Least Grebe at Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge, Rio Grande Valley, South Texas. Photo taken on a dark, dreary, cold and drizzling December morning. A gray sky produced coffee-with-cream-colored water. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
Waterbirds are among my favorite subjects and, as often as not, the surface of the water itself becomes a major compositional element within the photo. Some photographers tend to shoot at a very low angle to show the bird at eye-level. In doing this, though, the surface of the water is lost, which is why I prefer to shoot at a slight downward angle . . . .
Pied-billed Grebe with Red Swamp Crawfish at Elm Lake, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas. The brilliant green wrinkly water steals the show. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
I love the colors of water and the features that form and travel across its surface. Waves, rings, and wakes add a level of energy and context to the avian subject. The color and surface texture of the water inform the viewer about the day the image was taken. The winter colors of the Willet below, for example, indicate the season, but the chaotic, deep blue surface of the water tells the viewer that this was a cold, clear, blustery day.
Willet with Shrimp, East Beach, Galveston Island, Texas. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
Water, of course, is charismatic enough to be more than just the setting and can become the subject itself. The raging torrent below beckons to the stunning mountains of the West. I wish we were there . . . .
Plume of Mist Over Waterfall on the Yellowstone River, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
Water is the driving force of all nature.—Leonardo da Vinci
Crossvine Flower (Bigonia capreolata) with Bee, Houston, Texas. Step One in appreciating a plant: Is it native? Step two: Is it a food plant for birds? Yes and yes. Crossvine is a Texas native and a source of nectar and insects for hummingbirds and other birds. Canon EOS 7D/100mm f/2.8L IS. Hand-held with high-speed synchronized ring flash.
Back when I was a geologist and in the field my eyes were almost always turned to the ground. I was looking for fossils, minerals, sedimentary structures—in short, anything that could tell me about the depositional setting of the rocks I was studying . . . .
Neotropic Cormorant at the “freshwater channel,” Hans and Pat Suter City Nature Park in Corpus Christi, Texas. The brilliant blue eyes provide the “spot of poison” in cormorant color theory. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
Having an interest in the life sciences, though, I would from time to time notice a plant here or a lizard there. I would perhaps even make a mental note about field marks and look up the species in question once back in the museum or departmental library.
Back in those days, I carried either my Yashica Super 2000 (w/55mm f/2.8 ML Macro), until the Canon EOS 7D my most beloved camera, or a Contax RTS II (w/CZ 50mm f/1.4 Planar) 35mm film camera to document what I saw geologically in the field. Thinking back, it’s almost comical how little photographic firepower I carried into the field in those days: I might bring two or three rolls of 24- or 36-frame rolls of film!
Green Anoles (Anolis carolinensis) fight it out! at the Edith L. Moore Nature Sanctuary, West Houston. When head-bobbing and dewlap extension aren’t enough, teeth will do the trick. The lizard on the right was king of the log and bullied the other out of his kingdom. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
At first, I was skeptical about the digital photography revolution, worried that digital cameras offered quantity and ease at the expense of quality. Now a digital convert, I’m armed with more equipment than I can carry at any one time. The current challenges are having the right lens at the ready for any given situation and making optimal use of each piece of equipment.
Although birds are my primary target, I am always looking for new things to photograph: plants, fungi, and vertebrate and invertebrate animals are all potential subjects. I scan the trees for squirrels, frogs, lizards, and snakes, jelly fungus and mushrooms; bromeliads and other epiphytes. I scan the sky for birds, bats, and insects, and the brush for what’s lurking there. I might even pull the ultra wide angle lens out of the bag to document the context of what I’m seeing, the habitat itself.
Every image is now a potential research project. Insects (that need identification) are perched on flowers (that need identification). Birds grab unfamiliar bugs, fish, and lizards—all these critters are crying out for study and identification. Now that the weather is getting nice again, I can’t wait to get out there, feel the stress of daily life melt away, and find out what’s going on!
Queen Butterfly (Danaus sp.) on Gregg’s Mistflower (Conoclinium greggii) at Casa Santa Ana, Rio Grande Valley, South Texas. Although not ideal, super telephotos can be used to get some shots of really big bugs. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
In nature we never see anything isolated, but everything in connection with something else which is before it, beside it, under it and over it.—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Mammillaria grahamii at Saguaro National Park, Arizona. This small cactus grows in the shadows cast by other, larger cacti and desert plants. All images Canon EOS 7D/100mm f/2.8L IS macro. Hand-held, high-speed synchronized ring flash.
In last week’s post, I noted that due to lousy weather we had been stuck indoors a lot lately contemplating future projects. One pet project I want to work on is building a collection of images of cactus flowers (and developing the skill to do it well). Currently I do shoot plants and animals other than birds when there are no birds around. Up to this point, I’ve been using our 100mm f/2.8L IS macro lens for this work, but I have purchased (after reading technical reports and moping around the house for a week or two) a used 90mm Canon tilt-shift f/2.8, primarily for botanical work. I can’t wait to use it!
Tilt-shift lenses employ the Scheimpflug Principle and convert a plane of sharp of focus into a wedge, thus increasing the apparent depth of field. Shallow depth of field in macro photography, frankly, has what has prevented me from becoming really interested in “macro” work. (Note: I put macro in quotes because much of this work is not true macro, i.e. 1: 1 or greater, but rather just fairly close up using a macro lens.) Depth of field is a function of three variables: aperture (f-stop), focal length, and object distance. Super telephoto work has its own idiosyncrasies and difficulties (like heavy, bulky and expensive lenses, inordinate susceptibility to vibration, etc.), but macro has always seemed especially fussy. Dazzlingly bright light (read bright light and flash) is usually required to capture a macro image that is close enough to present enough detail to be interesting with sufficient depth of field to not look like a child took the photo. Maybe the tilt-shift will help.
Stale Cane(?) Cholla Flower (Cylindropuntia sp.) at Cave Creek Canyon, Arizona. Looking for a fun time? Check out Cylinderopuntia taxonomy.
But why cactus flowers, of all things? I must confess a special affection for desert organisms, and deserts in general. The most spectacular places I’ve ever visited are in deserts. As a child, I studied the Arizona Highways magazines at the local library and by February often dreamed of moving away from the frozen wastes of Minnesota. Cactus flowers are especially beautiful–the hummingbirds of the plant world–and I have decided that I would travel just to see and photograph them. Like hummingbirds, they are native to the New World only, and I feel lucky to be able to see and photograph them in the wild.
Up to this point, I’ve only photographed the most common species encountered while chasing birds around, and I know very little about cacti other than that the flowers are pretty and the plants grow in exotic places that I love. Getting serious about cactus flower photography would mean, of course, learning the taxonomy, ecology, and biogeography of the plants. At present this seems a daunting task . . . but it would involve trips to places like Big Bend, the Painted Desert, and . . . dozens of really, really interesting places (i.e., not Houston). Are these just the fantasies of a Dog Days of Houston shut-in? We’ll see.
Prickly Pear (Opuntia robusta) Flower with Bee at Balcones Canyonlands National Wildlife Refuge, Central Texas.
When I write “paradise” I mean not only apple trees and golden women but also scorpions and tarantulas and flies, rattlesnakes and Gila monsters, sandstorms, volcanoes and earthquakes, bacteria and bear, cactus, yucca, bladderweed, ocotillo and mesquite, flash floods and quicksand, and yes — disease and death and the rotting of flesh.—Edward Abbey, Down the River
Black-necked Stilt in Late Summer 2011 at Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge, Texas. The broiling, buggy coastal marshes where these birds summer can test the resolve of the birder. But what a cool-looking bird! Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC).
During the past few weeks we haven’t been going out into the field much due to the weather. The dog days of summer are a bit hard to stomach along the Upper Texas Gulf Coast. Patchy rain storms, interspersed with blistering sun, temperatures in the 90’s and dew points in the upper 70’s—not to mention clouds of winged bloodsuckers—can make for tough going. A sense of humor is definitely required.
Driving to High Island last week, passing the turn to Anahauc National Wildlife Refuge I just shook my my head, imagining the bugs. We visited Frenchtown Road, though, on the Bolivar Peninsula, and through the windows of the truck it looked very promising. In fact, Elisa saw a family of Clapper Rails with four young, a first for her. Recent heavy rains and high tide, though, meant everything was soaked and exuding humidity. The instant we opened the truck doors, the cab was flooded with mosquitos. The cloud stayed with the vehicle (in the bed) as we drove away, and even remained as we waited for the ferry to cross to Galveston!
Clapper Rail at McFaddin National Wildlife Refuge, Texas. Clapper Rails breed in Coastal Texas marshes from late February through September and produce darling fluffy, black young. Frenchtown Road is the most reliable place we know to see Clappers. But for some reason we haven’t been able to get any first-class images there, yet. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
To further dampen our enthusiasm, at East Beach, Galveston, we found astronomical amounts of reeking, rotting seaweed still (summer stuff) covering the beach. Please! A fall storm to wash all this rubbish out to sea! At East Beach we nevertheless tried for some terns in flight. The conditions were strange to say the least: sweltering on the buggy beach in a dead calm shooting at 1/4000 sec with bright sun and simultaneous rain. In early September in Texas, I fantasize about being in the field without being smeared with blood, sweat, and bug parts! Ha!
A close friend and native Houstonian who recently retired to the hills of East Tennessee characterized the close of the Texas dog days best: during September one watches the weather reports from around the country with envious eyes and sees temperatures falling into the 70’s, then 60’s, then 50’s all the while Texas cooks on into month five. But things are changing in subtle ways. The days are decidedly shorter. There is some avian movement: We saw some Spotted Sandpipers at Sea Center Texas. A pair of Cooper’s Hawks has been hanging around our yard and communicating back and forth with their whistling calls. Flycatchers are passing through.
Great Blue Heron in Flight Over 40-Acre Lake in Late Summer atBrazos Bend State Park, Texas. Even BBSP, my favorite birding gem, needs a breath of fresh air by September. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
So while the birding isn’t the best now, there is always research and planning for the future. Although I’m not much of a gear-head, I do read a lot of technical reports on photographic equipment in my spare time. I’m currently waiting to read the official specifications for the much-anticipated Canon EOS 7D Mark 2. What is available indicates not a quantum leap forward (no Foveon sensor!), but rather a series of incremental improvements in resolution, speed, etc.–which is a bit disappointing given the innovative products released during the past two years by Nikon (D800/D810) and Sony (a7R), especially as regards resolution. Perhaps I won’t be an early adopter when this new camera comes out later this year.
Finally, there’s always planning for a retirement that incorporates the seven lovely months in Texas. And they are lovely . . . and just around the corner.
“When action grows unprofitable, gather information; when information grows unprofitable, sleep.” —Ursula K. Le Guin, The Left Hand of Darkness
The Most Spectacular Member of the Tyrannus Clan: Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (T. forticatus) on Pelican Island, Texas. Exceptional in coloration and plumage, the Scissor-tailed Flycatcher is a stand-out among the relatively conservative-looking members of its genus. Scissor-tails prefer open, grassy environments with small clumps of trees from which to hunt. They also love to perch and hunt along barbed-wire fence lines and are a common sight in summer on the plains of the southern U.S. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
The family Tyrannidae (Tyrant Flycatchers) is primarily a South American group. Of over 370 species, only 35 have ranges that extend far enough north to reach the United States. Eight genera of tyrant flycatchers occur in North America, north of Mexico. Considered by evolutionary biologists to be among the most primitive of songbirds, tyrannids are nevertheless highly successful, ranging from Patagonia, and even the Falkland and Galápagos Islands, to Canada. These birds occur across a wide variety of habitats, from bottomland forests to the high Andes.
Due to their bold personalities and active hunting behaviors, the Tyrant Flycatchers of the genus Tyrannus (kingbirds and kin) are some of the most exciting birds to watch. Exhibiting a rather limited palette of colors relative to some other songbirds, ranging primarily from browns and olives to gray on top (plus orange or red semi-concealed crown stripes for display), and a variety of shades of yellow below, species of Tyrannus may never be as popular as warblers with birders. But what they lack (usually) in terms of showy colors they make up for in personality and behavior.
Couch’s Kingbird (Tyrannus couchii) on Cable at Estero Llano Grande State Park, Rio Grande Valley, Texas. This young bird showed no fear of me whatsoever, despite a close approach. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1/4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
Other than the Great Kiskadee, perhaps, Kingbirds are the most conspicuous of the North American flycatchers. These large, aggressive birds will not tolerate being pushed around by other, larger birds like crows or even raptors. Although they will eat fruit and seeds during certain times of the year (depending on the Kingbird species), insects form an integral part of their diets.
From a perch, they will hawk large insects from the air above water or ground and also grab prey from the ground. The fact that they return again and again to a perch can make photography relatively easy and enjoyable. After locating an avian photographic subject, I often snap few frames, advance a few paces, snap a few frames, advance a few paces, and so on. Some bird species will flush as soon as they see a human. Others will hesitate until a particular distance is breeched (minimum approach distance). Tyrant flycatchers, too, eventually flee hesitantly into the air upon a close enough approach, but I can’t help feeling as though these bird are asking themselves: Do I really have to leave? Can I take this guy?
Cassin’s Kingbird (Tyrannus vociferans) on Mesquite at Cave Creek Ranch, Arizona. This bird flashed a bright orange (on top) and red (below) crown-stripe upon takeoff and could easily be confused for a Western Kingbird. Considering a number of other images together, however, the identification was based upon absence of bold white outer tail feather margins, lighter brownish wings with pale feather edges, and a crescent-shaped white patch or “mustache” below eye. In such similar species, though, there is room for uncertainty. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
Although not as difficult to tell apart as some Empidonax Flycatchers, which are literally indistinguishable based on appearance alone, some species of Tyrannus are quite tricky to identify. Even based on a reasonably good photograph, experienced birders may disagree about the identity of a specific individual. Cassin’s and Western Kingbirds, for example, overlap in range in the West and are often confused. Likewise Couch’s, Tropical, and Western Kingbirds have overlapping ranges in the Lower Rio Grade Valley.
All these species, though, do have distinctive field marks and can in principle be distinguished. However, depending on the light and angle of view, colors can change. Vegetation can obscure minor or subtle features. In these troublesome cases, after exhausting reasonable avenues of identification, I try to live with the uncertainty–rather than decide which member of this sometimes look-a-like group I’ve spotted.
Eastern Kingbird (Tyrannus tyrannus) on Hackberry at the Skillern Tract, Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge, Texas. Kingbirds, like many other insectivorous birds, often hang around Hackberry trees. Canon EOS 7D/100-400mm f/4.5-5.6L IS. Hand-held, natural light.
The quest for certainty blocks the search for meaning. Uncertainty is the very condition to impel man to unfold his powers.—Erich Fromm
Great Blue Heron with Bluegill in Spawning Colors at 40-Acre Lake, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas. This bird was the ruler of a string of small marshy “islands” in the northeast corner of the lake. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
Waders are an endless source of birding pleasure for me. Their hunting and fishing strategies are highly varied, and I’m always on the lookout for techniques I’ve not seen before. This summer I spotted a number of interesting new things at Brazos Bend SP.
40-Acre Lake was a hot-bed of wader fishing behavior this summer. A Great Blue Heron with a slightly injured left wing (above) claimed the northeast corner of the lake for itself, frequently driving away lesser birds—like Little Blues, Tri-colored Herons, and Yellow-crowned Night Herons. The Great Blue, however, adhered to an uneasy peace with a Great Egret (shown below) that spent most of its time on the small islands a bit to the south. When they came face to face, they seemed to agree that the balance of powers was such that a fight would be fruitless.
For long stretches of time over a number of days, I observed the same Great Blue hunt and fish rather unsuccessfully—a bug here and there, a few muddled struggles with some snake-like sticks, but no amphibians or big fish. One morning, however, the bird swooped down from a tree top and stabbed the big bluegill in the above photo. The bird spotted the fish from at least 100 yards away, flew over, and speared the fish with a single thrust. No fuss, no muss. In a matter of minutes the fish was manipulated into swallowing position and ingested.
On another occasion, I saw the Great Blue place an insect on the surface of the water and stare at it for a few seconds. A gentle current carried the insect away from the heron. The bird suddenly snapped up and ate the bug before it got too far away. Was this bait-fishing of the type occasionally exhibited by Green Herons? Hard to say, but it’s something new to watch for.
Fishing Great Egret at 40-Acre Lake, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas. This bird ruled a steamy archipelago kingdom slightly to the south of the one ruled by the Great Blue. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
One morning I turned my attention from the Great Blue to the Great Egret. It had its head down, and held it there. It took me a moment to realize that the bird was engaged in a type of fishing often utilized by Black-Crowned Night-Herons. The stationary bird opened and closed its beak repeatedly while keeping it in the water, perhaps hoping the gentle rythmic disturbance would attract a fish.
One might surmise that after observing waders regularly in a single park over a few years’ time, the surprises and new observations would cease. This is certainly not the case at Brazos Bend, where nearly every visit opens a new window into avian life.
Novelty has charms that our mind can hardly withstand.–William Makepeace Thackeray
Portrait in Red: Male Arizona Cardinal at Cave Creek, Arizona. There are nineteen subspecies of Northern Cardinal in North and Central America. The “Arizona Cardinal,” Cardinalis cardinals superbus, may be the most spectacular cardinal in the U.S. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash. All images in this post were saturated 3%.
During our recent road trip to southeast Arizona we once again encountered Cardinalis cardinals superbus, a bird sometimes referred to asthe “Arizona Cardinal.” I paused for a closer look and made a few comparisons with our own Cardinalis cardinals magnirostris, the Northern Cardinal subspecies that occurs throughout the eastern third of Texas.
East Texas Bird: Male Northern Cardinal (C. c. magnirostris) at Pilant Lake, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
The Arizona race of cardinals occurs in southern California, Arizona, New Mexico and northern Mexico and is generally larger, taller-crested, longer-tailed, and more brightly colored (less gray on the back) than Texas Gulf Coast cardinals, or any of the other races of cardinals in the U.S. The Arizona Cardinal’s face mask also tends toward lighter shades and is smaller, often not meeting across the top of the bill. In general behavior, the Arizona subspecies was indistinguishable from our familiar Texas birds. Their songs, however, varied by a note or two here and there.
Female Arizona Cardinal (C. c. superbus) on Century Plant at Cave Creek, Arizona. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
C. c. magnirostris is a beautiful bird and common bird—a bird so common that we tend to ignore it, despite its beauty. Sometimes in our travels, too, we are so taken with the new species encountered that we overlook the close relatives of familiar animals that cross our paths.
Female Northern Cardinal(C.C. magnirostris) at the Houston Arboretum. In portrait, t’s easy to see why Northern Cardinals were referred to as “Cardinal Grosbeaks” in previous centuries. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
The Arizona Cardinal is a spectacular bird, and not easy to miss. But how many other close relatives of our less showy backyard birds are we overlooking during our far-flung birding adventures? Learning about (and keeping straight) these minor geographic variations in our native birds is yet another aspect of this incredible hobby we call birdwatching.
Why hurry over beautiful things? Why not linger and enjoy them?—Clara Schumann
Louisiana Waterthrush with Fly Larva at Pilant Slough, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas. The caterpillar-like arthropod appears to be a large horse fly larva, but I invite comments from anyone who knows better. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
Photographing birds is often not easy, and getting them in the act of hunting can be a special challenge. But even after you have the image, the work may not yet be done as prey items can be difficult to identify. Vertebrate prey items (particularly fish) can be challenging, but invertebrates, especially larval forms, can be maddening when your invertebrate biology courses were twenty-plus years ago! The rewards of such research, though, are great. Identifying prey puts you in tune with the bird’s life: Now you know what they’re looking for when you see them poking around in particular habitats, at particular times of the year. For me, this is one of the more interesting aspects of birding, one made possible by the camera.
Female Hooded Oriole with Katydid at Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge, South Texas. The insect appears to be a spoon-tailed short-winged katydid (Dichopetala catinata), or related form, but I invite comments from anyone who knows better. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
Our retinas and brains have been wired by a hundred million years of evolution to find outlines in a visually complex landscape. This helps us to recognize prey and predators.—Seth Shostak
In Deepest, Darkest Texas: Cattle Egret with feral hog at Pilant Slough, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas. True pigs have been in the New World for centuries due to human introduction. Cattle Egrets commonly follow cattle around Texas pastures, but this is the first time I have seen the birds shadowing prey-flushing pigs. All photos Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC).
Cattle Egrets are among my favorite waders. They are slightly sinister in appearance and behavior as they sneak and skulk around the margins of grasslands and marshes in search of invertebrate and small vertebrate prey. And judging by their large minimum approach distance they are among the most suspicious and distrustful of birds.
Given their dislike of people, it’s ironic that the rapid expansion of Cattle Egrets across the New World in the latter half of the 20th Century has been aided by human agriculture. Not long before the 20th Century the Cattle Egret was an Old World species. The first Cattle Egret was seen in the New World in 1877; in North America in 1941, and it began breeding in Florida in 1953. Today, Cattle Egrets are widely distributed across the Americas.
Spectacular: A Cattle Egret in Breeding Colors at Smith Oaks Rookery, High Island, Texas. Natural light.
Although we think that the Cattle Egret reached the New World on its own, the widespread distribution of livestock here, particularly cattle, has has greatly facilitated the bird’s spread. Today, Cattle Egrets snapping up grasshoppers and other prey flushed by cattle (or farm implements!) is a common American sight.
So in the Americas, the Cattle Egret is not a human-introduced species. Yet, I find it hard to consider it precisely a native species (over much of its range) given its close association with domesticated livestock. The Cattle Egret exists exactly at the intersection of man and the rest of nature. It is one of those species well adapted to live in a human-influenced, agricultural landscape. And, as the human population increases with its ever-increasing appetite for meat and animal products, the Cattle Egret’s future looks bright indeed.
Mating Cattle Egrets at the Smith Oaks Rookery, High Island, Texas. Cattle Egrets now breed in rookeries with native species such as Great Egrets, Roseate Spoonbills, Tricolored Herons, and Snowy Egrets. Natural light.
It is not the strongest or the most intelligent who will survive but those who can best manage change.—Charles Darwin
A Black Skimmer Turns an Egg, at Freeport, Texas. All images Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC) unless otherwise noted. Natural light.
Elisa and I recently took the opportunity to visit the Black Skimmer nesting colony at the Dow Chemical plant in Freeport, Texas during the company’s annual open house. In addition to the Black Skimmers, Gull-billed and Least Terns were present within the colony. Defense and reproduction were foremost on the birds’ minds.
Avian nesting colonies are defense mechanisms against numerous threats to eggs and chicks: Hundreds of pairs of eyes are better than one. Also, Black Skimmers are not aggressive defenders of nests as are some other colonial nesters (Common, Gull-billed and Least Terns, for example), and will nest among these species for protection. On the day we visited, Laughing Gulls loitered like juvenile delinquents on the margins of the colony hoping for a moment of inattention or distraction to grab eggs or chicks. Rats and other mammals like raccoons, can also be expected to prey on eggs and nestlings.
Vigilance: Gull-billed Tern Over Nest at Freeport, Texas.
Another Black Skimmer defensive tactic we observed was the “broken wing act” to distract attention from nests. In the cases I observed, I did not perceive a particular threat. Perhaps the birds were simply responding to a general level of stress due to a large number of human observers.
A Black Skimmer Performs the Broken Wing Act at Freeport, Texas. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
In addition to defensive behaviors, we observed several instances of Black Skimmers turning eggs. In marked contrast to snake and lizard eggs, almost all bird eggs must be turned often during incubation for proper development.
One of the most charming things I observed was pair feeding as part of the skimmer courtship ritual. In this ritual, the larger male Black Skimmer presents the female with a small fish. If she accepts the fish, the pair copulates. The female skimmer then eats the fish. Interestingly, terns exhibit a similar ritual—but female terns eats the fish before copulation.
On the photographic side, a persistent Tropical weather pattern continued in which moisture flowed up onto the coast from the Gulf providing high humidity and a dazzling, cloudy white sky. The unfortunate placement of the observation areas coupled with the atmosphere meant conditions for photography were poor. Because the birds were backlit, I had to wait for instances when they would turn their heads such that raking light could reveal feather detail and provide catchlights. Sometimes shooting during the Texas summer requires a little creativity.
No Laughing Matter: Laughing Gulls with a fish at Freeport, Texas. Small groups of Laughing Gulls flanked the colony waiting for opportunities to prey on eggs and young. These two gulls couldn’t decide whether to eat or abandon (or bring back to their own young?) their nearly dried-up fish carcass. They kept dropping it and hestitantly picking it up again. Were they hoping for something better? A plump, juicy tern or skimmer chick, perhaps?
Spirit: Adult Female Red-tailed Hawk at the 2014 Houston Audubon Raptor Shoot. Canon EOS 7D/100-400mm f/4.5-5.6L IS. Natural light.
Now that I have time, I’m working my way through the entire blog making edits and minor improvements. New images have been added to Avian Portraits and Stalking the Hunters. Please check them out!
Roseate Spoonbill Feeding Nestlings at Smith Oaks Rookery, High Island, Texas. Notice how much smaller the chick in the foreground is compared to the others. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.—Andy Warhol
