Western Sandpipers, Hartney Bay, Cordova, Alaska, May 3, 2024
This was the scene about six miles from the heart of Cordova this past Friday morning, and this is but a sliver of the many thousands of shorebirds that stop for a short while to fuel up and rest on tidal mudflats near the town as they make their way to nesting grounds further north. Figuring in nearby barrier islands and additional flats in the Copper River delta, some five million shorebirds represented by several species will visit the Cordova area over a few days in early May. While they are here, these Western Sandpipers will double their weight. The delta is absolutely critical to the health of these avian populations as there are only a few places in the world that offer the sheer biomass of invertebrates and biofilm these birds require in order to complete journeys that in many cases cover thousands of miles. Look for a more indepth article on this incredible migratory event in the coming days.
Imperial Diver (Common Loon, Gavia Immer) Chignik Lake, Alaska Peninsula, August 2018
Upon publishing a photograph of a Wilson’s Warbler under the title Black Cap Jazz Singera few days ago, reader Tanja Britton (see Tanja’s blog here), left a note alerting me to the American Ornithological Society’s decision to revisit the common names of species within AOS’s jurisdiction that are predicated on the names of the people (white men) who “discovered” or “identified” the bird in question as well as appellatives assigned by the “discoverer” to “honor” others. This would mean the renaming… the reimagining of a number of birds and our relationships with them: Steller’s Jay, Wilson’s Snipe, Baird’s Sandpiper, Audubon’s Oriole, Bachman’s Sparrow, and so on.
Hurray and about time. This “dibs!” approach to naming the beings we share this planet with could hardly reflect a more juvenile mindset. We, all of us, have the right to choose our own names, to imagine ourselves as we wish to be, to present our own identities and not to be enslaved by someone else’s idea of who we should be. We believe the same dignity should be accorded to all beings. And in fact, even in the instance of an “inanimate” object – such as, say, a salmon pool on a river – if one is looking at that landscape and can think only of imposing a person’s name on it, one is not looking closely enough.
Our view at Cutterlight has long been that if one creates a piece of art such as writing, a painting, a piece of music and so forth and one chooses to attach one’s name to said piece of art, it is appropriate and just that the creator’s name live on with that art for as long as the art lives. But this vain nonsense in pursuit of the illusion of immortality wherein buildings, airports, highways, and birding organizations are arbitrarily named after this person or that has always struck us as one of the least attractive impulses in Euro-American culture. The practice is as divisive as it is arbitrary – a fact we seem to be slowly waking up to as a society.
It is often the attitude among indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest that the totem poles they’ve created should be allowed to naturally decay over time rather than preserved. Their view is that all beings and all things have a span in which they exist in a certain state, at the end of which they must be allowed to follow their natural path into the next state of existing.
Amen.
Turning back to the matter of our avian friends…
As the AOS embarks on the enlightened task of reimagining the gray, nondescript names of men attached to various species, let them take one further step and strike from vernacular names disrespectful monikers such as “least,” “dwarf,” “lesser,” “house,” and the sobriquet we find most grating – “common.”
The only thing “common” about Gavia immer, the bird in the above photograph, is the unimaginative minds of whomever agreed this regal being should be so reduced. This bird can reach a bill to tail length of three feet (90 cm), a wingspan of four feet (130cm) and is reported to dive up to 250 feet (76 meters). “Common Loon” my foot.
My favorite fish is the Coho Salmon. I am absolutely fascinated by Lady’s Slipper Orchids. It’s difficult to name a “favorite” anything, and as I reflect on the matter it becomes apparent that it might be even more difficult to explain Why a given something is a favorite. The phrase “an integral part of the journey” flashes in my mind. The species in the above photo is the reason I became a serious birder and threw myself into photography. Oncorhynchus, Cypropedium, Lanius…
What is it in your life that has pulled you into travel, adventure, personal growth, new understandings? JD
Rhinoceros Auklet returning at Dusk with a Catch of Sand Lances and Squid The grayish-white protuberance on the bill – the horn that inspires the Rhinoceros Auklet’s name –is fluorescent and thus highly visible to their fellows when diving for fish or flying in dim light. Teuri Island, Hokkaido, Japan, June 19, 2018
You might encounter this puffin relative just about anywhere along North America’s Pacific coastline, and in fact there are breeding populations scattered from Canada through Alaska’s Aleutian Islands. But perhaps the best place to see Rhinoceros Auklets is on Terui Island off the west coast of Hokkaido where they gather in the hundreds of thousands to nest – the largest Rhinoceros Auklet breeding colony in the world.
The northwest cliffs of Teuri are pockmarked with burrows which the auklets have dug deep into the sandy soil to keep their eggs and chicks safe from gulls and other predators. During the day, the parents leave their chicks behind as they venture out to sea where they dive for food – primarily Sand Lances and squid. As twilight gathers, the adult auklets return to home, somehow sorting out their burrows from among the tens of thousands of similar tunnels. Gulls await the returning auklets, keen on stealing an easy meal. This is an example of why for many species it is so important that their numbers remain vast. Were only a few auklets to return, they’d each make an easy target for the waiting gulls. But with hundreds of thousands flying in, the relatively few gulls are overwhelmed, and although the gulls manage to take a few meals, most of the auklets make it safely to their burrows where hungry chicks are waiting.
On Terui Island, guides are available to take birders out to the nesting site to observe the spectacle of returning auklets. Along a pathway, a few low lights allow for a good view of the birds as they scurry through low, dense vegetation. Some of the auklets will be quite close, but in order to get good photographs a fast lens and a camera capable of handling high ISO values is necessary as using additional lighting is not permitted (and would be wrong, even it were). You’ll be hand-holding and so you have to hope you catch one standing still to momentarily collect its thoughts, as in the above photograph. JD
Rhinoceros Auklet Breeding Grounds, Teuri Island Hokkaido, Japan, June 18, 2018
Not a lot appears to be going on in the above daytime photograph taken on Teuri Island’s cliff-lined northwest. The 2.1 square mile island (5.5 square km) hosts the breeding grounds for several species of birds, most notably seabirds. The holes in the above photograph are the burrows of Rhinoceros Auklets, a species for which Teuri serves as the world’s largest breeding ground.
While it doesn’t appear that much is going on in the photograph – a few gulls milling around notwithstanding – at the end of each burrow, which may be up to six meters (20 feet) in length, a Rhinoceros Auklet chick is waiting for twilight when parents will return from the sea, stomachs, gullets and bills crammed with catches of sand lances and squid. Gulls – primarily Slaty-backed which also breed on the island – will intercept some of the returning adults, but most will make it past the parasitic phalanx. Recent estimates put the auklet population at around 400,000 breeding pairs. Add in the chicks and the species count rises to over a million. Perhaps you can imagine the sight and the cacophony as night gathers and hundreds of thousands of adult auklets return, evading squawking gulls, somehow locating the specific burrow each parent calls home.
Teuri is also an excellent place to see Spectacled Guillemots, Common Guillemots and other seabirds as well as passerines such as Blue Rock Thrushes and Siberian Rubythroats. Regular, bicycle-friendly ferries from Haboro make it easy to get out to the island, and if you don’t choose to stay at the lovely campground (which you’re likely to have to yourself) there are wonderful inns offering comfortable accomodations and truly some of the world’s best fresh seafood.
Male Golden-crowned Kinglet – Chignik Lake, Sitka Spruce Grove, January 23, 2018 Making our way along a bear trail I hacked open as it descends through a dense alder thicket toward creek bottom, we hear them – cricket-like whisper-chirps. They’re in there somewhere, hidden in a jungle leaves the alders are stubbornly holding onto even as nighttime temperatures dip and we awake to frosted mornings. Kinglets. The Silvers are in, all but the Monkey Flower, Goldenrod and maybe the last of the Yarrow is gone… Fireweed gone to seed, big brown bears fat with Sockeyes, terminal dust on the mountains. Fall on the Chignik.
Golden-crowned Kinglets are another species that is either absent or listed only as “rare” on Alaska Peninsula avian checklists. This might be because they are only a fall through early spring visitor to that part of the world, as is the case at The Lake. Or it could be that even in those non-breeding seasons these hardy little being rely on the shelter provided by mature spruce trees which, for now, only occur near the peninsula’s tiny, scattered villages. JD
Pacific Wren – Chignik Lake, January 23, 2018 These hardy, tiny birds (8 – 12 cm, 4-4½ in) might be encountered in any season on the AlaskaPeninsula. Recently, as winter snows clear from the landscape here in Cordova, we’ve been hearing their jazzy song on walks through town – and even from the little grove of spruce trees across the quiet street from our home! These little fellows’ lungs are only the size of lima beans, but they sing loud and long in forests from Central California through the Aleutian Islands.
Click here to listen to the Pacific Wren’s songs and calls.
Juvenile Black-billed Magpie The small pink patch at the base of this bird’s bill marks it as a youngster. This area on a mature bird is dark. Chignik Lake, Alaska January 2018
Among most humans (and perhaps among most of their fellow birds as well), magpies historically have had a low reputation. They rob nests and nesting boxes; their raucous calls grate; they bully other birds out of feeders; they assemble in packs, chattering in the manner of hoodlums planning their next escapade; and although their omnivorous feeding habits are generally focused on berries, seeds and scavenging (they love a good salmon carcass), a telltale hook at the end of their bill which grows more pronounced with age should be warning enough to small creatures that it is wise to give magpies a wide berth.
But I like magpies. In fact, I think I’ve grown to love and admire them – and not just cynically because they supply a steady source of prey to the Great Horned Owls at the Spruce Grove. (At times it’s a veritable boneyard of magpie skulls, femurs, bills and feathers beneath the owl roosts there). To establish a relationship with these intelligent beings, it is first necessary to ensure that they cannot prey on the eggs and young of passerines utilizing nesting boxes. To that end: 1. Make certain that nesting box entrance holes are no larger than what is recommended for the target species. 2. Never place a perching peg on the box. Nesters do not need such a perch, but predators will use it to get at eggs and young. 3. Take appropriate measures to limit these comparatively large birds from accessing feeders. (Suggestions can be found with a google search.)
Were one on vacation in, say, a tropical locale never having seen a magpie in the wild and an adult in elegant, iridescent breeding colors happened by it is likely the bird would be greeted with oohs and ahhs for its stunning beauty. In a future post or two, I’ll publish such photos of Chignik Lake magpies with summer sunshine lighting their regal emerald greens, glowing turquoise and royal purples. And if you listen, really listen, to magpies, you’ll soon begin to appreciate that there is a lot more going on in their language than harsh cries. It can be fascinating to watch a conventicle (the preferred collective descriptor for this species) gathered together, pacing about the ground, their soft utterances back and forth sounding very much like a secret language. And then, of a sudden, one takes flight. The others follow. To where and to what mischief or adventure? There is surely more on the minds of magpies than mere food, shelter and reproduction.
Magpies are one of the few nonhuman species able to recognize itself in a mirror. They can solve fairly complex puzzles – both under lab conditions and in life. They are remarkably attentive parents (even breaking up food into equal portions to ensure that all of their young are properly fed). They mourn their fallen fellows, attend to injured brethren and give all evidence of being able to distinguish among – to recognize – individual humans. Thus, they can be befriended – and no need to take away their freedom and make of them a “pet” to do so. Recently fledged magpies are typically curious and congenial. Show them respect and kindness. It may be surprising to discover what kind of relationship develops.
Groucho Crossbill – Unlike their White-winged cousins which generally remain high in the crowns of conifers, Red Crossbills such as this female often forage on the ground. Prior to our study, Red Crossbills were absent from three of the four Alaska Peninsula checklists I was able to find and were listed only as an “accidental” (very rare or one-time occurrence) on one list – the Izembek National Wildlife Reserve list. However, the species became somewhat regular wintertime visitors at The Lake in our years there, due of course to the maturation of transplanted Sitka Spruce trees and a succession of years of abundant cone production. As these trees are now beginning to reproduce on their own, it can be expected that various finch species will expand their range down the peninsula. I’m making progress with the Chignik Lake photos, finally well into the 2018 folder. Chignik Lake, January 17, 2018.
Golden-crowned Kinglet – Chignik Lake, December 2017 Sitka Spruce Trees transplanted at The Lake from Kodiak shoots 70 years ago provide a great deal more than just cone seed forage for finches and chickadees. Golden-crowned Kinglets and a few other avian species glean the boughs, bark and understory for invertebrates. Here a lucky female kinglet has come upon a silk-wrapped treasure – perhaps a spider egg case or an insect trapped and wrapped.
CutterLight 