Imperial Diver: What’s in a Name?

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 Singer a 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.

They are Imperial Divers.

JD

Spirit Bird

Northern Shrike
Chignik Lake, August 15, 2018

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

Black Cap Jazz Singer

This beautiful bird is regrettably saddled with the name of the man credited with identifying him… a name with an apostrophe s… as though no one else ever knew this bird and that by “discovering” this fine fellow the man now owns him. So let’s not call this happy singer by some name of ownership. He is an artist in his own right, Black Cap Jazz Singer. (Chignik Lake, Alaska, August 2018)

Every being has the right to a dignified name. Every human has the right to choose a name and an identity for himself, herself, themself. JD

Peacock Butterfly on Black-eyed Susans

Peacock Butterfly on Black-eyed Susan
Kushiro Shitsugen National Park, Hokkaido, Japan, July 29, 2018

Wherever you are, we hope your day is going well!

Ursus Arctos… In a Bamboo Forest?

Brown Bear in Bamboo, Shiretoko Peninsula, Hokkaido, Japan, July 21, 2018

Ursus Arctos is a holarctic species represented by several subspecies throughout the Northern Hemisphere including the Grizzlies of the North America West (U. a. horribilis), the massive Coastal Brown Bears of Kodiak Island Alaska (U. a. middendorffi), the equally impressive Chignik (Alaska Peninsula) bears (U. a. gyas) and various additional species scattered from the harsh Gobi Desert to Siberia, the Italian Alps and other regions. Adapted to a variety of climates and diets, physiologically Ursus arctos is the most varied of all bear species.

The Brown Bears we encountered in Hokkaido, U. a. yesoensis, are similar in appearance to the Coastal Brown Bears of Kodiak Island and the Alaska Peninsula which makes sense as, like their Alaskan cousins, Hokkaido’s Brownies subsist on a salmon-rich diet. But at an average weight of only about 450 pounds – large males topping off at under 700 pounds -, Hokkaido’s bears are small compared to those found in Alaska; Chignik and Kodiak bears can reach weights of well over half a ton.

Still, bears are bears and regardless of size, they can be fierce. Approximately 12,000 Brown Bears inhabit Hokkaido, a land area about the size of the state of South Carolina or the country of Austria and home to just over five million people. There have been 57 human deaths attributed to Hokkaido’s Brown Bears over the past 61 years. When the sow in the above photo cautiously emerged from the forest and woofed for her two cubs to follow her across the steep road we were pushing our bicycles up, we gave her the right of way.

The rugged, forested 470 square mile Shiretoko Peninsula where we encountered these and several other bears as well as Blakiston’s Fish Owls, Ezo Red Foxes, Sika Deer, Dall’s Porpoises, eagles and other birds is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The World’s Largest Owl is a Piscivore

Blakiston’s Fish Owl
Shiretoko Peninsula, Hokkaido, Japan, July 23, 2018

With a wingspan ranging from about 5′ 10″ to 6′ 3″ (170 – 190 cm), Blakiston’s Fish Owls are generally regarded as the world’s largest living species of owl. The photograph above is of one of a known wild pair which have been banded. The owls regularly visit a small stream where a pool has been created with natural rocks and is regularly stocked with Cherry Trout (sakuramasu, O. masau). A small inn with windows overlooking the pool provides guests with opportunities for a glimpse of this rare species which may visit the pool at any time during the night. The indigenous people of Hokkaido, the Ainu, regarded these great owls as spiritual protectors of their villages.

For context, Barbra with this taxidermy specimen grasping a White-spotted Char (Rain Char). Blakiston’s Fish Owl is a type of Eagle Owl and therefore related to the familiar Great Horned Owl of North America. The Great Horned Owl has a wingspan of approximately four feet, two feet less than the Blakiston’s span of around six feet.

Home with the Catch: Rhinoceros Auklet

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

Teuri Island: The Place to be for Rhinoceros Auklets

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.

Female Transient Orca with Seal against Aleutian Mountain Landscape

Female Transient Orca with Seal against Aleutian Mountain Landscape
Training Day

I wasn’t sure what to call this photograph, so I’ve gone with straight description. The Alaska Peninsula’s Aleutian Mountains again provide a dramatic backdrop and (I think) stunning context for this photo of a female Transient Orca and her prey, a thoroughly defeated seal. Looking closely, you can see the seal’s facial whiskers near the Orca’s nose, his body further to the right. She’s lost a bit of skin from her snout, no doubt from raiding the rocky shoreline for catches such as the one she is now contemplating.

While the female Orca was using this living prey to teach her daughters hunting techniques, the male (see the previous two articles) was checking out our skiff.

Throughout our time with this group of Orcas the light was all over the place as clouds closed and opened above. Many images from this shoot came out flat, like blue-tinted monochromes. But a few, such as this one, are nicely lit as the sun just began to emerge from behind clouds.

Incoming

Incoming
Twice the male Orca swam beneath our small skiff, so near the hull we could see him plainly through the Alaska Gulf’s semi-clear water. Each time, he emerged on the other side very close, turning parallel with our watercraft, eyeing us. Using our 20-foot skiff as a comparison, I estimate his length at over 25 feet in length, shimmering, bulky, muscular, liquid, graceful. Was he simply curious? Cautiously keeping us in check while his mate and daughters practiced hunting with the still living seal she’d carried out into open sea to the left of this photo? Showing off? Warning us? Each time the male came in close our hearts rose in our chests, our breath stuck in our throats. I blew those shots, able to fit only a fraction of his massive body in the frame created by the 70mm lens, shutter speed too slow to freeze him as his movements always appeared slower than they actually were. But I did get this capture of him swimming in for one of those dives beneath our boat.

The light was in and out throughout the encounter, the sun at times obscured behind dark clouds, at other times breaking through clear blue skies. Here dappled light is filtered through thin clouds, creating a rainbow-like effect accentuating blues, mauves and purples. This image is interesting for the background landscape as well. The land mass to the left is Nakchamik Island. The smaller island to the right is the smaller of the two Kak Islands. On the right is (I think) Little Castle Cape on the mainland.
JD, Chignik Bay, Gulf of Alaska, May 6, 2018