Philosophical Musings

Photographing Birds in Gloomy Weather

Posted January 9, 2016 by Chris Cunningham

A cloudy day or a little sunshine have as great an influence on many constitutions as the most recent blessings or misfortunes.–Joseph Addison

Reddish Egret in the Fog, South Padre Island Birding Center, Texas — *Reddish Egret in the Fog,* South Padre Island Birding and Nature Center, Texas. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

I am sometimes surprised by which images turn out and which don’t. Light is magic, and photography is all about light. By magic I mean inexplicable—or at least very hard to explain in the context of how a camera records light. Case in point: we were recently attempting to photograph Sandhill Cranes in a field on Galveston Island. It was a clear, beautiful day, and I had a distant but unobstructed view of the birds. I wasn’t expecting National Geographic results because the cranes were too far away, but shot after shot was utter garbage.

The humidity was low (which was good), but it was windy (which was bad). I could tell that the UV index was high (I got a sunburn through sunscreen), and I just couldn’t achieve focus using autofocus or manual focus. I first tried bracing the lens on a fence post with image stabilization turned on, then off. When that failed, I returned to best practices: tripod with cable release. But still, everything farther than about ten yards away was blurry and washed out. Was invisible (to the unaided eye) turbulence creating some sort of mirage-like effect? I turned the camera on and off—even switched bodies thinking that there was a malfunction. Somehow, conditions simply weren’t right for photography—black magic. The next day I looked like W. C. Fields with windburn, sunburn, and a bar tan.

Semipalmated Plover, South Padre Island Birding Center, Texas — *What a Shorebird Sees: Mostly Mud.* Semipalmated Plover, South Padre Island Birding and Nature Center, Texas. Sandpipers and plovers scurry along the tidal mudflats all day day long waiting for infaunal invertebrates to betray their positions. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Other days, with fog or rain or lots of gray gloomy clouds, strangely, and against all odds, some nice images can be captured—white magic. I know that some photographers and viewers even prefer the look of results achieved during these dark, gloomy overcast days. All the images in this post were taken on a road trip to South Texas a few years ago. In fact, all were taken on the same day, except the kingfisher. And it was a winter like this one, with lots of rain and clouds and fog and mist and cursing by yours truly.

Female Green Kingfisher, South Texas — *Female Green Kingfisher,* South Texas. We found this bird at a strange little city park in South Texas. I remember the day (we sneaked up on a Harris’s Hawk that was hiding in a bush), but can’t recall the name of the town. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural gloomy light.

Of course, these dark days test your skills. To keep ISO below 800 for reasonable image quality means shooting at ridiculously slow shutter speeds (like 1/80 to 1/320) and breaking the 1/f shutter speed rule that I like to follow–even on a tripod with cable release. At these slow speeds, you’re in mirror-slap territory, especially on a tripod, and any puff of wind or contact with the gear can have deleterious effects. And patience is required to capture even the hint of a catchlight, an important aspect of wildlife photography.

Finally, because I pursue this hobby for personal growth and physical and mental health, seeing sunlight is so important. Like most Americans I suspect that I am Vitamin D deficient due to being cooped up so much at work. On these gray days, the spirits lift during an occasional sunbreak. The image of the Common Yellowthroat below was happily captured at the end of a gloomy, misty day just as the clouds parted (finally!) at dusk.

Common Yellowthroat, South Padre Island Birding Center, Texas — *Common Yellowthroat among Cattails,* South Padre Island Birding and Nature Center, Texas. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Bird Photography without Birds

Posted January 2, 2016 by Chris Cunningham

Anything can happen in life, especially nothing.–Michel Houellebecq, Platform

Sapsucker holes, Stephen F. Austin State Park, Texas — *Sapsucker Holes in Vine,* Stephen F. Austin State Park (SFASP), Texas. Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers are common in the bottomland forests of SFASP. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Lately interesting bird sightings have been as rare as intelligent discourse during a presidential election or quality programing on network TV. The last few weeks of iffy weather and striking out on scouting expeditions to places we’ve never visited before (or perhaps only visited a time or two years ago) and seeing little in the way of birds got me thinking: Hey! I don’t need any birds to do bird photography! I can just take pictures of where birds have been! It also got me reminiscing about the all the other times out birding when we saw nothing!

Woodpecker ravaged tree, Minnesota — *Hope you didn’t need this tree for anything: Woodpecker-ravaged conifer tree,* Apostle Islands National Lakeshore, Wisconsin. Theoretically eight species of woodpeckers inhabit this woods in summer, but we saw exactly zero. This woods seemed sparsely populated with birds in general. There were plenty of mosquitos, though! Canon EOS 7D/100mm f/2.8L Macro. High-speed synchronized fill-flash.

Acorn Woodpecker Larder, Portal, Arizona — *Acorn Woodpecker Larder in Oak Tree,* Portal, Arizona. Acorn Woodpeckers stash acorns in little niches that they chisel into oak trees. It’s all about planning for an uncertain future! It’s neat to watch Acorn Woodpeckers insert the acorn into its niche and hammer it into place. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Of course, other than abandoned nests and footprints in the mud (or droppings on a post), if you’re looking for signs of past avian activity you’re pretty much looking for woodpecker handiwork. Woodpeckers are among my all time favorite birds and have been chiseling holes in trees for at least the past 25 million years, since the late Oligocene Epoch. I used to think that petrified wood was a pretty mundane fossil until I started reading about ancient woodpecker holes—now I’ll be checking those hunks of fossil wood and hoping! Incidentally, there is lots of petrified wood around the Texas Gulf Coast, but being mostly Eocene (56-34 mya) it’s way too old for evidence of woodpecker activity, though. Pity.

Bark peeled by American Three-toed Woodpecker, Beaver Meadows, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado — *Conifer Bark Peeled by American Three-toed Woodpecker,* Beaver Meadows, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado. Seeing a Three-toed Woodpecker actually flaking off some bark would have made my day. These shy, rare birds are looking for bark beetle larvae. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Finally, while watching a Hairy Woodpecker chisel holes in the side of some guy’s house in Colorado last summer, I just had to admire the panache and devil-may-care attitude. Never mind that the hapless owner probably toiled thirty years to pay off the mortgage: let’s blast some holes! There may be tasty grubs inside those 2×4’s! Like City of Houston road crews, hammering away and leaving a lunar landscape behind, woodpeckers work their magic and are on their way!

Female Pileated Woodpecker, Olympic Peninsula, Washington — *It’s Like They Just Don’t Care:* Female Pileated Woodpecker, Olympic National Park, Washington. This bird showed little remorse for knocking gaping holes in a wooden retaining wall at Kalaloch Beach while looking for carpenter ants and beetle larvae. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Watching for . . . Winter Stuff

Posted November 28, 2015 by Chris Cunningham

Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative. –Oscar Wilde

Pine Siskin, Portal, Arizona — *Pine Siskin,* Portal, Arizona. These birds are common across the Lower 48 in winter—except along the Gulf Coast. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

At some point during the winter, a major blue northern will, hopefully, blow through and stay. Until then we’ll check the radar and bore each other (and the ghost of Oscar Wilde) with endless conversations about the temperature, humidity, jet stream, and El Niño.

But even with the iffy weather, late fall and early winter seem to be the times for charming and oddball little discoveries. Last weekend the first real Arctic blast swept across Texas. Optimistically we headed to the Coast. But at 8 am Sunday on East Beach, Galveston the winds were howling so we aborted our attempts at shorebird photography (a strong wind can twirl the barrel of a supertelephoto lens around and conk an inattentive bird photographer across the skull!) and headed for Lafitte’s Cove.

Hoping the oak motte would expend some wind energy, we approached the trees. But alas, it was still too windy for big glass, and so we settled for binocular birding. On the way into the motte, we heard a Northern Mockingbird imitating the clattering call of a Belted Kingfisher—a first for us. Once in the trees, I spotted a Pine Siskin among a small group of American Goldfinches. This was my first ever sighting of a Pine Siskin on Galveston. Although (according to the literature) Siskins do rarely make it down to the Coast during winter, I have to think that this bird was blown off course by the massive cold front that had just arrived, perhaps 30 hours before.

House Finch with Yellow, Houston, TX — *Male House Finch with Yellow on Head and Throat,* Houston, Texas. Color in male House Finches is a result of the mix of plant pigments found in their almost all-vegetable diet consumed during molting, such as carotenoids, but the biochemistry is complex. Female House Finches are thought to prefer males with redder coloration. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

In late fall/winter trees are bare, and as a result we see more songbirds than at any other time of the year. This is a good time to look for statistically rare individual color variations. Sometimes in winter, for example, it’s possible to observe diet-induced House Finch color variants, namely male birds with orange or yellow on their heads and throats (rather than red). I don’t know what the proportion of yellow- and orange-headed male House finches is—but it must be only one in dozens of birds.

This is also the time to really watch waders hunting. I’ve already mentioned the treefrog hunting that goes on around the southern margin of Pilant Lake (and I saw some more of that this week), but it seems that birds are having to work harder and are tapping somewhat atypical resources. The Little Blue Heron below, for example, was hunting in a patch of water hyacinth—and catching grasshoppers. Over the years I’ve watched Little Blues eat countless small fish, frogs and crayfish, but this is the first time I’ve seen one eating grasshoppers. Usually it’s Cattle Egrets that are grabbing katydids and grasshoppers. Perhaps times are getting a little lean, and everybody is a little less picky and willing to eat anything that moves.

Finally, the strangely warm and humid weather that has dragged deep into November has had one very nasty side effect: an explosion in the population of vicious biting gnats. I’ve always been sensitive to gnat bites, but these suckers raise huge itchy welts that hurt for days. On Wednesday of this week, gnats were so thick at Brazos Bend State Park that even the birds were being dogged by clouds of these nasties. So here I sit, hoping for a hard freeze to settle the bugs’ hash once and for all—and begin the real, lovely birding season.

Little Blue Heron with Orthopteran (Grasshopper), Elm Lake, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas — *Little Blue Heron with Orthopteran (Grasshopper),* Elm Lake, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas. Note that this bird is speckled with gnats. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

November’s Musings: Of Starlings and Treefrogs

Posted November 21, 2015 by Chris Cunningham

The acrid scents of autumn,
Reminiscent of slinking beasts, make me fear.–D. H. Lawrence, Dolor of Autumn, 1916

Flock of Blackbirds and Starlings, Fort Bend County, Texas — *A Flock of Starlings (Mostly) and Brewer’s Blackbirds,* Fort Bend County, Texas. Imagine the horror such a horde of implacable, ravenous mouths ready to devour seeds and crops would have struck in the hearts of early farmers in the ancient Middle East . . . and everywhere ever since. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Elisa and I made the most of last weekend’s gorgeous weather and birded Brazos Bend State Park, both Saturday and Sunday. On the way back home Sunday, we saw a massive flock of blackbirds and Starlings in an agricultural field. Shortly thereafter, tapping some primal anxiety in the face of crops being stripped to the ground, I assume, Elisa brought up Genesis 1: 26, a verse we have both lamented and puzzled over . . .

And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.

Could its sentiment be in response to an alternative viewpoint or movement, one that emphasized Man’s place in nature, rather than his supposed dominion over it? Was a reference to God’s will intended as an argument-ender—much as the Israelite claim on the very land of Canaan itself?

The putative author of Genesis is, of course, Moses. Tradition has it that this book was written around the 15th century B.C., during the Bronze Age. Agriculture was not new at this time. Surely some had noticed the impacts agriculture had upon the land, even in antiquity. Perhaps these hypothetical romantics turned their eyes back to a more ancient lifestyle, the way of the hunter-gatherer, a way that is now all but extinct. You will search in vain for a more succinctly articulated statement of mainstream Man’s attitude toward nature, or a more impactful one, than Genesis 1:26. Over the millennia, it has certainly proved the winning position . . . .

In any case, at Brazos Bend, the sights and sounds were typical for the season. Yellow-rumped Warblers, Tufted Titmice, Carolina Chickadees, and Carolina Wrens were everywhere in the hackberry, willow, and Chinese tallow trees that line the paths surrounding 40-acre, Pilant, and Elm Lakes.

A Great Egret Hunts Green Treefrogs, Pilant Lake, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas — *A Great Egret Hunts Green Treefrogs on Vegetation,* Pilant Lake, Brazos Bend State Park (BBSP), Texas. This bird carefully inspected the vegetation for hiding treefrogs, quite oblivious to the photographer and noisy mobs of passing Boy Scouts. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC).

But I can only report one new observation from these days at BBSP: A Great Egret hunted Green Treefrogs (Hyla cinerea) among the tall vegetation (mostly rice) along the southern margin of Pilant Lake (between the tower and the bridge). I have seen Little Blue Herons, Tricolored Herons, and American Bitterns hunting treefrogs in this area on previous occasions, but this is the first time I’ve seen a Great Egret doing it.

All four species have a similar hunting technique: rather than keeping their eyes down on the ground in search of fish, crawfish and other invertebrates, and other frog species, the birds carefully inspect the stalks of vegetation from top to bottom, and around all sides, and occasionally pick off the treefrogs. The treefrog hunting behavior is also quite different from when the waders are looking for dragonflies. Dragonfly hunting can involve snatching the insects from the air, or picking them off the very top of eye-height or shorter vegetation. As always, while hunting treefrogs these birds slide their heads back and forth like Hindu dancers apparently to use their stereoscopic vision to judge the exact distance for a strike.

It seems that Brazos Bend will often reward the vigilant observer with new sights, no matter how often one visits.

Little Blue Heron With Tree Frog, Pilant Lake, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas — *Little Blue Heron With Green Treefrog,* Pilant Lake, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas. This photo was taken almost a year to the day before the Great Egret image above: apparently November is the month for hunting treefrogs! Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Double Take

Posted November 14, 2015 by Chris Cunningham

By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.
Open, locks,
Whoever knocks.—William Shakespeare, Macbeth (Act 4, Scene 1)

Young Red-tailed Hawk, Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge, Texas — *Young Red-tailed Hawk,* Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge, Texas. Elisa captured this image of a hawk that was hunting among the thickets. Most young hawks don’t make it into fully adult plumage. I rediscovered this image while perusing our archives on a miserable rainy day. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS. Natural light.

During the dreary, rain-spoilt part of last weekend, in bitter anticipation of the next monster rain storm (Monday into Tuesday), I perused our photo archives in search of interesting tidbits to brighten my mood. Some nice shots I’d forgotten about did resurface, like the hawk above.

But birds do often lead a more hardscrabble life than we sometimes think. Not surprisingly, close re-inspection of images sometimes yields evidence of disease or parasites. The Bay-breasted Warbler below–that frustratingly stayed in the shadows of a thicket–turned out to have a tick above the left eye, for example. Birds are subject to infestation by a variety of disease-causing ticks, and some researchers worry about the introduction of diseases into North America by migrating Neotropical birds.

Bay-breasted Warbler, Lafitte's Cove, Galveston island, Texas — *Bay-breasted Warbler with Tick,* Lafitte’s Cove, Galveston Island, Texas. This bird was part of small wave of Bay-breasted Warblers that showed up at Lafitte’s Cove for a few days during spring migration 2015. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

In addition to evidence of parasitism and disease, I sometimes find physical injury to birds when I return to the archives and really scrutinize the images. In the field I didn’t notice the spine-like projection under the lower jaw in the Lesser Yellowlegs below. At first, I thought the spine might really be a spine—as in a fin-spine that pierced the floor of the lower jaw, perhaps when the bird attempted to swallow a fish. But clearly a fish with a fin spin that large would be too large to attempt to swallow. On closer inspection, it appears (based on color and texture) that the spine is a shard of the lower jaw that continued to grow, perhaps after being fractured. If any readers know more about the origin of such injuries, I would be interested in hearing about it.

The result of these sorts of searches serve to remind that nature, like the world of Man, can be a harsh place. Birds face a gauntlet of challenges, and I often regret not being able to do more to preserve them and their world.

Injured Yellowlegs, lagoon near Bryan Beach, Texas — *Injured Lesser Yellowlegs,* lagoon near Bryan Beach, Texas. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.

Two Wet Ducks?

Posted November 7, 2015 by Chris Cunningham

My sorrow, when she’s here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.–Robert Frost

Female Hooded Merganser, Paradise Pond, Port Aransas, Mustang Island, Texas. — *You can only get so wet: Female Hooded Merganser,* Paradise Pond, Port Aransas, Mustang Island, Texas. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.

Last weekend we had another brush with Mother Nature, namely about eight inches of rain. We were out of town hoping to do some birding at Dinosaur State Park (Golden-crowned Kinglets!) in north Central Texas. Early on Saturday morning we learned to our horror that (once again) our neighborhood had flooded, so we hustled home to find our garage inundated. Water had just barely topped our foundation, and so we barely avoided a repeat of the major disaster of Memorial Day 2015.

Early this week, however, we learned that yet another El Niño-spawned storm system was headed for Texas. So, alas, this week has been one of preparation for the next noachian deluge (and pointless fretting, also), rather than significant work on twoshutterbirds.com. Apparently a foot and a half of rain in two weeks isn’t enough. We won’t know the final outcome of this round of storms until after this post.

Tired of squishy, soggy ground and the smell of mildew, I’m starting to long for the next La Niña-spawned drought with the slow dying of the greenery, the cracking of the earth with concomitant buckling of our foundation, burst water mains around the neighborhood, and the daily struggle to open and close our doors without snapping keys off in the locks. I’m pining for the formation of still another broiling bubble of high pressure over Texas producing weather worthy of the Congo and making me resemble Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen–but shielding us from the next monster hurricane . . . . Ah, the good old days!

Golden-crowned Kinglet, Skillern Tract, Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge, Texas — *Female Golden-crowned Kinglet Gleaning Bugs,* Skillern Tract, Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge, Texas. I was hoping to see some of these darling little birds at Dinosaur State Park, as I have before. But it was not to be. As you might guess, these birds are lightning fast and *really* tough to photograph. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Seas and Shores of the Imagination

Posted October 24, 2015 by Chris Cunningham

We climb a ridge, and a shout of surprise involuntary arises from our lips as we find the waters replete with strange animals, and the sun above us darkened by the wings of great flying dragons . . . . —Charles H. Sternberg (Popular Science News, December, 1898)

Pelicans Soar Above Turbulent Seas, Bryan Beach, Texas — *Pelicans—or if You Squint, Pterosaurs–Soar Above Turbulent Seas,* Bryan Beach, Texas. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Last Sunday we took an excursion to Bryan Beach and the lagoons behind. On this day, the seas were rough, and I watched in awe as Brown Pelicans sailed through the troughs of a churning waterscape. I couldn’t help but think of the spectacular scenes of the Late Cretaceous Epoch painted by Charles R. Knight (at the absolute height of his powers) for the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago in the late 1920’s—especially the oft-reprinted breaching mosasaur and turtle with Pteranodon skimming the giant swells in “turquoise, gray, and rose” (Knight’s words).

I like to imagine that places like Bryan Beach and environs are not unlike much of what Midcontinent North America was like when the Western Interior Seaway connected the Gulf of Mexico with the Arctic. But of course there are tremendous differences: Texas Gulf Coast bays, for example, typically have only about 15 cm of tidal variation in sea-level, but mathematical models of the Western Interior Seaway suggest that it was subject to around 0.5-1.0 m of tidal variation along the southern boundary (e.g., Erickson and Slingerland, 1990).

To my imagination, this suggests vast areas of tidal channels, mudflats, and marshes dotted with countless millions of birds hunting, fishing, and probing for prey. But except for birds like Hesperornis (and kin) and Ichthyornis what these birds were like remains largely a mystery as only fragmentary remains assigned to around twenty or so genera are known.

A mixed flock of waders hunts among a school of small fish, Bryan Beach, Texas — *A Mixed Flock of Waders* *Fishing,* behind Bryan Beach, Texas. Here a white morph Reddish Egret participates in a “drive” of small fish across a shallow lagoon. Note the dark morph Reddish Egret in the upper left corner. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

The main reason I frequent the shallow lagoons behind Bryan Beach (other than reverie) is that this area is a reliable spot to see Reddish Egrets, both dark and white morphs. On this trip, we saw both color phases. I was especially excited to see Reddish Egrets hunting alone and in mixed flocks of waders and shorebirds. At one point, a large group of White Ibises, Snowy Egrets, Lesser Yellowlegs, and Dowitchers encountered a school of small fish and swept across the lagoon together in a communal fishing “drive.” Sometimes the Reddish Egrets broke off from the flock and fished alone—although sometimes a few Snowy Egrets, Lesser Yellowlegs, or Dowitchers shadowed them.

With a little imagination it’s easy to envision such scenes occurring along the tidal mudflats and lagoons of the Western Interior Seaway. Squinting at the above scene, it might be easy to believe that you are seeing the Cretaceous cousins of today’s birds. But sorting out the taxonomic nightmare of what you are seeing would have been a bit dicier in the Late Cretaceous than it is today. Feathers, it seems, were widely distributed among dinosaurs, so many of those little feathered bipeds hunting and fishing across those mudflats were not close modern bird relatives at all, but rather dinosaurs, or perhaps even more likely, members of the strictly Mesozoic avian groups that perished at the end of the Cretaceous Period.

Reddish Egret (White Morph), near Bryan Beach, Texas — *A Reddish Egret (White Morph) Fishes Alone,* behind Bryan Beach, Texas. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Finally, sometimes lost in my imaginary Cretaceous, I have to remind myself that I can stray to the waters’ edge—no fear in our time of being confused with a small dinosaur . . . and a mosasaur bolting from the shallows and dragging me kicking and screaming into the surf.

Reference

Erickson, M.C. and Slingerland, R. 1990. Numerical simulations of tidal and wind-driven circulation in the Cretaceous Interior Seaway of North America. Geological Society of America Bulletin 102 (11): 1499-1516.

Quest for the New

Posted October 17, 2015 by Chris Cunningham

Of all the passions of mankind, the love of novelty most rules the mind. In search of this, from realm to realm we roam. Our fleets come loaded with every folly home.—Foote, in Treasury of Wisdom, Wit, and Humor by Adam Wooléver (1891, 5th ed., p.301)

Green Kingfisher, World Birding Center, Edinburg, Texas — *Female Green Kingfisher,* World Birding Center, Edinburg, Texas. Although cagey and suspicious, kingfishers are among my favorite birds. Whenever I hear their clicking (or clattering, depending on species), I hope for a photo-op . . . but they rarely oblige. This was my first quality encounter with a Green Kingfisher. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

As one tied to the work-a-day world most of the time, finding new things in the field is always exciting. First (quality) encounters with species are my favorites, but observing new behaviors by familiar ones often must suffice. Last weekend, for example, a naturalist friend (RD) pointed out the barn spider below apparently eating her own web—something I’d not seen a spider do before. It is widely held that spiders do eat webs to re-utilize protein, and the one below appeared to be doing just that.

A Barn Spider Consumes her own Web, Pilant Lake, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas — *A Barn Spider Consumes Her Own Web,* Pilant Lake, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas. Eventually the spider ate the entire strand to the upper right. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS. Natural light.

But based on the severe limitations of time and money, I usually have to find “novelty” where I can. For example, the recent shot below of a newly-returned-from-the-Arctic-for-the-winter Black-bellied Plover may reflect my closest contact with this species.

Admittedly the self-imposed pressure of always looking for new things can sometimes defeat the purposes of amateur nature photography: learning about nature and relieving the stress and strain of daily life and possibly extending life itself. Elisa is clearly better at simply getting out there and enjoying the sights and sounds and sensations. I have to (paradoxically) work on not working so hard.

Portrait: Black-bellied Plover, East Beach, Galveston Island, Texas — *Portrait: Black-bellied Plover,* East Beach, Galveston Island, Texas. By October, many shorebirds have returned to the Texas Gulf Coast for winter. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Focus on Bird Behavior

Posted September 26, 2015 by Chris Cunningham

Admiration and familiarity are strangers.–George Sand

Sunning Yellow-crowned Night-Heron, Elm Lake, Brazos Bend State Paark, Texas — *Ta-Dah! Sunning Yellow-crowned Night-Heron,* Elm Lake, Brazos Bend State Park (BBSP), Texas. This bird was exhibiting gular fluttering while sunning. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.

Last week we finally got back into the field for a few hours. Although one of the best birding spots in the country, Brazos Bend State Park is not what we consider a fall migration hot spot. But we decided to visit the park because our photographic skills are rusty due to summer traumas, and we thought that a familiar place might make getting back into the swing of things easier.

Admittedly, it’s sometimes difficult to maintain a fever-pitch of enthusiasm for such a familiar place. At BBSP I find myself looking for subtle new details I’ve not noticed before to stay interested and energized. For example, I’ve seen Yellow-crowned Night-Herons sunning in the above fashion several times before. But when I first saw this bird at distance, it had splayed out its primaries into a spiky display. By the time I hustled into shooting distance, though, the bird had settled into the somewhat familiar pose above—although the feathers at the wingtips were still a bit splayed. Maybe some day I’ll catch one of these birds in the act of the aforementioned display, perhaps providing clues as to what they’re really up to with this sunning behavior. Are these waders just drying the morning dew from their plumage? Or perhaps they’re treating parasites or infections with the purifying rays of the sun (as I’ve seen Green Herons do), or heating up bellies to aid in digestion–or something else? Further study is needed.

Also on Elm Lake, I caught the Pied-billed Grebe below as it took an exceptionally violent bath. At times it looked like a fountain was springing forth from the lake’s surface! As in the case above, I missed the real action as moments before this tough little bird had just grabbed a fish about one-third its size and . . . . down the hatch. Perhaps this grebe felt like cleaning up after a particularly tough fight and messy meal.

Finally, on this trip I was also trying to get used to my new Canon EOS 7D Mark II. This was only the third time in the field for the new body. I don’t feel I’ve achieved any better results yet with the Mark II than with my old 7D’s, although the new camera certainly feels better. It’s just a ridiculously well-made object. Frankly, it’s one of the best-built cameras I’ve ever held in my hands—even nicer than my old Leica and Contax cameras, which I consider to be works of art. At this point, this lack of better results is almost certainly due to operator error, as this camera is a technological tour de force. With practice, I hope to be able to live up to the potential of this remarkable instrument.

Bathing Pied-billed Grebe, Elm Lake, BBSP — *Motor Boat: Bathing Pied-billed Grebe,* Elm Lake, BBSP. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.

Swallows: A Glimpse of Paradise

Posted September 12, 2015 by Chris Cunningham

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings.―William Shakespeare

Barn Swallow, Beaver Meadows, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado — *Barn Swallow in Early Morning Light,* Beaver Meadows, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado. The Barn Swallow is the most widely distributed member of its family in the world. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

At times like this, the dreary end of a dreary Houston summer, my mind turns to some of those magical places I’ve visited in the past. Upon recollection, some of the most enchanting visions of nature have occurred in the presence of swallows. I remember such a scene in Yellowstone National Park where American Tree and Violet-green Swallows snatched insects from the air and lapped water on the wing from the surface of a beaver pond. Last spring I first noticed American Tree and Rough-winged Swallows performing similar aerobatic feats above Pilant and 40-Acre Lakes, Brazos Bend SP.

Violet-green Swallow, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming — *Violet-green Swallow at Dawn,* Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

As a birder I pay close attention to swallows, as they often present an identification challenge while in flight (Is that a Cave or Cliff Swallow?). As a photo-birder, I often pay swallows too little attention as photographing swallows in flight would be quite a trick. Swallows are not particularly swift fliers, but their darting, acrobatic style of flight makes capturing them in the air something I’ve not yet accomplished, except under stalled circumstances like approaching a nest or perched young. Maybe someday I’ll catch one gliding across the surface of a liquid. Until then, I’ll just have to wait for them to land.

Baby Purple Martins, Estero Llano Grande State Park, Texas — *Feed Me! Baby Purple Martins,* Estero Llano Grande State Park, Rio Grande Valley, Texas. Purple Martins are the largest swallows in North America. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Building a New Nest

Posted September 5, 2015 by Chris Cunningham

We have it in our power to begin the world over again.—Thomas Paine

Great Egret with Nesting Material, Smith Oaks Rookery, High Island, Texas — *Great Egret with Stick (Nesting Material),* Smith Oaks Rookery, High Island, Texas. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

After over three months of dealing with the aftermath of the Memorial Day 2015 flood, we were finally able to move back into our house this week! It is still a huge mess, and we are still dealing with contractors and loads of construction-related headaches, but we are in the house and can at least conceive of accomplishing something beyond clean-up and simple survival. We are looking forward to the end of the summer swelter and some fall birding. Please stay tuned!

Downy Woodpecker Excavating Nest, Sabine Woods, Texas — *Downy Woodpecker Excavating Nest Cavity,* Sabine Woods, Texas. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Birding and Photo-birding

Posted July 18, 2015 by Chris Cunningham

Photography helps people to see.–Berenice Abbott

Eastern Bluebird with Praying Mantis, Jones State Forest, Texas — *Scruffy-looking Molting Eastern Bluebird with Praying Mantis,* W. G. Jones State Forest, Texas. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

From time to time, I’ll be going through old images when I suddenly discover something I overlooked or misinterpreted in the field. For example, I remember photographing the scruffy young Eastern Bluebird above because I had a hard time figuring out what the heck it was (until I saw another one in better plumage!).

I also remember being perplexed about why it was gathering nesting materials in November—normally that sort of thing should end around July or August. I probably just scratched my head and chalked it up to Texas and our subtropical climate. Birds here in the swelter zone can sometimes breed outside their usual temperate region breeding seasons.

But upon re-inspection of the image (I’m sure I chimped my settings in the field!) all is revealed: There are no nesting materials, but rather a twiggy-looking meal, namely a praying mantis! This has happened a few times now with mantids and phasmids, so it’s something to watch out for. Sometimes birds with sticks (apparently) actually have walking sticks!

Clapper Rail with Planarian (flatworm), Anuhuac National Wildlife Refuge, Texas — *Clapper Rail with Planarian (Flatworm),* Anuhuac National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR), Texas. Note the worm’s triangular head poking out about half-way up the beak. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.

Having images to study hours or months later allows for testing your notions of what you saw in the field and to even make brand new discoveries ex post facto. The Clapper Rail above, for example, was hunting along the margin of the water at ANWR last winter. I could tell that the bird was grabbing small fish and what looked like leeches. I have seen and photographed waders and other water birds eating leeches. Upon closer inspection of the images, though, it looks like this Clapper Rail has a big juicy planarian its beak—a first sighting for me.

On the other hand, I know that I see less overall in the field in the first place when I am photo-birding, rather than binocular birding. Just like the old joke where the guy is looking under the street light for his lost keys because this is where the light is best, it’s sometimes tempting to photo-bird only where the light is good. I have caught myself ignoring movement in gloomy or brushy areas simply because I knew that I couldn’t get a decent shot. So, in this case, contrary to the quote above, photography can help birders not to see.

Partridge-pea, Prairie Trail, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas — *Partridge-pea,* Prairie Trail, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas. Canon EOS 7D/100mm f/2.8L IS Macro. High-speed synchronized ring-flash.

On a final note, Brazos Bend State Park re-opened July 8, and I was among the first members of the public to return post-flood. During the first half-hour there, I could feel the stress of life melt away. My general impression, though, is that there were not as many birds around as usual. I suspect that ground-nesting species of birds were drowned out. On the other hand, the mosquito and gnat populations were certainly healthy, as was the frog population. Perhaps the waders will rediscover the park and its bonanza of amphibians.

Most interesting to me was that the Prairie Trail looked different from usual as regards summer wildflowers. A few regulars were around like widow’s tears, but what struck really me was the profusion of partridge-pea (Chamaecrista fasciculata). This common legume is native to most of the eastern U.S. and is known to thrive in disturbed areas, such as those recently burned, and apparently recently flooded. It will be interesting to document how quickly the park returns to its former glory.

Birding by Camera | Adventures in Nature Photography