Greater Yellowlegs (as well as Lesser Yellowlegs and Wandering Tattlers) are well known as shorebirds that often perch in trees, particularly near their nesting sights, which are on the ground. They are abundant throughout the Chignik River drainage where they primarily feed on various small fishes.
Golf Courses laced with poisons, mosquito traps, bug zappers, Rotenone and other toxins used to remove undesired fish species (and incidentally aquatic insects) from streams, the biological desserts called lawns, industrial agriculture and that “little bit” of whatever “cide” sprayed on the family garden – and all the additional instances in which invertebrate populations are suppressed with toxins and by other means…
…also suppress bird populations.
Even among avian species that typically consume mostly seeds, nuts or nectar, in order for the mother to create viable eggs and for the babies to develop into healthy adults, the rich supply of nutrients insects provide are critical.
JD
I can’t remember a time, ever, when I understood lawns. “We’d have more animals around our house if it was more like the rest of the woods and fields around here,” I once observed to my father. “We don’t want more animals around here,” came the reply. My antipathy toward lawns grew when for a brief time as an adult I owned a home where it was the neighborhood expectation that I keep the yard regularly mowed. And thus, for a while, I joined the ranks of suburban farmers, periodically harvesting a crop of grass. But at least I had the sense to use a mulching mower, thereby returning the clippings to the soil rather than gathering them and thus necessitating an endless need for ever more fertilizer.
The only place at The Lake appointed with a lawn was the school. I suppose it made some sense to keep those grounds trimmed as the yard was a popular play area for children. Fortunately, neither weedkillers nor fertilizer was part of the scene (though after each mowing the maintenance crew insisted, pointlessly, on raking up the clippings – and so it can be assumed that year upon year the soil there loses some nutrition). But thanks to the absence of poisons, all kinds of wildflowers volunteered themselves among the blades of grass: wild strawberries, willowherb, avens, yarrow, and around the edges even lupine and an occasional chocolate lily found a place to put down roots. But best of all I think was the spectacular carpet of dandelions the yard acquired each spring. And fortunately, we were able to prevail upon the lawn crew to delay mowing until well after this event.
All winter long, redpolls, siskins and Pine Grosbeaks – took advantage of feeders, alder cone seeds and spruce cone seeds. And then, when the dandelions went to seed, these finches would descend on the lawn and gorge themselves on nutritious, oily dandelion seeds, filling the yard with their happy chatter.
Having long associated American Robins with manicured lawns in the Lower 48, I was mildly surprised the first time I encountered the species along the Chignik River. They were not reported in David Narver’s Birds of the Chignik River Drainage study based on his observations in the early 1960’s, and although they are considered common further up the peninsula, from Aniakchak National Monument and Preserve (which encompasses much of the Chignik Drainage) all the way to Izembek National Wildlife Refuge near the peninsula’s western tip, the species is either not documented at all or is listed as only an occasional migrant.
For the most part, that’s how we encountered them at and near The Lake – a few birds passing through in mid-spring, late summer and early fall. But, they seem to gradually be establishing themselves along the Chignik. In two years, at least one pair remained late into spring, well after the peak of the dandelion bloom. We thought that in at least one of those late springs a pair of robins had attempted to nest. However, the weather became persistently cold, rainy and windy and there was no indication of success.
Along with the weather, abundant magpies and ravens – well-known nest predators – might be limiting factors to breeding robins. Nonetheless, it is likely only a matter of time before American Robins become established as regular nesters on the peninsula, particularly in villages such as Chignik Lake where lawns provide easy access to the earthworms they like to forage on.
JD
Sam’s Boathouse, located along the shore of Chignik Lake and visible from our dining/living room windows, provided a favorite perch for eagles, ravens, magpies, gulls and occasional kingfishers. In the right light, the hillside across the lake could render a beautiful palette of colors.
One of the most charming aspects of life at Chignik Lake is that scattered throughout the village there are more homes for swallows than for humans. Each spring the arrival of the first swallows is anticipated with almost as much enthusiasm as the arrival of the year’s first salmon.
The relationship between Native Americans and insect-eating birds such as Purple Martins and swallows precedes the arrival of Europeans on the North American continent. Audubon as well as observers who preceded him reported hollow gourds appointed with an opening hole and hung around camps and villages as nesting boxes for these birds. A single swallow or martin consumes about 2,000 small insects a day. That’s enough to make a real dent in populations of mosquitoes and biting midges. So, one could purchase a powered mosquito trap for several hundred dollars – thus emptying the air of the bugs nesting birds need to feed themselves and their offspring – or one could install nesting boxes, achieve the same bug-limiting effect, and create a sustainable cycle wherein swallows and martins return each year to mate, fill the air with their happy chirps, and clean out the bug population while raising a brood. The wooden boxes will long outlive the mechanical trap, and when the box does finally expire it won’t leave behind yet another plastic contraption to add to the local dump or landfill.
Three species of swallows inhabit the Chignik River drainage. The smallest are the little brown Bank Swallows. They make their nesting tunnels in sandy banks along or near the river and are fairly abundant. With the help of humans and nesting boxes, Tree Swallows, the largest of the three species, also thrive. Violet-greens are less common, perhaps outcompeted for boxes by the larger Tree Swallows. Barn Swallows, which can be found in villages further up the peninsula, haven’t yet made their way to The Lake.
There are good DIY nesting box designs available online and in books, and they can also be purchased ready-made. There is also good information available regarding controlling European Starlings and House Sparrows which can be a problem in some areas; these invasive species are infamous for taking over nesting boxes and even killing the desired swallows.
So… what are you waiting for? It’s probably too late in the season to attract new nesters this year, but if you hang a box or three now, a year from now they’ll be appropriately weathered and attractive to newly arriving migrants. A mated pair of birds happily rearing their chicks brings cheer to any property.
May and June of 2019 became somewhat of a turning point both in terms of photography and our relationship with the Chignik. The school at Chignik Lake had failed to meet the state’s requirement for a minimum enrollment of 10 students from kindergarten through grade 12 and was therefore to be closed at the end of May. Barbra was reassigned to the school at Newhalen, 278 miles Northeast up the peninsula, above where the ball of the hip joint might be, on the mainland. We were heartbroken about the move. Artistically, I felt as though I was just beginning to figure out my relationship with the river. Emotionally, we were both deeply attached to the people and the landscape at The Lake.
With the move scheduled for late June (we flew ourselves and everything we owned out on a small plane chartered for us by the school district), I was doing my best to take advantage of good days… good light… and reimagining what our experience at The Lake had meant… what the essence of it had been. And so I began breaking away from strictly representational documentary, looking for images that captured not merely what things looked like, but how we would remember them. JD
Barbra has an eye for moody images such as this early morning landscape of diesel oil drums at the barge landing on Chignik River. The scene is the terminus of the three-mile road that travels from the airstrip, winds through the village of Chignik Lake (population 50 something), and then follows the river along steep hillsides till it ends here at the landing. These drums are barged to this point, about six miles upriver from the salt water lagoon, on high tides of about 10 feet or more. On lesser tides, the river is too shallow for the barges to run. From here, the fuel is loaded onto a truck and carried to the diesel generators that provide the village’s electricity. Gasoline, too, along with any sort of large stuff such as vehicles and building material is brought into the village in this fashion.
Such are some of the logistical consideration in a wilderness village.
I almost wasn’t going to show this photo. Despite my nicknaming him Ol’, he’s probably a fully mature but young bull – perhaps in his fourth year. He’s missing his right paddle, and the remaining antler isn’t impressive. In fact, since to be legally taken during Alaska’s moose hunting season the tip to tip, antler to antler spread has to span at least 50 inches (127 cm), he probably wouldn’t have passed muster. So, no Boone and Crockett award here.
But this is easily the closest I’ve ever been to a moose, and when he suddenly emerged -seemingly to simply materialize from a thick tangle of willows, alders and salmonberries, he took our breath away. I had mere seconds to set up and make the shot has he strolled by, appearing unconcerned, barely glancing our way – our own hearts meanwhile racing like mad. Even a young bull such as this weighs close to half-a-ton and although the big ungulates are generally peaceful, mind-your-own-business types, each year here in Alaska more people are injured by moose than by bears. In fact, an Alaska man was stomped to death by a cow protecting her calf less than two weeks ago. So anytime one finds oneself this close to an animal of this size, the thrill involves wildly mixed feelings.
As I mentioned, the moment lasted mere seconds. And then, more miraculously than its sudden appearance, this fellow simply vanished. There was no departing view of dark rump disappearing into the vegetation, no hint of willows and alders shaking as he brushed by them. He crossed before us, I made 12 quick captures, the last of which featuring mainly an eyeball, part of the rack, an ear and his nape… and then he was gone, swallowed without a sound into a thicket of alders. Had we not been exactly where we were during those few seconds, we would never have guessed a moose was nearby.
Chignik Lake, October 4, 2018 – JD
CutterLight 