Amusement Park for Birdwatchers: So. Padre Island, TX

We're walking the South Padre Island boardwalk in Texas. It's like an amusement park for birdwatchers. We're looking at the expected (great egret, little blue heron) when Phoebe stops dead with a "Mamamamalooklooklook what's this?"

Well, that's a least bittern. A bird I've seen in glimpses, heard cooing in Connecticut wild rice and North Dakota cattails, but never ogled for long.

OMG!

Learning later that this little character is well-known along this boardwalk did nothing to lessen the thrill of having our daughter point us to the best least bittern of our lives.

He gave us every possible spraddled pose; he lengthened from little Nerf football to javelin.

He dove out of the frame (check that leg anatomy, folks, that's a lean little drumstick there with the feathers on it, and a pretty good thigh)

and came up with fishies

and then he flew under the boardwalk (just try not to hum THAT now)

and I cussed missing the shot because he wears a coat of many colors and he looked like a Promethea moth in flight. Don't miss his tiny black tail here. Yes, we fell in love.

We will come back to him because we caught up with him on the other side and banged away at him for the better part of an hour. It was so much fun.

Sure, you see more great egrets in a lifetime than you do least bitterns, but they are so saurian, so fine, and they croak in the most splendid way when they fly.

Awwwwk! Rawwwwwk! Raaawwwwk! The voice of the velociraptor is heard upon the land.

The vinaceous plum neck of the little blue heron enchants me.

As you can see, the South Padre boardwalks associated with both the Convention Center and the World Birding Center (both of which centers were closed this fine Sunday afternoon) afford terrific photographic and birdwatching opportunities. The boardwalks remain accessible 24-7. Heavenly!

Coming here was a huge delight for us. We met up with Ohio friends and birded the daylights out of that marsh. 

 The wind was ripping along at a sustained 30 mph with gusts that tottered the Science Chimp. Yet there were birds absolutely everywhere. I could only imagine what we'd have seen had it been still.

Below us, mystery big-eyed suckers. Still waiting for that Sibley Guide to Fishes of North America (that was a joke, David...) I have had to call in my beloved Floridacracker to help with ID. For your amusement, our correspondence:

Zick to Floridacracker:
I come, hat in hand, to ask for a fish ID. South Padre Is. TX, mid-Nov., swimming in small schools in very shallow brackish marsh off the Convention Center boardwalk. Mouth downturned, suckerlike, pectoral fins oddly upward-pointing. This was not a momentary accident. They swam with their arms up. Maxed out at about 14". Very large eye. I wanted to call them bigeye suckers, but I know nothing about fish, so I stood there flapping my arms. Audubon Guide has failed me. Need the Sibley Guide to Fish of North America.

Floridacracker to Zick: Hey Zick! THAT is the real "chicken of the sea", a mullet. Historically, a fish of life saving abundance for early Florida colonists and settlers. Vital through every step in the foodweb, they are forage fish from the moment they are spawned...every predator in the sea loves mullet.

They are grazers and algae slurpers.Also... they are birds,  not fish. Years ago two poachers,who were caught redhanded with an illegal amount of mullet, argued in court that since mullet had a gizzard (they do) ... well they must be birds.
I believe they won their case.
Fried mullet gizzards are pretty yummy.

Thanks for sending me a fish I know.

(That was characteristic FC modesty and tall-tale embroidery at work there)

Zick to Floridacracker: HEY FC!

You're such a prince, handling my fragile Science Chimp ego with kid gloves. Mullet crossed my mind because I had seen them jumping in the brackish mangrove shallows at Ding Darling, but I couldn't imagine that a mullet had such big goopy eyes and flying fish fins. I realize that, for you, this is equivalent to someone sending me a picture of a pileated woodpecker and asking what on earth this strange creature might be. Marine life humbles me. So thank you for being gentle. 

If you have never experienced Floridacracker's blog, PureFlorida, you have an amazing treat in store. I know many of my regular readers robinandrea are enraptured, but there are always those who haven't been exposed to his steady drip of subtropical natural history, cookery, humor, Labrador cuteness, underwater merman escapades, teacher tales, home renovation, and mudwallering ironman derring-do. And their lives are poorer for it.

And overhead as I mull over what turned out to be mullet, royal terns cutting fleurs-de-lis in the sky. This year's babies are full-grown but still wheedling their folks for fish. Mmm-hmmm. Probably money, too.

French Creek Interlude

Last Sunday, I threw the boat in the back of the car, packed a backpack of play clothes, took the kids to church, ate too much at the All Members Potluck, dropped Phoebs and Liam off with cousins and took off by myself for French Creek, on the West Virginia side of the Ohio River. French Creek will live in infamy because it's where Bill and I spotted (and I sketched thoroughly) West Virginia's First of State Little Gull (Larus minimus). NOBODY else we called to come see it managed to see it. This was B.C. (before digital cameras). And so, despite pages of may I say perfectly adequate Zick sketches from life, comparing it to the ring-billed gulls all around it, it remained as "Hypothetical" on the WV Rare Bird list. Please. How could Bill and I mistake a Little Gull with its slaty underwings and minuscule size for anything else? This is a question I've asked of rare records committees before. Substitute this question: How could Zick mistake Ohio's first of state Eurasian Collared-Dove for anything else? Durn thing flew by our birdwatching tower below eye level. I saw its collar, its large size, its pale sandy coloration, its square-tipped tail and its red eye, for Pete's sake. Sign me, "Hypothetical."

Digressing again. That was winter. This is the end of summer. That was about rare birds records committees. This is about boating. The tulips are turning yellow, a few maples are ablaze, it was hot hot hot--I believe we will be catapulted from summer straight into winter this year-- and rather still and I was swaddled in the only shirt I'd thought to bring, a heavy denim long-sleeved affair, with a thick PFD atop that. But I was alone and peaceful and having fun. There were a bunch of great blue herons striking poses wherever I looked,
Love the spray of wild iris behind this bird, and the two posts. Herons are so decorative.and I got some decent shots. I really like this one, with the spray coming off foot and wing, and the accidentally good composition (I was just leading the bird so it wouldn't fly out of the frame, and gave it room to fly in the picture). While I know these are not the only decent photos of great blue herons (possibly the most photographed bird on the planet), they're mine and I like them.

Wood ducks exploded out of every cove. Here's a pair, hen in the lead. I couldn't get the binocs on them fast enough to tell, but when I blew up my photos I could see that some of them had been drakes in full nuptial finery. Gorgeous! We're so lucky to have this ornate little duck as our most common breeder--yes, more common than mallards in this sycamore-laden biome. Yeah!I love doing that--taking a photo, just sort of randomly firing away at something you can barely see with your darn new bifocals through the viewfinder, and then finding that the camera saw all the detail you couldn't see, and did its best to identify the bird for you. It's a bit tricky getting the focus dot on the bird when it's doing about sixty and you're twisting your torso around trying to follow its trajectory without tipping your canoe. I'd love to say I can approach birds more closely in the canoe than I could otherwise, but all the birds at French Creek were super-spooky on Sunday.

A great egret circled overhead. I could see the bones in its wing as the light came through it. I never expect to see great egrets. They're always such a creamy white delight, and they always fill me with surprise and awe.Belted kingfishers scolded and rattled ahead of me. If there's a spookier bird, I haven't seen it. Those birds are just impossible to get close to. Bye, Sucka! You'd think they tasted wonderful, as leery as they are of humans. I got a couple of identifiable shots with the 300 mm. This one, where she's framed in sugar maple, is pretty nice, if you're not worried about seeing the bird.
And then I finally got a little closer. Obviously, she's wound tight as a spring, but she's still sitting...That's the wonderful thing about a little canoe. Mine is absolutely silent and smooth as silk on the water. When I see a bird ahead, I give it a few power strokes and then drift on my momentum as close as I can, firing away as I go. I wish my shutter were as quiet as my vehicle.

Though I was only paddling for about three hours, the things I saw and experienced will have to last me all week. I can't tell you what a difference it's made in my life to get out on the water. It seems the perfect anodyne for all that troubles me.

The only problem I've found is that I spend much of my mental energy now daydreaming about the serene waters I'd rather be paddling. I have friends who say this pleasant affliction/addiction will only get worse.