming, the grouse sounds like it is a half mile away. In reality, they are much closer than you think. Creeping through the brush ever so slowly, I made my way to his log location. It took me at least thirty minutes to travel the hundred yard plus distance, as I stop many times to listen for the next "drum beat." There he was in his splendor, poised on his log. I stopped and waited for the next drumming routine to start... when he began, I would move as quickly as possible to get closer. Doing this a few times, I finally got close enough for a few shots that were hampered by the thick brush. Much to my dismay, he hopped off his log and disappeared into the brush.

To make a long story shorter, this event has happened to me through the years. Patience and persistence is the watchword in the forest, so I quickly departed the scene to return later. This log departure happened three days in a row. Finally on the fourth day, Mr. Grouse accepted me into his environment. I sneaked in and took a few shots with my 400 lens through the brush. I quickly realized that this was not going to work. I retooled... and clicked on my 70-200 short lens. I waited for his next drumming routine and when he started, I crawled through the brush to get closer to him.

The brush was still evident around the edges of the photos, so I sat and waited for the next drumming flourish. Finally I got as close as 6-8 feet from him. I was dressed from head to toe in summer camouflage, so he eyed me carefully. I took several photos and found that now I was totally accepted in his territory. I could do basically what I wanted to get different image angles. This went on for three days, the following shots are from that time period, I hope you enjoy them.

"The echos of the drumming Ruffed Grouse, marks the return of the migratory song birds. A season of renewal in the Boreal Forest" D. Brislance

MARCH TRANSITIONS

2010-03-27T08:43:00.000-07:00

The month of March in Minnesota... somewhere in it's 31 days, has the dubious distinction of throwing a mid-winter knockout punch. It is notorious for holding true the old sage prophecy, "In like a lamb... out like a lion" or vice-versa.

This year March came in "like a lamb" and it looks like it is "going out like a lamb." Spectacular weather we have had here on Cedar Ridge. February and March have been stellar weather months for all the birds and animals. The year snow total so far and I am careful to say 'so far,' has been a little over 18 inches... and that is since October of 2009. All the snow has melted here close to Lake Superior, inland there are a few pockets left in shaded areas. The three feet of snow the folks had inland, over the Sawtooth Mountains is all but gone.

My pet deer Black Buck and his friends have disappeared deep into the forest. They leave each year after the snow melt and head inland to browse. Blackie has been with me since 2005, he has returned each year in January. He missed 2007 and I thought for sure the hunters, wolves, below zero weather or highway 61 finished him off. But to our joy, he came back in 2008, 2009 and January of this year. Each year he comes back, stands on the patio and waits for me to come out and go to the garage for corn.

He then follows behind me and stands patiently until I feed him out of the bucket.

Each year Blackie and his entourage of deer left sometime in April, as I have mentioned in past posts. This year he disappeared into the Superior National Forest the second week of March. It is always difficult to see my old friend leave, but he had a wonderful winter and left corn fed, with no ribs showing... unlike severe winters of the past.

The birds also fared well, no ice storms like last March, which was brutal to them and the trees. My "usual suspects" were all "moved" down to my house before the firearm deer season. As the weather gets colder, I put up a suet tree which is an old cedar branch that I put in a Christmas tree stand. I take a wood bit and drill many holes in the branch, then pack the holes with suet. We mix lard, peanut butter and cornmeal together for a concoction all the woodpeckers, Red-breasted Nuthatches and chickadees love.

The most apparent "transition" is the changing color of the American Goldfinch. The little American Goldfinch is gradually changing to his canary yellow color.

The American Goldfinch is one of the few birds that molts twice; in the fall and then again in the spring.

Soon he will look like this in the breeding season. Quite a transition in a short period of time.

I have been following a pair of Pileated Woodpeckers for many days in March... actually most of the winter. On March 20th, I succeeded in photographing the female. I would like to know how many miles I traveled to get this shot; most years photographing Big Woody hasn't been so difficult.

Home sweet home....

There have been a few migratory birds that stop over during the month of March. One such transient is the Snow Bunting. This beautiful bird is heading to their breeding grounds in the far north Arctic tundra. The male arrives in early April and the female follows in May. They will both fly through here again in the fall, usually in larger flocks. They winter in open country of the northern U.S. and "temperate" Canada... if there is such a place.

One of the more pleasant surprises of the winter has been the Northern Hawk Owl. This beautiful owl is a day time hunter, so seeing him is quite easy... if you can find him. I have found the Northern Hawk Owl seven different times here in Cook, Co. Unfortunately one of those times was a dead one on the side of highway 61. They are so intently focused on their hunt and prey, they swoop across the highway and notice nothing else. This intentness is good for the photographer, because the owl is quite approachable in this mode.

The bird I miss the most this winter, is the Gray Jay. Many winters we have the Gray Jay, aka Canada Jay, Whiskey Jack, Camp Robber here until the end of March. They never showed this winter, so we had to make a drive up the Gunflint Trail to find one.

Approachable is not the proper word... this fluffy inhabitant of the conifer forests, in my opinion, is the most friendly bird. Even more so than the Black-capped Chickadees and Red-breasted Nuthatches. If you have treats of meat scraps, summer sausage, bread, etc... they are your best friends. We had them in past years and always they would fly down, sit on the hand and eat various offerings.

The Bald Eagles are now nesting, sitting on eggs. We used to observe a decades old eagle nest close to our ridge, but last October, it blew down in a vicious wind storm. Fortunately, the pair is building again, two hundred yards from the old one.

March is bowing out gracefully... so we will patiently wait to see what surprises April brings. Mother Nature has a unique way of evening things out. One thing for certain, April is the month that begins the sparrow and wood warbler migration. Possibly my favorite time of the year.

"Ah, March! we know thou art Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats, And, out of sight, art nursing April's violets!" Helen Hunt Jackson

PINE GROSBEAK

2010-03-11T09:29:00.000-08:00

Through the years, I have observed that people have the opinion that winter in the north woods is bleak, cold and colorless. I suspect these are the reasons each winter, that I lose many friends to the enticement of the sunny south.

Mary and I spent 5 years traveling to the southwest for a few weeks in the winter. We had a marvelous time and thoroughly enjoyed the wildlife, birds and golf. It was quite relaxing and we spent almost every waking moment, from sunrise to sunset hiking the desert. The area was alive with birds, bobcats, coyotes and species too numerous to name. I can readily identify with the lure of the warm sunshine areas.

Building our new home on Cedar Ridge abruptly pulled the plug on the call of the south. Our daily and nightly encounters with birds and animals grew into what we as kids called "chores." These duties include filling the suet tree and post, a number of seed feeders, a heated bird bath and a feeder for flying squirrels. I have mentioned the black buck who has returned for five years, dodging hunters, wolves, subzero weather and highway 61... he comes many times a day for his treat of corn. I could ramble on for hours on the different animals and birds that have brightened and touched our lives in the winter. We are pleasantly "stuck" here in the Arrowhead for the duration.

The prior post on the waxwings is a good example of a feathered visitor that trumps winter bleakness. Their colors and silky look are impressive to say the least; especially when a large flock descends and gorges on mountain ash berries... I can watch them for hours.

A most spectacular, winter bird visitor in the Arrowhead is the Pine Grosbeak. This bird is a true nature's "pastel color palette." The Pine Grosbeaks that I have seen this year are brilliantly colored, yet soft.

The adult male Taiga Pine Grosbeak is a good example of beautiful pastels; pinks, rose, orange and a plethora of beautiful hues.

Not to be outdone, the female Pine Grosbeak displays a variety of pale orange and yellow, embedded in gray feathers.

The first Pine Grosbeaks I saw this winter flew in to the Sawbill Trail on December 28. Mary and I stopped and watched them feeding along the road.

Since the end of December, I have photographed them at various times along the Caribou Trail.

These shots were taken on January 31.

The last Pine Grosbeak I have seen was March 3; last year I was privileged to see and photograph these beautiful birds into the month of April. I hope I have this chance again this spring, for it seems when they leave, my warblers and sparrows start returning. They are truly the grand harbinger of spring.

"Pine Grosbeaks illuminate the evergreen forests" Dave Brislance

BLACK-BACKED WOODPECKER

2010-02-25T07:17:00.000-08:00

This past Sunday I hiked up the ridge to try to locate the pair of Pileated Woodpeckers that I hear or see each day. I also have been checking the forest deadfalls for traces of the Three-toed Woodpecker's work.

The three toed woodpeckers are located in the northern sections of Minnesota. They inhabit areas that include coniferous forests and birch trees. I have seen them on both, but mainly the dead spruce deadfalls. Both the American Three-toed Woodpecker and the Black-backed Woodpecker, lack the inner hind toe on their feet. They enjoy the deadfalls, dying birch and spruce trees; foraging on the insects and spruce bark beetles in the autumn and winter.

The American Three-toed Woodpecker breeds from northern Alaska, Canada and the far reaches of America's northern border states. Northeastern Minnesota is one of the fortunate areas that this woodpecker calls home, as well as his cousin the Black-backed.

As I was walking along one of my trails in the Superior National Forest, I heard a different pecking rhythm and torque. This may seem strange to some of you, but I have learned to discern the different pecking sounds of the woodpeckers. It is difficult to explain, but it is one of those things you have to be there to understand.

I backtracked to the deadfall where I heard the the sounds coming from. Sure enough, buried in the entanglement of spruce boughs was a beautiful male Black-backed Woodpecker. The yellow dollop atop his head, was glowing as bright as the morning star. He was working the dead spruce and paid little attention to the intruder peering at him through the branches. I call these medium sized woodpeckers the "blue collar woodpeckers", because of their unceasing focus on the job at hand.

I had my 400 lens attached and since you have to be farther than 11.5 feet to focus, I had to switch to my 70-200. The little woodpecker never missed a beat while I snapped on the short lens.

The most difficult problem crawling through a deadfall, is not the entanglement of branches, but adequate light. Most past experiences photographing the elusive three toed, is dealing with lousy light. This afternoon and towards the end of February, the sun is at that magic angle. Meaning, high enough to shine over my shoulder, directly on the "golden dollop." It was a magnificent shoot, lying on branches snapping machine gun bursts of photos. The little woodpecker put on a royal performance.

I stayed with him until he worked his way from the tip of the downed spruce to the tangled roots... he chirped his strange little call and flew into the sunset.

"Even the lonely woodpecker owes his success to the fact that he uses his head." Joe Marcucci

WAXWINGS

2010-01-20T09:03:00.000-08:00

I love the winter months for various reasons. The arrival of the Bohemian & Cedar Waxwings is high on my list of winter wonders here in northeastern Minnesota. Number two on the list is the advent of the Pine Grosbeaks... who shall be headlined in a future post.

The Bohemian Waxwings showed up first this year, they flew in to the Caribou Trail around the 29th of December. I spent many days following them to different mountain ash trees. The flocks of both Cedar and Bohemian Waxwings like to hang out in the mountain ash feeding on the berries. They usually stay in the area and strip the tree clean of the berries. Although Cook County is a hotbed of mountain ash trees, there are usually berries "hanging on" through spring.

The waxwings are a beacon of light and color here on the "frozen tundra" and are arguably the most beautiful birds to photograph... I hope you enjoy the following gallery of images.

Bohemian Waxwing

Bohemian Waxwing

Cedar Waxwing

Cedar Waxwing

Cedar Waxwing

Cedar Waxwing

This Pileated Woodpecker joined the waxwings in a berry feast... he flew right over my head and settled in for lunch.

"The birds with 'Feathers of Silk' grace our presence and are a beacon of color in the white winter landscape." D. Brislance

BIG BIRDS & A FEW USUAL SUSPECTS

2009-12-16T16:56:00.000-08:00

"Fall has fell and it is colder than .... usual." I remember this "slogan" when I was a little kid, as I read the clever Burma Shave signs along the scenic byways. The slogan holds true this December, as the bitter north wind creates -20 to -30 wind chills.

The birds seem to be taking this weather in stride; similar to the humans that inhabit Cook County. Most of the human "snow birds", have flown the coop, headed for the sunny south... the rest will follow after the Christmas celebrations with family and friends.

In this December cold weather blog, the American Crow, Pileated Woodpecker, Blue Jay & Bald Eagle are pictured. They are hearty residents of this "frozen tundra" over looking Lake Superior. The only bird on the list that really should be "out of here", is the American Crow... they usually have departed by the first of November. November, however, was beautiful... warm & sunny. So I am assuming, Mr. Crow is winging his way to central, southern Minnesota and points south. Why they think central and southern Minnesota provides a warmer and more comfortable environment is beyond me... I think if I were the crow; points south would be the preferred destination.

The Pileated Woodpecker has flown our woods for the years we have lived on Cedar Ridge. This is the first year he and his mate have landed on our suet pole and hammered out their treat. They have returned each day in the early morning and at dusk, chiseling out huge chunks of frozen suet. We have concocted a mixture of lard, cornmeal and peanut butter to fuel the winter bird's furnaces. All the birds listed in this post partake of the suet mixture... but big "Woody" is king of the buffet, emptying the top hole of the pole in minutes.

The Bald Eagle is a twelve month inhabitant of Cook County. They fly the shoreline of the Big Lake for the entire winter season. The inland lakes are now frozen over and the Big Bird is here in all his splendor....

The "usual suspects" that I see each winter day are the Black-capped Chickadee, Red-breasted Nuthatch, Blue Jay and the Downy Woodpecker. The chickadees and the RBs follow me each day, enjoying the hulled sunflower seeds I offer up.

The Blue Jays number 6-8 each morning, perched in our white cedars. It doesn't matter the temperature, they perch quietly in their blue splendor, waiting for their morning "presidential seed mixture", containing peanuts, sunflower seeds and cracked corn. I don't know of a bird that has all the stunning shades of blue in their feathers... I jokingly refer to them as a "flying, blue paint sample chart."

The little Downy is the most social of the woodpeckers, at least on Cedar Ridge. I have had them land on the sleeve of my Thinsulate suit, confused by the birch bark camo pattern... I often think I should carry a form of a suet cake for them. I am sure they would land on it in due time.

I love the winters here in the Arrowhead and these birds make each day more enjoyable. In the coming weeks, I look forward to the arrival of the Cedar and Bohemian Waxwings... accompanied by the beautiful grosbeak families. Hopefully, I will be able to add some of their stunning colors to the blog in the weeks to come.

Over the river and through the wood, To grandfather's house we go; The horse knows the way To carry the sleigh, Through the white and drifted snow.
Mrs. Lydia Maria Child

END OF THE MIGRATION

2009-11-04T10:10:00.000-08:00

The migration is about over for Cedar Ridge. The last of the sparrows have passed through, that being the American Tree Sparrows. Winter has set in, although the calendar tells me it is fall.

I have been neglectful of my blog since September... I have been editing thousands of photos and making greeting cards for various individuals. Winter should provide more time for posting various birds and animals. In the meantime, I will post these photos of the last couple of months... I hope you enjoy them.

Winter Wren

Whitetail Buck

White-crowned Sparrow

White-throated Sparrow

European Starling

Rusty Blackbird

Red-breasted Nuthatch

Pileated Woodpecker

Myrtle Warbler

Orange-crowned Warbler

Nashville Warbler

Myrtle Warbler

Lapland Longspur

Jean & Friends

Hermit Thrush

Fox Sparrow

Black-capped Chickadee

Blue Jay

Blue-headed Vireo

Black-capped Chickadee

American Tree Sparrow

Fox Sparrow

Evening Grosbeak

Bald Eagle

Downy Woodpecker

Dark-eyed Junco

"LET'S DO LUNCH"

2009-09-11T06:38:00.000-07:00

This summer, our berry crop has been excellent. Every day, on my photo jaunts into the Superior National Forest, I stop and eat wild raspberries and thimbleberries. I never carry water or snacks with me; mostly because of camera and lenses weighing me down.

One particularly beautiful day, I stopped in a clearing that had a dozen or so wild raspberry plants. I indulged in handfuls of the luscious wild fruit... also popping in my mouth a few tart thimbleberries that mingle among the raspberry plants. Thimbleberries are a unique wild fruit, they remind me of the "Sweet Tarts" I enjoyed as a kid. They are quite large and when you pick the over ripe ones, the juice runs and stains your fingers. The following photo shows the relative size of the thimbleberry in relationship to my model.

As I quietly "browsed" in my patch, I made my way around a large spruce deadfall. I noticed the tops of the hazelnut bushes moving back and forth. Now this was nothing new to me, since the red squirrels and chipmunks were in the height of their nut collection. The movement produced a black furry ear... then a large black, furry face. It seems I was lunching with one of my resident bears that roam our ridge.

The wind was in my favor, which at the moment wasn't much at all. He walked quietly out of the berry patch to my little trail. I thought for sure that he would go the opposite direction, into the wind. Wrong... he turned and walked in my direction about 30 feet from me. I had my 400 lens on my camera, so all that showed up in the view finder was this very large furry face. Plus it was dark for my f/5.6 lens, so I was shooting at 1/60th of a second; which hand held is not conducive to clear photos. (The shot below the title is what I ended up with)

I have my camera set for high speed bursts, so when I was snapping photos it makes a fairly loud, machine gun sound. He stopped and looked at me and couldn't figure out the sound.... he stood there for a few minutes and decided this was not the direction he should be taking. So he turned and disappeared into the forest. Normally, when I see or am around a bear and he sees me or gets my scent, he ends up crashing through the forest like a runaway train. But this bruin seemed to be enjoying the day and his berry lunch and left for reasons unknown.

It was an enjoyable respite for me, good berries, company, but poor conversation.

Some other bear friends of the past.....

"Bears are made of the same dust as we, and breathe the same winds and drink of the same waters. A bear's days are warmed by the same sun, his dwellings are overdomed by the same blue sky, and his life turns and ebbs with heart-pulsings like ours and was poured from the same fountain..." - John Muir

The Smallest of the Small

2009-08-13T08:26:00.000-07:00

One of my recent posts chronicled the nesting and fledging of the Chestnut-sided Warbler. A few days ago, I took the final shot of a juvenile chestnut in his "full dress", getting ready to depart for his long trip to Central America or northern Colombia. To me it is an amazing story; each spring their long flight ends on our Cedar Ridge. The chestnuts build their nests, lay their eggs, feed their chicks and fledge their young in a matter of two and a half months. Now, they are readying for that long trip back to the tropics.

Yesterday, as I was refilling the hummingbird feeder, I had eight or so "Rubies" watching me from the cedar trees. I stood there watching them buzz each other and jockey for position at the feeder. I know they are fattening up for their long trip south and their migratory story is even more compelling than the Chestnut-sided Warbler. It is hard to fathom that this 3 gram speedster, will fly non stop across 500 miles of the Gulf of Mexico.

I have found nests of the hummingbirds in the forest and they are not only intricate, but fabulously camouflaged. They are usually located 10-20 feet above the ground, on a tree branch. Each nest I have found has a beautifully decorated exterior of lichen that exactly matches the tree limb. It is a work of art.

The female lays two eggs, about the size of a pea or jelly bean and by this time the male has "flown the coop." (Maybe this is why all the females at our feeder, continually chase the lone male out of the area). The incubation phase is usually around 12-16 days. The nesting period is longer than the chestnuts which is 11-15 days, the hummer's don't leave the nest until 15-30 days. Most will "practice" wing stretching and beating their wings rapidly for exercise. They will then make maiden voyages from the nest to trees in the area and back again. The fledglings will stay around the nest for a number of days being fed by the mother.

We have around a dozen Ruby-throated Hummingbirds visiting our feeder. They are extremely territorial, protecting their precious, liquid food source. At the moment we have only one male at the feeder and he is rudely welcomed at all times. This action by the females is quite interesting, because in most cases it is the male that aggressively protects his food source. It is reported that the older males are usually the first to arrive in the spring and first to leave in late summer. So I suspect that my lone male is a younger hummingbird.

One hummingbird stat that I found interesting is that many Ruby-throated Hummingbirds travel more than 2000 miles from Central America to Canada. Since our Cedar Ridge is located around 40 miles from Canada (as the raven flies) it is an impressive accomplishment... twice a year.

In the fall of 2008, our last Ruby-throated Hummingbird departed September 19. I imagine the weather will play an important role in their decision to leave our area. Until then we will be watching their feeder antics and do our best to fuel them for the long, perilous journey.

Hummingbird darts lightly through the world, spreading its message of joy and beauty, and teaching us to appreciate the wonder and magic of everyday existence. Hummingbird brings the gift of joy. Learn to laugh and be happy. ~ unknown

MERLINS

2009-07-29T17:20:00.000-07:00

Recently, friends of ours who live on the shore of Lake Superior, called to tell me about a Merlin nest in their backyard. Merlins are raptors in the falcon family about the size of a pigeon. I call them "feathered bullets" because of their amazing speed and maneuverability. I have never had an opportunity to view a Merlin close up, only as they soared over my head on our ridge. The prospect of seeing these birds fledge was positively enchanting to me.

Merlins set up shop in vacant crow and hawk nests, they do not build their own. The nest is located in a huge spruce tree directly behind their house. It is nearly at the top of the tree and contained three noisy chicks, "peeping" constantly for mother to bring them lunch. One of the chicks hopped further out on a branch, possibly to get the first shot at mother Merlin's next food trip.

My friend put a ladder up on the side of his house, so I could get up on the roof for closer shots. I took a number of shots of the chick on the branch and eventually got a shot of all three on the same branch.

I took the first Merlin photo on July 6 and the last one on July 19; it was thirteen days of intriguing raptor observations. I spent hours each day waiting for a flying shot of mother coming in from the hunt. She came in like a lightning bolt and because of the terrain, it was impossible to get a good shot. All I got was a lot of wings flapping in the spruce branches. As the days and hours passed, I ended up with a pretty good photo chronicle of their growth and environment.

I got to observe unending trips of the adult birds bringing in food for the fledglings.

The fledglings made their first flights to surrounding spruce and dead birch trees.

Eventually they found the rocky shores of Lake Superior, bathing and enjoying the water pooled from the surf.

The finally occurred when all three fledglings soared from tree to tree and across a bay of Lake Superior.

Merlins I learned, are a very unique bird... they are deadly hunters of small birds and they are fearless. My friends observed them dive bombing a Great Blue Heron, literally running him out of their territory across a bay of Lake Superior. Each day they roamed farther from their nest tree; I never witnessed them hunting on their own... but I am certain that one sunny spring day, I will see one or more... rocketing above the shores of Lake Superior.

"No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings"~ William Blake

CHESTNUT-SIDED WARBLER

2009-07-11T16:16:00.000-07:00

The nesting is over for most of the spring migratory birds. My old faithful birds, who I call the "usual suspects", have their chicks flying around like fighter pilots... that would be the chickadees and Red-breasted Nuthatches. Besides the ravens, the Red-breasted Nuthatches fledged early this spring and the juveniles are already eating sunflower seeds from my hand.

This morning, I probably took my last photo of the Chestnut-sided Warbler chick. I have been following mother chestnut since the early designing and building of her nest.

She picked up her first strand of dried grass and started her nest construction on June 1. It took her four days to finish her nest, it is constructed entirely out of dried grasses.

The nest was built in a low hazelnut shrub only 2 1/2 feet off the ground. It is completely hidden and surrounded by northern bush honeysuckle. During the first week in June, it was easier to see the nest, because the leaves had not fully matured. As time went by, the whole nest became engulfed in leaves and the nest was impossible to see.

I checked on the nest each day in June. I could walk up to the nest and take a long twig and move a leaf to see if mother chestnut was sitting on eggs. At times the nest was vacant, but she laid her eggs soon after the nest was built. I could never tell how many were in the nest, but I know there were at least three. I didn't want to intrude too often, so I checked the eggs only once.

One thing I have learned about birds, is that most respond differently to humans in the vicinity of their nests. The Hermit Thrush for instance, raises quite a ruckus when I check her nest. She "Peeps" and carries on, trying to draw me away from the area. The Winter Wren and the Indigo Bunting do the same thing. The Chestnut-sided Warbler, however, goes about her business as if I am not in the area. This is true while she is building the nest, feeding the chicks or when I walk up to the nest. I have found after watching the chestnut for years, this has never varied. When I am staked out on a photo shoot, she will fly a couple feet from me, picking up insects. I have had them fly directly at me and sit on a nearby branch resting and preening. I think they are the most social of the wood warblers that we have inhabiting our ridge. We usually have at least 22 species of warblers passing through here each spring.

Each day I stood in the same spot by a large patch of hazelnut bushes, watching the trips by both parents to the nest. I knew that the chicks had hatched. The minute I would arrive at my post, the male chestnut would fly into the bush and check me out. Mother chestnut knew who I was and never stopped or missed a beat. They basically could care less having me in the area.

The chicks left their nest on June 30, I know that because I had to chase a Pine Marten out of the area on that date. I had watched the chestnuts make many trips to the nest in the morning and in the afternoon the nest was empty. I sat on a log close to the nest area and waited for the parents to show up. It wasn't long before the mother chestnut flew in with an insect, landing in a small spruce. I carefully walked to the spruce, knelt and saw a tiny chestnut chick. I backed up far enough to use my 70-200mm lens; I wasn't more than three feet from the chick. Mother chestnut flew in with an insect as I wasn't there. She made countless trips back and forth feeding the chick in the spruce tree.

Eventually I found three chicks being fed. It became increasingly difficult to follow them in the deep woods. At times I would see one of the adult chestnuts flying into the brush and I would catch a glimpse of one of the fledglings. I am always amazed at how fast they grow.

It is always a relief for me to see the chestnuts hatch and safely leave their nest. This observation has become a yearly vigil for me and I will have the "empty nest syndrome" until next June. Until then I hope I get to see the fledglings in their full dress before the fall migration.

Jr. Chestnut-sided Warbler... July 11, 2009

"STUBBY"

2009-07-06T07:23:00.000-07:00

I met Stubby on my trail to the Big Cedars last September 2. He was a little runt, disheveled and missing his tail feathers. Originally, I thought he had the misfortune of losing his tail feathers, but in future sightings I could see he was a newly fledged sparrow. September is very late for a fledgling to be dallying in the Arrowhead; cold nights, cold rain and snow flurries waiting in the wings.

Stubby hardly ever flew, he scurried around through the underbrush like a little streaked mouse. He darted from branches into the tall, dry grass looking for seeds. I didn't pay much attention to him the first time I saw him, because I thought there would be a mother sparrow somewhere in his vicinity. The next day on the trail, he was in the same spot, hopping and scurrying through the weeds. I stopped and watched him searching for seeds. Since I carry sunflower hearts with me for my chickadees and nuthatches, I threw a few down to him on the ground. He immediately hopped over to the seeds and started feeding on them. I spent many minutes with him each day, throwing him seeds and watching him eat them. It grew to be quite comical, because if he wasn't in the exact spot on the trail, I would whistle the White-throated Sparrow song and he would soon flutter in and eat the sunflower hearts.

What was interesting to me, was that he was always by himself; hopping up to me and begging for his seeds. At times, migrating sparrows would be in the vicinity and I thought Stubby would be missing the next day. A whistle or two would bring the little guy in for his morning treats. I began worrying that Stubby would not make the flight south to northern Mexico and I would have a wintering sparrow.

September 24 dispelled all doubt, for that was the last time I saw Stubby, at least that year. I took this photo of him that day and you can see that he grew out a magnificent tail and looked to be a strong flier.

This spring on the very same trail, albeit a bit farther up the trail, I heard a rustle in the brush. I stopped and this beautiful, female White-throated Sparrow hopped out to meet me. She was motionless on the trail and I took out a few sunflower hearts and tossed them down to her. Without missing a beat, she flew over to the seeds by my feet and began to eat them. I have approached many White-throated Sparrows in the woods and brush, but I have never had another sparrow act the same way as my little buddy Stubby. There is no way I can prove that this sparrow is my sparrow from last fall, but in my heart of hearts I am very sure that it is. Each day, no matter where I am on my various trails within a quarter of a mile, I will whistle and Stubby will find me and stop for a few seeds.

I assume that somewhere, someone has fed a White-throated Sparrow in their hand. Stubby would at times, perch on a branch a couple of feet from me, but she never attempted to land on my hand. She always ate her seeds on the ground by my feet. As spring rolled on, I missed her for a few days, but on occasion she would show up for her seeds. One day, there was a second rustling in the brush and grass. Out hopped a few feet behind Stubby, a brilliantly colored, male White-throated Sparrow. He always kept his distance, watching her approach me and pick up her seeds. Soon he was getting seeds tossed to him and enjoying his newly found buffet.

Days passed and Stubby and her mate began picking up their seeds and disappeared into the deep forest. This went on for sometime until one day she brought her newly fledged chicks for me to meet. It was an impressive new generation, if this was the same sparrow as last fall, she had done a fine job of raising her chicks. I could never figure out an exact number of chicks, but there were at least three. She would not let them get close to me, rather she would fly to them and feed them in a different area of brush. She wouldn't mind if I followed her to take their photos, but she had to do the feeding and not let them take their own seeds... much like the Red-breasted Nuthatches and chickadees until they were mature enough to eat out of my hand.

I didn't see the chicks today, but Stubby met me for her seeds and disappeared into the forest. I haven't seen her mate for a few days, but I assume he is around.

I will look forward to her visits until she leaves again this fall.

"He noteth every sparrow's fall"... A line from the Lutheran Hymnal.

A TOUCH OF GOD

2009-06-21T19:10:00.000-07:00

The other day, while sitting on my favorite log in the Superior National Forest, I decided that, thankfully, some things never "change." I was admiring the hundreds of blooming wildflowers that surrounded me and how each spring, their never ending progression was renewed. I believe, in order to have "change", you must alter a progression or process. In my vast wisdom... I decided that so far, the two things that haven't changed in this country, is the spring progression of wildflowers and the returning migratory birds to our ridge.

Each year I eagerly await the transition of winter into spring. Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy what winter does for my soul; peace, quiet, serenity and snow.... but... the last 15 inch snowfall at the end of March, hastened my longing to see the first wildflower. This is the progression in spring that never changes, at least on our Cedar Ridge. Each year the first wildflower that appears is always the Canada Violet. It is heart warming to see this tiny, fragile, white flower push though the "frozen tundra" of Cedar Ridge. A veritable beacon, shining through the moss covered ledge rock. This year the Canada Violet appeared May 7.

One by one, the wildflowers appear in their proper order. The next flowers are the Purple and Yellow Violets, the purple bloomed May 17 and the yellow May 19.

May 23, the Marsh Marigolds appeared.

The Purple Virgin's Bower bloomed May 23.

Virginia Bluebells May 26.

Bunchberry May 28.

Baneberry June 4.

Nodding Trillium June 5.

Clintonia June 5.

Spring Beauty (Oberg Mt.) June 11.

The flag ship flower of Lutsen and our yard, is the magnificent Lupine. I love this flower and it lights up our yard during the month of June.

The list of wildflowers is close to endless... to the last Blue Aster that blooms in late summer and the Daisies that bloom until the first killing frost.

I think many people have memories of a special place or have a special place in their heart that is connected to flowers. Mary and I believe, that the myriad of wildflowers we see each spring day on Cedar Ridge is indeed our special place. The special place in my heart connected to flowers, was a little greenhouse in my old home town, now long gone. This greenhouse had the pungent odor of geraniums wafting through it's open glass windows. To this day, that wonderful geranium smell brings back memories of family, youth, good times and good people. Each spring, our house on Cedar Ridge is surrounded by 36 potted geraniums. A flower progression that will never change.... flowers to me are "A Touch of God."... and that is good.

Flowers are the sweetest things God ever made, and forgot to put a soul into. ~Henry Beecher, Life Thoughts, 1858

THE MIGRATION CONTINUES

2009-05-23T20:33:00.000-07:00

The bird migration, specifically the return of the warblers has been continuous and on track. The wood warblers have flown in almost to the day of previous years and so far we have tallied 19 different species.

I hope you enjoy the new additions to Cedar Ridge.

"All the wood-warblers are stunning, each in their own way."

D. Brislance

THE MIGRATION

2009-05-18T20:10:00.000-07:00

The bird migration is in full swing and the warblers are here on the ridge in full force. I have been out in the field each day photographing their colorful return.

"A picture is worth a thousand words.".... so I hope you enjoy these images of spring....

The prettiest bird on the page is my grandson Will... he is non migratory......

Ruby-throated Hummingbirds travel more than 2,000 miles to go from Panama to their breeding destination in Canada.

"Thunder in April"

2009-04-28T20:35:00.000-07:00

April is one of my favorite months, especially the last two weeks. Not only is it the start of the bird migration, but it heralds in the familiar sounds of thunder, echoing throughout the ridges.

The April thunder I love, is not the rumble from dark rain clouds. It is the magical, rhythmic thumps and sound of wings beating against the soft feathered bodies of the Ruffed Grouse. The "drumming" of the Ruffed Grouse is a harbinger of spring for me. It is difficult to describe in words, the thrill of hearing the first drum beat of the Ruffed Grouse. I guess to me, it is like a starters pistol at a track meet, signifying the start of a race. A race to find and photograph the first drumming grouse.

Today was the start of the race, a race that closely resembled a marathon, because it lasted 6 and 1/2 hours. I heard and followed the drumming sounds of three Ruffed Grouse. It was a long and tedious day, wading in wet cedars, crossing creeks, impossible brush and deadfalls... and I loved every minute of it.

Ruffed Grouse are not the "sharpest tool in the shed", but they are at times wily and easily spooked. The first two were just that. I followed them for a couple hours, slowly sneaking through the noisy underbrush, trying to locate their "drumming logs." The male Ruffed Grouse finds an old log, usually moss covered and rotten. He stands on the log, as my wife Mary describes, "Like a drum majorette", erect and with perfect posture. He then begins his drumming antics with slow beats of his wings, then faster, until the final crescendo of blurred wings. It truly is a sight to behold.

This male Ruffed Grouse is desperately in contest with a ridge full of male grouse, trying to lure the female to his drumming log. I have never seen the outcome of the amorous drumming. I assume some good looking female eventually shows up to witness this spectacle.

The photos I am posting were taken of the third Ruffed Grouse... I followed his sound cautiously and slowly. It took me a hour to find this very large and beautiful Ruffed Grouse. When I found him, it took me at least 30 minutes to sneak close enough to photograph his drumming routine. What has happened each year I find a drumming grouse, is that once he gets used to seeing me, he loves to perform. I have had Ruffed Grouse do 360 movements in their drumming routines and some even follow me when I quietly back away from their drumming log. This guy left his log twice and when I moved closer, he hopped back on his log and gave me an encore.

Anyway.... I hope you that are looking in, enjoy the following shots.

"Those old enough to recall the starting up of the two cylinder John Deere tractor... then know the sound of the drumming Ruffed Grouse." ~ D. Brislance

A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL... SPRING.

2009-04-18T16:09:00.000-07:00

I love winter, but the last few weeks have tested the spirit of true northern Minnesotans. A fierce ice storm and an April Fools Day blizzard capped off a "hundred inch" total snowfall. Enough is enough I say... and the melt is on.

Spring is officially here when a few things in the Arrowhead fall into place. First on my list is the beginning of the bird migration and second is the appearance of the hibernating butterflies. The third is the advent of the first spring flower.

Last Sunday the first sparrow arrived on time. A beautiful Fox Sparrow flew into our yard and promptly started his two footed scratching on the forest floor. The Song Sparrows and American Tree Sparrows followed close behind, along with the Purple Finch. The hibernating Compton's Tortoiseshell and Mourning Cloak butterflies appeared within days of each other, brightening up the drab spring landscape. It is hard to believe they endure the below zero temperatures, holed up in logs and such.

In the Grand Marais harbor, flocks of ducks and Canada Geese were whistling in each day. Common Goldeneye, Bufflehead, Hooded Mergansers, Mallards, Ring-necked Ducks and Red-breasted Mergansers adorned a half frozen harbor.

I am now awaiting my third criteria for spring; the beautiful, fragile, Canada Violet. When that happens, I know it truly is spring.

Most of you that read this blog, know that Mary and I have recently been blessed with a grandson. His name is Will Ogden Brislance and he is a joy in our lives. Of course I have to post some photos of the handsome addition to our family...

The following photos of Will and the spring migration were taken the past few weeks... a few of thousands.

Until next time....

"If spring came but once a century instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would be in all the hearts to behold the miraculous change."

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow~