Yellow Rails and Rice Is Not A Cajun Dish

On one level, the Yellow Rails and Rice Festival is a novel event that celebrates local birds and local culture. On another level, it's a triumph of "agri-tourism" where two groups that aren't often friends (Birders, who are often focused on preserving native habitats, and Farmers, who transform habitats to grow food) get together for mutual benefit. However you look at it, this is a pretty cool event.

Yellow Rails are secretive (and cute) little birds that like nothing more than to hunker down in some thick marshy grass and stay hidden. They stay so hidden that Science knows much less about the Yellow Rail than it does about most birds. But, we do know that they typically spend their summers in Central Canada and the Northern Midwest United States, and they migrate to the Gulf Coast in September and October.

Late October turns out to be the season for harvesting rice down here in southern Louisiana. And, rice grows best in flat, wet fields that Yellow Rails (and many other birds) find delightful. So, as the giant combines [pronounced with emphasis on the first syllable like "KOM-bine"] drive through the fields to harvest the rice grain, birds that have taken refuge in the field scatter. In fact, this kind of disturbance is one of the few ways that people can actually see a Yellow Rail.

So, about seven years ago, some enterprising folks in Southern Louisiana decided this could make for a great event: visitors get to see an elusive bird that they likely wouldn't otherwise get to see, and they also learn about how rice farming works, and hopefully appreciate both a little better. And since this is Cajun Country, why not throw in some food and music as well?

Thursday morning was Day 1 of the festival. We congregated at a church (get it? ha!) in a village so small that Google Maps doesn't even show it (although Bing Maps does! Bing FTW!), to receive instruction on how the day would go. The show then shifted to a nearby rice field, where the farmer fired up his giant combine.

This machine drives back and forth across the field, cutting the rice stalks, separating the grain, and blowing it into a hopper on the top. When the hopper is full, the rice is transferred to another vehicle for transport.

A very cool aspect of this event is that attendees get to ride on the combine! We were able to take two laps around the field, getting a monster's eye view of the whole process. Here's a view of how the machine works from the platform where the driver sits:

Otherwise, visitors are encouraged to walk through the (muddy) field to get close to the action, and the organizers had ATVs with which they gave rides alongside the combine.

From a birding perspective, we had many great looks at Yellow Rails, although it was tough to see the birds because they are small and understandably) were moving VERY quickly away from the huge beast:

Yellow Rail is in front of the third person from the right. Looks like only one person in that group is seeing this bird!

Zoom in to Yellow Rail

 Another view of a Yellow Rail:

We even had a few King Rails, a large fresh-water wading bird similar to Clapper/Ridgeway's Rail that's typically found along the Gulf Coast.

Mammals may take refuge in the fields, too, and they also run for new cover when the combine approaches.

This young raccoon didn't look very happy, both because of the impending machine and because we likely saw its parent on the other side of the field, headed the opposite direction.

While the mosquitos and related biting insects were surprisingly not bad at all, there was one slightly creepy element of the day: flying spiders!

The white lines you see are spider webs caught on electrical wire. Throughout the day, tiny spiders on the end of long strands of web (up to several feet long) were drifting through the skies and landing in the fields. Although, we never did actually see one running around on us, presumably they landed on us, too! Yikes!

The day ended with some really awesome jambalaya, sweet dough pies, cold beer, a local trio of musicians, and an amazing sunset. This was a really fun festival, and worth attending if you'd like to see some interesting birds and experience a unique part of the country!

Me

Laissez les bonnes oiseaux rouler!

Bonsoir from Louisiana!

My Ghost Blogger has been absent/lazy for a few days, so I apologize for the absence of posts. She has been fired for dereliction of duty, and a new Ghost Blogger will be hired soon. In the meantime, you're stuck with me.

I'm sure you've been wondering what has transpired since the last post. "What amazing adventures have they embarked upon, only to keep secret from their devoted followers?" is a question I'm sure you've asked yourself nightly. "Did they quit early and not tell anybody?" would be reasonable. "Do they not love us any more?" is undoubtedly also at the top of your mind.

To address these burning questions: Very Little, Definitely Not, and We Absolutely Still Do.

So, what has happened?

Mostly, the past several days have been about work and life. On the birding front, our only recent expedition was over to Marin, in search of two rare vagrants: a White Wagtail, an Arctic bird that we missed in Nome but that somehow ended up in Northern California, and an even more rare Dusky Warbler, which is common in Asia but has only been reported a handful of times EVER in NorCal. We struck out on the warbler, but did manage to find the Wagtail, for bird #671 for the year.

Candidate for "Crappiest Picture Ever". Blame Ms. Wagtail for not flying to our side of the lake.

The wagtail happened also to be The Wife's 700th Life Bird, so congratulate her on joining the 700 Club when next you see her!

Now, though, things are about to get interesting. We are in Cajun Country for a few days of jambalaya, gumbo, and boudin, and also for an interesting sounding festival called, "Yellow Rails and Rice". This festival takes advantage of how rice harvesting disturbs birds that are hiding in the wet rice to show attendees all kinds of rails, including the enigmatic Yellow Rail.

After that, we're headed to southern Texas (AGAIN) for a boat trip (AGAIN) and the Rio Grande Valley Birding Festival. Subsequently, we may visit the Most Boring City in America (Lubbock, TX) for a late attempt at Lesser Prairie Chicken, and then Denver for one more shot at Boreal Owl. Or, we may reschedule everything depending on the weather and our whims. That would be just like us.

Stay tuned!
Me (Not the fired Ghost Blogger, for reals)

Preparation + Opportunity = Luck

Usted hace su propia suerte,

As Tina Turner sang, "What's Luck Got To Do With It?" At least, I think it was Tina. It could have been the coach of the Indianapolis Colts, responding to a question about why they lost last week. Or something like that.

In our case, it all depends on how you define luck.

This weekend saw us pick off four new birds, bringing our total to 670 for the year. All of these finds could be considered "lucky", in that they didn't just fly up and land on our heads. For instance:

• After driving around farmlands outside of Bozeman, MT, for three hours trying to find Gray Partridge, we decided to make one last stop before lunch at some fields where they had been reported over the summer. These fields were in town, across from a large apartment complex, so we parked and walked along the road to avoid clogging up traffic. Suddenly, The Wife shouted, "Over there!" as she happened to briefly see a large group of appropriately-sized birds land about 200 yards away in a nearby pasture. After waiting 15 minutes for them to see them through the thick grass, she may also have hopped over the barbed-wire fence and stomped through the pasture to encourage them to move. But she wouldn't brazenly flaunt birding etiquette to do something like that, so I must be mis-remembering.
• At the Victoria International Airport in Sidney, British Columbia, we walked three miles around the perimeter of the airport trying to find Sky Lark, frustrated in our efforts to hear them by the din of planes landing, helicopters taking off, lawnmowers munching through grass, and cars passing. But, at one point, there was a lull in the noise, and we heard their distinctive buzzy calls! They were far from the fenceline, hopping in the grass perilously near the runway, so we were never had great looks but we did clearly hear the song.
• After disembarking from the Sidney-to-Anacortes, WA ferry, we took a side road to a nearby bay to find an Eurasian Wigeon that had been reported the previous day. That bay had exactly zero ducks on it, so we continued along the side road to connect back with the highway. The road was surrounded by trees, but just before reaching the highway, the trees ended and we had another angle on the water. And, lo, and there was a large flock of ducks! Making an abrupt left into the parking lot of a Native-American-run casino, we scanned the flock and found our wigeon.

In all of these cases, the birds we were trying to find were somewhat uncommon and either secretive or very nomadic, or both, and so challenging to locate. And, all of them were found because of some turn of events. But, I don't think these were all merely cases of being "lucky".

We had traveled to those locations because we knew the birds were there, either because they were known to be resident or had been recently reported. We could identify the birds because we had studied their pictures and sounds, so we could pick key field marks out quickly. And, we knew their habits, so we knew where and when to look. As the Roman philosopher Seneca reportedly said, "Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity." So with that definition, we were lucky to find those birds. 

Remember that the next time you shoot a basketball from half-court and it goes in, and your buddies say, "Lucky shot, dude!" Just tell them that you were prepared, and that Tina Turner would be proud.

The Devil's Bird

We're at 665 birds for the year, so the next bird we find will be a milestone number.

On a tip from a local birding expert, we went out tonight to find a bird that he felt we could still locate. It's resident in our area, and while generally quiet at this time of year, it does respond to calls.

So, we drove up into the hills, got out of the car, and played our recording. Two seconds later, it started calling back to us. We carried out our conversation for about five minutes, until the bird decided that we were a stupid bird that only knew one song, and with whom it should not bother conversing.

Does this face look like the Face of Evil?

Photo from Audubon

Actually, it kind of does. Which is why the Northern Saw-Whet Owl, appropriately, is our bird #666 for the year!

Achievement Unlocked

Last week, we accomplished something that is easy to do, but that almost nobody ever does. In the Panoply of Great Achievements, such as Putting A Man On The Moon, The Invention Of The Printing Press, or Creation Of In-N-Out Burger, this doesn’t rank exceptionally high, but I’m proud of it.

Last Monday, we drove down to Monterey to attempt finding the Yellow-green Vireo that had been reported there on Saturday and Sunday. They typically stay in one place for only a few days so re-finding it was a long shot, but we were/are getting desperate to find something new.

We arrived in the early afternoon, and walked back and forth and back and forth and forth again until sunset. Several other hopeful birders came and went during the course of the day, helping with the search, but to no avail.

At dusk, we needed to make a decision about what to do next. Should we stay the night in the area and try again in the morning, or just give up and drive home? Given the likelihood of finding the bird again in the future (low) and how far we had driven (far), we decided to stay the night.

The catch? We hadn’t planned to stay the night, so we had no extra clothes or toiletries, nothing but what we were wearing. Now, we’re not the type to let details like that get in the way of finding a bird, so we whipped out our phone, made a reservation, and drove to the hotel.

Striding confidently into the lobby, past the family pushing a cart loaded with suitcases and around the couple with their color-matched roller bags, we presented our ID and credit card. The Desk Agent checked us in, and then asked the inevitable:

“Do you need any assistance with your luggage?”

Ummm, no. We got that covered.

And, that’s how we unlocked the, “Checked Into A Hotel Without a Suitcase” achievement.

Of course, we never found the bird, but at least we got a good story out of it.

Adventures on the High Seas, Part Deux: The Slow Boat to Petrelsville

No other type of birding gets my heart beating like ocean boat trips. And, this isn’t the type of beating like, “I’m in love!” or “My team won the Super Bowl”. Rather, more like “I think I’m having a reaction to this seasickness medicine”. And yet, in the pursuit of Big Year Greatness, we continue subjecting ourselves to this.

So, Sunday morning, we ended up at the dock at Point Loma in San Diego at 5:30AM, watching a curious mix of people milling about while they prepared for their sailings: weathered old salts in rubber galoshes, bros with flip-flops and fishing poles, and an odd assortment of characters wearing hiking boots and khaki-colored North Face pants. We instantly knew which group was ours.

Our boat, a large, gleaming white fishing craft appropriately named, “Grande”, departed on time and chugged through the glassy San Diego Bay, past obvious reminders of the military presence. The juxtaposition of a submarine coming in to dock, with the lines of white headstones from Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery on the hill above, was a poignant moment:

You can barely see the headstones along the top. If only I had realized this at the time, I could have had a really nice shot... But you get the idea.

Cruising through the harbor was a slow process, but, we thought, maybe we are just in a "No Wake” zone? When our pace didn’t pick up upon reaching open waters, we knew we were in for a long day. That did mean less bouncing, which was nice, and more time to see birds as traveled, so...silver linings and all that.

Unfortunately, birding across the day was somewhat slow compared to what the guides expected. They suspected a primary reason for this was the unusually warm ocean temperature. Water temperatures ranged from 72F-77F throughout the 90-mile trip, which is about 5-7F warmer than usual. Since heat rises, warm water doesn't circulate downward as much, which means it tends to lack nutrients. No nutrients means no plankton, which means no animals that eat plankton, which means no animals that eat animals that eat plankton, etc.

The highlight of the day was a group of Least and Black Storm-Petrels that we located about 45 miles north of San Diego. Now, we had seen just a handful of these birds for the entire 7-8 hour trip at that point, when one of the guides said, "I think I see a raft of them in the distance!" The boat changed direction to head that way, and upon approaching the area, we saw several huge clusters like this:

Getting closer, the thick groupings of birds looked like this:

I believe they estimated the total number of birds at around 2500-3000 individuals, although counting was nearly impossible.

We could get fairly close to one group, and I got this picture:

Which I think has a couple nice comparisons of different birds. On the left side of the photo, I believe there is a Black Storm-Petrel next to an Ashy Storm-Petrel in the same wing position (the Ashy being the bird on the right with a lighter gray wing):

And on the right side of that picture, a nice comparison of a Least Storm-Petrel and a Black, with the Least being the tiny bird at the bottom-left, and the Black being the bird right behind her:

Least Storm-Petrels are about the size of a sparrow, so it's amazing that we found any of them in the open ocean!

So, two more birds added to our year total, which is SLOWLY inching its way up.

Next stop this weekend: Montana! Because, Gray Partridge!

Adios, y a ser un buen huevo!
Me

Internet Stalking for Fun and Profit

The tale of finding the American Woodcock is yet another tale of Birder Comradery. And, how Internet Stalking can really pay off!

Our usual approach to finding a specific bird is to look the bird up on eBird, find recent reports in the area to which we are traveling, and then review all the report details to get clues as to where, when, and how to find it. These might include notes the person has left, the time the report was submitted, the frequency with which the bird has been reported, and so on.

In this case, we noticed that there was one park outside Chicago where the Woodcock had been reported almost daily for the past month. By the same person. At basically the same time of day. With that kind of frequency, finding it must be a no-brainer, right? But a little extra help couldn't hurt.

With the information derived from the eBird report and some advanced use of various search engines, I managed to find the person online, and his picture. I even found that he had posted a video of the Woodcock doing its "winnowing" flight display in the spring, at that very same park! However, I couldn't find a way to message him, and calling out of the blue seemed a little, well, stalker-ish. So, no extra help that way.

All the reports began around dawn, so we knew that was when we needed to start. Rising well before dawn on Saturday, we checked out of our hotel and made our way through the gloaming. We arrived at the park on schedule, only to discover a multitude of potential trailheads and parking lots. Which one do we choose?

A few minutes later, a car approached and took the road to the right. On a hunch, we took off and tailed that car to where it parked about a half-mile away.

The sun had started to just barely peek over the horizon when the driver parked and got out of his car. He was a young man, wearing a floppy hat, fishing vest, and rubber boots, and carrying binoculars. He looked like the picture online, so this had to be the same guy reporting our bird. I approached him, cautiously, so as not to spook my prey.

“Are you a birder?” I asked innocently, in the friendliest voice I could muster at 6AM (which of course was 4AM at home).

“Yessss?" he replied warily.

"Well," I proceeded as if blissfully unaware of his eBird fame, "My wife and I are from out of town, and we're just here for a few days. We were hoping to see an American Woodcock, and had seen a number of reports online that they were reported here. Would you happen to know where we might look?"

His eyes lit up. "Those were my reports! I've been birding here regularly before work just to see how things changed over the year."

You don't say, I thought. Go on...where is this damn bird!?!?! TELL ME WHERE IS THE BIRD!

He paused and looked around. "But, as high as the sun is," which was just barely over the horizon, "if you haven't seen it by now, then you're not going to today."

And just like that, with his casual toss of the truth, my spirit was broken. You don't need to see a Woodcock this year, my internal dialog went, they're really stupid little birds and you won't be any better for it. Move on, let it go.

"So, how should we go about seeing one?" asked The Wife, somehow unaware that I had already scratched this bird off the list and was contemplating the best place for a nap.

The Birder then proceeded to give us the rundown: Get there earlier (ARGGG!) the next day, and walk the road. If we don't see them there, then be at the parking lot before dawn and they'll almost always fly over.

Thanking him profusely, we regrouped and made a new plan. We would go look for some other local birds (as discussed in this post), stay in the local area that night, and return earlier in the morning for one more shot. Sigh. OK.

The next morning, we arrived 30 minutes earlier. The gate to the park may have been locked, and we may have parked outside and slipped around it. I don't recall. I'm sure it was open, as we wouldn't violate a rule like that just to see a bird, would we?

Walking the park road in the pitch-black morning, we scanned from side to side with our flashlight, but no luck. Reaching the parking lot, we decided to stand, listen, and wait until the sun came up.

About fifteen minutes later, as the sky began to lighten, three things happened in rapid sequence:
A round shape with a long, pointy bill rocketed over our heads -- could that be? Then, The Birder appeared on the road with his flashlight, and exclaimed, "Did you see it?!?" Suddenly, two more similar shapes zoomed by together and plunged deep into a thicket of brush, at speeds that should have caused grievous injury.

"Wow," he said, "Three of them! I didn't realize there were that many still here!"

Now, if that had been the first time in our lives that we had seen an American Woodcock, we would have been sorely disappointed at not getting more than a few milliseconds' glance. But, we've seen them before, and we had an expert ID them, so we'll call it good for this year.

Given that we never would have found that bird on our own, we owe (and gave) a huge thanks to The Birder. You keep on doing your thing, my friend. And I promise not to stalk you any more. Until our next Big Year.

Full-contact Birding

They say that Birding is for wimps. They say that Birders are the proverbial 95-pound weaklings of the Recreation World. They say that, "Those that can, do, and those that can't, sit in a lawn chair looking for an American Robin under a feeder".

Actually, I've never heard anybody say that, but I'm sure somebody thinks it. And, I'm here to prove that person wrong. WRONG!

A few days ago, we found ourselves in Norias, Texas, located about an hour north of Brownsville, or three hours south of San Antonio. In the Travel Haze in which we find ourselves, we aren't completely sure how we got there, but presumably it had something to do with the plane flight from Chicago. Or where ever it was that we were on Tuesday. Or whatever day that was.

We were in Norias, population Nobody, for a tour of one part of King Ranch. This ranch was founded in the 1860s, and is comprised of multiple huge tracts of land that, combined, are larger than the state of Rhode Island. The land is managed for cattle ranching and farming, but also has hundreds of thousands of acres left in natural conditions that are managed for sustainable hunting.

[Aside: It turns out that people (and corporations, which we know are people, too) will pay tens of thousands of dollars per year to lease land in the middle of nowhere where they can take their friends and business associates for a nice relaxing hunt. Who knew?]

While learning about that part was interesting, our motivation for taking the tour was to see a Ferruginous Pygmy-Owl. This species is fairly common in Mexico and parts south, but can only be found in the US in a few places in southern Arizona and south Texas. Rather than trekking through miles of desert on our own, we decided to hire a guide, and the King Ranch tour was an ideal way to get our primary target while also having a chance at something else rare.

We met our guide at the gate to the Norias Division of the ranch at 8am, and spent the next few hours driving dirt roads, learning about the ecology and history of the area, and stopping every few minutes at groves of oak trees to listen and look for the owls. As the sun climbed and the temperature rose into the 90s, the going began to get rough:

• I stepped on a branch with 2"-long stiff and razor-sharp thorns. A thorn went through my boot and into my foot, and The Wife had to pull it out. While I looked away, of course. 
• The Wife brushed past some kind of spiny plant, presumably an angry one with an attitude, and the plant furiously embedded several spines into her hand. We're still trying to get the last one out, two day later.
• Hidden in the grass was a long stiff branch, which reached up and tripped our experienced guide, causing him to go sprawling, breaking the mount on his scope and drawing blood from his arm.

As he said, "Here in South Texas, everything bites, stings, scratches, or pokes, and that's just the plants!"

But we soldiered on, and finally after hearing a call, we plunged into the bitey, stingy, scratchy, pokey underbrush (while I'm thinking, "Snakes! Snakes!"), popped out into a clearing, and managed to get our scope and binoculars onto a beautiful owl. I would share a picture, except I didn't take any, as my camera feared for its life and refused to leave the truck.

We're home now, getting some work done and recharging before our next adventure, which is currently scheduled to be a pelagic trip (OH JOY ANOTHER BOAT) out of San Diego this coming weekend. But, since migration is in full swing right now, who knows what will pop up between now and then?

Adios,
Me