Let me start by answering my own question posed in the title of this post: are birders really buying 92% of duck stamps sold? Almost assuredly not. I hate it when people manipulate factoids to advance an agenda and I don’t want to sink to that level. But I’m willing to take a little heat for a provocative headline, because on Monday I had an experience that really got me wondering, and more than a little intrigued.

That afternoon, I went to Bombay Hook National Wildlife Refuge and bought a 2010–2011 Migratory Bird Hunting & Conservation Stamp, otherwise known as a Federal Duck Stamp. I’m sure the great majority of readers of this blog know all about duck stamps. They’re somewhat controversial in the birding community, principally because all the money raised by the stamp is, in many senses, “credited” to hunters, though clearly, many of those buying the stamps have no intention of hunting. In fact, some people I have a great deal of respect for as birders, conservationists, and thinkers have argued persuasively that non-hunters shouldn’t buy duck stamps, even though there’s no disputing the money goes to purchase valuable wildlife habitat.

I should also say that other people I have great respect for have been key players in campaigns to get birders and other non-extractive wildlife users to buy duck stamps, so I’ve heard good, impassioned arguments on all sides.

I do buy duck stamps, but I hasten to add that I’d be happier if there were data being collected about which user groups were buying how many stamps, simply so we could all have a clearer idea about who is truly contributing what to habitat purchase. I am emphatically neither anti-hunting nor anti-hunter. I have hunted before and happily would again, though I can’t ever see hunting constituting more than a vanishingly small percentage of how I choose to interact with birds. I consider wildlife watchers, photographers, hunters, anglers, and other groups to be natural allies, not antagonists, even if there are some areas where our opinions tend to diverge. In my view, we all want the same things: healthy populations of wildlife and plenty of places to enjoy them. But better, clearer data would benefit everyone in setting policy and more effectively raising funds for conservation.

So I was surprised and pleased that when I bought the stamp, the volunteer staffing the visitor center asked not only where I was from, but also if I intended to use the stamp for hunting. I said I was from Lewes, Delaware, and no, I did not plan to hunt. She dutifully recorded this in a logbook that was being kept behind the counter.

Well, let me tell you, a little light bulb went off in my head! I asked the volunteer if she could tell me how many stamps she had sold since they went on sale in July and how many had been bought by people identifying themselves as non-hunters. She paged through the logbook and reported, “We’ve sold 114 stamps since July, all but 9 of those to non-hunters.”

Yes, that’s right. Just over 92% were sold to non-hunters. Wow.

Of course, this is nothing like a definitive survey. Not every non-hunter is a birder. And I would guess that hunters would be much better represented at other outlets where stamps can be purchased.

But still, I couldn’t help feel just a little bit proud. And what’s really exciting to me is that this data is being collected. So, if you’re a non-hunter who buys duck stamps, why not do so at a place where they do keep track of how you intend to use your purchase? If they don’t ask, I suggest you politely ask them why they aren’t gathering this information.

From left: Sue Gruver, Forrest Rowland, Ruth Draper, Sharon Lynn, Brecon, me on the first day the Cape Henlopen Hawk Watch counted over 1,000 raptors: 29 Sep 2008

Summer. It goes so fast. I find myself taking every opportunity to eat the fresh tomatoes, corn and watermelon that are at their best now. Well, nearly every opportunity—everything in moderation, you know. It won’t be long until those transcendent, cheap, local fruits and vegetables are expensive and yucky and shipped in from far away again. But the end of summer has its compensations. Cooler weather, fewer biting bugs, and hawk watching all spring to mind as things I’m looking forward to.

I’m also very happy that Forrest Rowland will be back this year as the official counter for the Cape Henlopen Hawk Watch. Up at the north end of Delaware, Cyrus Moqtaderi will also be returning to count at the Ashland Hawk Watch, so we’ll have experienced, enthusiastic counters at both sites. Should be awesome.

I look forward to seeing you up on the platforms soon. Both counts kick off on September 1 and run until November 30. In the meantime, go ahead and enjoy that extra ear of corn!

First, some eye candy. Here’s a shot taken by Captain Rick Yakimowicz of the booby that nicely illuminates its face and underparts.

Brown Booby ©Rick Yakimowicz

Here it is accepting a Mummichog–a kilifish commonly used for bait by local anglers. Does he look happy, or what?

Brown Booby accepts Mummichog ©Rick Yakimowicz

Brown Boobies are particularly fond of Flying Fish, so perhaps this qualifies. Below, a closeup of the booby downing a Mummichog.

Brown Booby eating Mummichog ©Rick Yakimowicz

Finally, a shot of the bird surrounded by food offerings. Brown Boobies like squid, too.

Brown Booby topside ©Rick Yakimowicz

The bit of news I have is a more precise read on the location where the booby came aboard the boat. According to Captain Rick, it was at  38:52  X  75:09. Plotting that  on Google Earth, I come up with the following:

You’ll see a little green tree icon to the left and below the yellow booby pin–that’s Broadkill Beach, Delaware. Lewes, where the boat docked, is close to the yellow flag below the pin. The big finger sticking down from the upper right corner is, of course, Cape May, New Jersey.

Thanks very much to Captain Rick Yakimowicz for the information and the terrific photos.

This morning, that call came in around 8 AM. Frank wanted to e-mail me pictures he was nearly certain were of a booby (only birders get to write sentences like that with a straight face). “It came aboard a party fishing boat yesterday afternoon and Steve Cardano shot some pictures of it,” he intoned in a voice that has lost very little of its New England character despite years in the mid-Atlantic. “The amazing part is the darn thing rode the boat all the way back into the harbor in Lewes. Would you be able to run down there and have a look?”

By that time, the pictures had arrived in my inbox. I looked at them quickly, searching for signs that it might be a scarce but not unheard-of summer gannet. Nope. This was a booby all right. Could it possibly be a Red-footed Booby? Didn’t look like it. Less than adult sulids can be something of an identification nightmare, but I felt certain enough this was in fact a Brown.* This would make it Delaware’s first and any day your state gets a life bird is one to remember.

“Liz and I will be down there inside of twenty minutes–we’ll let you know as soon as we find anything,” I said, and I began hastily grabbing the appropriate gear for such an expedition; i.e., binoculars, scope, cameras. That’s right, cameraS.

Brown Booby (side) aboard the Thelma Dale IV photo ©Steve Cardano

Arriving at Fisherman’s Wharf in downtown Lewes, we began our search. The Thelma Dale IV was back out on the water by then, so we couldn’t inspect the boat itself. We looked all around the docks, then made our way along the Lewes and Rehoboth Canal and out to Roosevelt Inlet, scanning the pilings for any sign of this wayward tropical seabird. I also made a point of looking in the water where it was visible, as there was the grim possibility that the bird might have perished overnight.

Finding nothing, we got in touch with Steve Cardano. He offered to call the boat’s captain, but not until 10:30, when they would be in place for the morning’s fishing. We continued looking around, talking to the woman who sells tickets for fishing and sightseeing trips, and waiting. Steve called back and said that after the boat docked on Monday, one of the crew who knew of someone with a connection to a local marine mammal rescue group had captured the bird–apparently with no difficulty–and taken it to their facility, which is just down the road from the docks.

We raced down to the marine mammal place, MERR. It turned out that our information wasn’t completely accurate. The bird had been boxed and transported, but to Tri-State Bird Rescue in Newark, Delaware, at the north end of the state. Many of you will know Tri-State from their work in the Gulf of Mexico during the current Deepwater Horizon disaster; they’ve long been a leader in salvaging oiled birds and do lots of good work all around.

Whoever answered the phone at Tri-State told Suzanne, the director of MERR, that they had received a gannet from Lewes that had come ashore aboard a fishing boat and were caring for it. Suzanne told the rehabber that she had been shown photos of the bird by an expert in bird identification and that the bird looked awfully good for Brown Booby, but was firmly told that, no, it was a gannet. A professor had looked at the photos and said so. Oh well.**

Now that the search for the bird is over, there are of course a few lingering questions. From a bird records standpoint, it’s important to know where the bird came aboard the boat. The e-mail I have from Steve says, “30 degrees 51 min. N and 75 degrees 10 min. W. or approximately 8 miles north of Lewes, DE in the Delaware Bay.” There’s a little bit of confusion here, because that latitude doesn’t cross Delaware Bay. It’s closer to Cumberland Island, Georgia, just north of the Florida line. So I’m thinking it’s likely 38 degrees 51 min. N. That would be somewhere not too far offshore from Broadkill Beach, Delaware. 3.43 miles NE of the May, 2008 Wood Sandpiper, as I measure it. That looks more like 6 miles north of Lewes to me, so I’m still a little unsure. In any event, when I get more detailed information on the location I’ll be sure to spread the word.

I’ll leave any discussion of ship-assisted vagrancy to others. I’ve always been of the opinion that if a bird isn’t somehow restrained, intentionally or unintentionally, it matters little whether it hitched a ride on an aircraft carrier or a coconut.

Another issue that’s been raised is whether the bird belongs in rehab or not. I can’t say. Steve’s opinion was that it wasn’t emaciated (he lightly touched it in the chest, which it tolerated). But it did remain aboard the boat and didn’t make any move to evade capture, so perhaps it was starving or otherwise in distress. The folks at Tri-State will be in a much better position to judge. Again, I’ll pass on any word.

Finally, I don’t know anything about when and where the bird will be released, if it survives. Earlier this year, a rehabbed Red-footed Booby made headlines by hanging around shore in South Florida for quite a while.

All in all, a fascinating record. And another yet another reason I’ll always jump–in the best way–when my phone reads, “Frank Rohrbacher.”

*Peter Pyle comments, after being sent the photo by Mary Gustafson: “Brown, no problem. Red-foots have red feet at all ages out of the nest and a black bill as a juv that becomes pinkish and bluish within the first year, never slate like this. I can also just see the breast cut-off, never found in Red-footed. Many things eliminate Masked. So juvenile Brown.”

**According to birder-photographer extraordinaire Kim Steininger, who volunteers with Tri-State, they are now comfortable with the identification of Brown Booby.

NB: For the best video experience, I highly recommend hitting “play,” then clicking on the 360p button that appears in the lower right of the video player and choosing 480p instead. Also click the adjacent box with the four outward pointing arrows to go full screen. At the end, just hit the same box, which will now have an X, to get your screen back, or hit the escape key.

Liz and I spent Memorial Day afternoon at Slaughter Beach, DE, with Errol Webber, Jr. and Erik Yount of Host Our Coast, as well as our friends Carrie & Ella Samis, and Jim Rapp. We were all there to witness the horseshoe crab spawning and attendant bird and terrapin feeding and were not disappointed. Though the vast majority of the northbound shorebirds had already departed for points north, we had a great couple of hours enjoying one of our region’s weirdest yet most enchanting spectacles.

I wound up being the interviewee, which was fun, though I wish there had been room for others to appear on camera with Errol as well (there was a lot of talent and enthusiasm in that group, but alas, time is always short). I’m always a little queasy about seeing myself onscreen, but I have to admit, Errol and Erik did a nice job of editing things and I think I came off looking pretty good. See what you think.

If you haven’t been following Host Our Coast, it’s well worth your time. This year especially, as Errol and Erik are manifestly talented young filmmakers. Errol, in fact, was cinematographer for this year’s Oscar -winning Best Documentary Short Film, Music by Prudence. Pretty cool, huh?

For more information about horseshoe crabs, check out ERDG’s horseshoecrab.org site.

The buzzy, ascending song of Prairie Warbler is the first “fancy” song I remember learning, as opposed to the songs of common yard birds. If memory serves, that would have been spring of 1977, at White Clay Creek State Park, under the tutelage of Winston Wayne. Below is a more medium-distance shot of this bird in his favored habitat of shrubby, regenerating forest, which apparently used to be referred to as prairie, thus lending the bird its name.

And here he is in some dead weeds, presenting a different aspect.

The topmost picture appears on page vi of the Eastern guide, set against an orange background. It was taken on 23 May 2009, near Georgetown, Delaware. Here’s hoping the weather is nice and the birds are singing wherever you are today.

]]> http://jeffreyagordon.com/2010/03/pictures-for-peterson-3-prairie-warbler/feed/ 2 http://jeffreyagordon.com/2010/03/pictures-for-peterson-2-red-knots-ruddy-turnstones/ http://jeffreyagordon.com/2010/03/pictures-for-peterson-2-red-knots-ruddy-turnstones/#comments Mon, 08 Mar 2010 12:40:51 +0000 jeff http://jeffreyagordon.com/?p=1077

The second of my photos that appears in the Peterson Field Guide to Birds of Eastern and Central North America is one of the big ones, spanning two pages, a treatment afforded only 3 shots in each book. It appears across pages ii & iii.

But the photograph has to share space–lots of space–with two text boxes and a map. Not only that, but the elements that float over it get to hog the most significant real estate, the central areas where one’s eye naturally goes, so the layout presents a bit of a challenge. Either you need a picture with the bird or birds in the lower left, or you need a flock shot, a wider picture where the birds become semi-abstract design elements and can be cut and blocked without destroying the overall flow of the page. In the Eastern book I went with the latter, much easier option. Here’s what it looks like unobstructed. Somewhat ironically, the bird most sharply focussed of the whole bunch, the knot just above and right of center, is almost entirely obscured in the book.

I took this shot on the evening of 20 May 2010 at Slaughter Beach, Delaware. Named for a family rather than a massacre, this stretch of coast is among the most productive along the entire shore of Delaware Bay for horseshoe crab spawning and shorebird feeding. If you’re unfamiliar with this annual May spectacle, the Delaware Birding Trail has a thumbnail sketch of it here and there are plenty more sources of info to be found with a little Googling.

That afternoon, I had gone to Slaughter Beach with Kevin Fleming pictured below with two of his cameras, both Nikon D700′s, the left with a 600mm Nikkor lens and the right with a 200-400mm Nikkor zoom. Kevin and I spent a lot of time last spring shooting together, him working on his upcoming book, Wild Delmarva, and me doing the Peterson shots. Kevin was kind enough to let me use the 200-400mm rig on quite a few occasions and 6 of the pictures reproduced in the Eastern book were taken with it. A seventh was taken with Kevin’s 200-400 lens and a Nikon D300 body.

Looking over the barrel of the 600mm lens, you can see the shoreline crammed with shorebirds, with plenty of Laughing Gulls flying overhead. By slowly and carefully approaching the birds, staying very low to the ground, we were able to get close enough for satisfying photos without disturbing the birds’ frantic foraging and feeding. It’s a real thrill to see such gorgeous animals, massing here almost in my backyard.

As the sun dropped toward the western horizon, the birds were lit in beautiful, if strongly directional light. I shot hundreds of pictures, trying to get group shots, portraits, interesting behaviors, on and on and on. Below, a Red Knot lifts a bonanza from the sand, a marble-sized mass of several dozen fresh horseshoe crab eggs. Having flown in from South America and soon to depart for the High Arctic, the knot needs the calories these eggs furnish if it is to arrive on its breeding grounds at all, let alone nest successfully. A Ruddy Turnstone looks on, perhaps jealous of the knot’s find. I believe those fluffed feathers may literally be raised hackles–an aggressive display, perhaps in hope of scaring the knot into surrendering the goodies. Watching these shorebirds, one sees quite a bit of inter- and intra-species aggression. It’s no picnic for these guys, it’s a matter of survival.

A different turnstone strikes a more sanguine pose, with a pair of horseshoe crabs coming in to spawn in the background.

Another looming pair of horseshoe crabs provides a backdrop for a sleek Red Knot.

Being shorebirds, the turnstones, knots and others took flight fairly regularly, most explosively when a Peregrine Falcon strafed the beach, perhaps in search of a meal or maybe just some sport. When the birds took wing, Kevin and I would rapidly switch gears and try to fire off as many flight shots as we could manage. It was one of these that ended up being used. Below is a more wide angle shot of shorebirds coming back to the beach after startling.

If you’re looking for a way to help preserve beach habitat for this globally significant phenomenon, may I humbly suggest a donation to the Delaware Bird-a-thon? I’ll be competing again this year and would love to have your support. I’ll be posting more about this event as it draws closer.

]]> http://jeffreyagordon.com/2010/03/pictures-for-peterson-2-red-knots-ruddy-turnstones/feed/ 1 http://jeffreyagordon.com/2009/09/lark-sparrow-at-fort-miles-cape-henlopen-state-park-de/ http://jeffreyagordon.com/2009/09/lark-sparrow-at-fort-miles-cape-henlopen-state-park-de/#comments Sat, 12 Sep 2009 22:00:18 +0000 jeff http://jeffreyagordon.com/?p=1005 I was out walking the dog around 9:30 AM this morning when I got a phone call from Forrest Rowland, who is once again scanning the skies over the Cape Henlopen Hawk Watch. He said that he had heard from Derek Stoner that the Delmarva Ornithological Society group Derek was leading on their annual Cape May field trip had already seen two Lark Sparrows. Forrest said he was seeing and hearing lots of passerines around him and gently but firmly suggested that if I didn’t have anything too pressing, I get my butt over to Cape Henlopen (just 11 miles across the bay from Cape May) and look for Lark Sparrows or other rare or scarce species that might be present. Forrest, being largely pinned to the hawk platform, is in the sometimes frustrating position of just knowing that there are interesting non-raptor birds around, but being unable to venture even a few hundred yards away due to the need to keep up the hawk vigil.

It took me a while to get the dog home, gear up, pick up Liz, etc. But about 2 hours later, we rolled into the park, pulled into the Fort Miles area and in less than ten minutes, we were looking at a Lark Sparrow!

It might have taken even taken less time, had we not paused to admire a lovely male Cape May Warbler, plus a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher. It also took just a little sifting through a good sized flock of Chipping Sparrows (perhaps 50), with a few Field Sparrows mixed in, for us to find our quarry.

Within minutes, Forrest, who had taken a brief sabbatical from the hawk watch, and Frank Rohrbacher, secretary of the Delaware Bird Records Committee, had both arrived. It’s a measure of how infrequently this species has been detected in Delaware that this was a state bird for Frank, who is locked in a neck and neck battle with Colin Campbell for the top spot among those who carefully tend their Delaware state lists.

A rear view of the bird on the same perch. Notice the long tail tipped and edged in white, the striped back, and how much duller the crown striping is toward the rear of the head than it is on the forecrown.

Forrest soon returned to his post. Frank, Liz, and I worked our way around the Ft. Miles area, encountering the Lark Sparrow (or Lark Sparrows–at one point we were nearly convinced there were two, but couldn’t be sure) at least three times. Below, it feeds on a concrete pad which anchors a large gun. Fort Miles is a fort, after all. On the left is a Chipping Sparrow, providing a nice shape comparison.

They’re both long-tailed, but that’s about it for similarities. Not only is the Lark’s body bigger, look at the difference in the legs–the Lark looks like Foghorn Leghorn. It’s also got a huge bill, but the Chipping isn’t obliging us with a direct comparison.

Below is a map of the Fort Miles area, with 3 dots where we saw the bird. You can click on the photo to see a larger view, or even download a copy. Of course, Lark Sparrows are famous for not sticking around too long, a major reason Frank hadn’t seen one in Delaware before. But this spot is consistently one of the best along Delaware’s oceanfront for sparrows, and warrants checking throughout the fall migration. Bound to be a few Clay-coloreds in there from time to time, as well as other goodies.

Hey, whaddya know? A blog post. Holy cow!

Self-portrait by Matthew Sarver

Good news for all of you who enjoy well-written, thoughtful, authoritative, and nicely-illustrated blog posts (and if that’s you, what are you doing here?). My buddy Matt Sarver has been cultivating his web presence, including launching a new blog, appropriately called The Modern Naturalist.

Matt’s a great birder, naturally, but he’s also lamentably talented in just about every field of natural history. Did I say lamentably? I meant laudably. Just a little jealous here, sorry.

Being afield with Matt is a little like drinking from the proverbial fire hose. It seems like he can put a name to everything that flies, crawls, or photosynthesizes. And usually not just a name–he almost always has some interesting tidbit to share about the life history of each animal or vegetable, turning an ordinary walk into something educational and entertaining. Last Sunday, he showed me a bee which despite all appearances, was not a bumblebee. He went on to tell me that this non-bumblebee specializes in eating the pollen of hibiscus flowers. This was just one of dozens of cool critters he alerted me to that day. I was impressed.

Matt’s a hands-on kind of guy. He manages a property he owns in southwestern Pennsylvania, striving to improve the quality of the habitat there. And now that the governor of Pennsylvania has given his blessing to fire as a management tool–look out. I expect to see some pretty hot posts coming out of that. He’s also a sailor, crewing on the Kalmar Nyckel, our friendly neighborhood tall ship. Some say he got that gig in classic high-seas fashion–by sleeping with the captain–but I’ll leave that to him to confirm or deny.

Though he’s only been in Delaware for a couple of years, Matt is already making quite a mark. He and his Captain already keelhauled us in the Delaware Birdathon this year.

I’m betting that Matt will quickly become a star in the nature blogging sky. So click on over and say hello.

Approaching Fowler Beach this morning, I glanced at the interpretive sign declaring it a Horseshoe Crab sanctuary. I thought back to the height of the crab spawning in May and thought how much more placid things felt now, as the frenzied activity of spring slowly melted into the comparative quiet of midsummer. It would be almost another year before I saw many Horseshoe Crabs again.

I was yanked from this reverie by the sight of several dozen horseshoe crabs. What were they doing here in July? The short answer, it quickly became apparent, was that they were dying. We’ve just passed the full moon and I would hypothesize that there was a late-season push of attempted spawning.

Whatever was going on, it hadn’t turned out well for these individuals–they were stranded, on their backs, and the July sun was climbing into the sky even faster than the cornstalks currently erupting from the fields just inland.

I quickly commenced a round of triage by toe…gently nudging each crab to look for signs of life.

Nearly all responded with the universal Horseshoe Crab sign of sentience–they raised their telsons (the tail-like appendage that many people fear will sting them–it won’t) high into the air. This maneuver is part of their ritual for righting themselves if and when they are overturned, a calamity that seems to occur fairly frequently, at least when they are negotiating the perilous boundary between beach and bay. If they land on their backs in the wrong substrate and are isolated by the receding tide, they often die, their book gills slowly drying out as they are set upon by hungry gulls and gravid flies.

But these guys (smaller HSC I’m about to pick up) and gals (larger one in back) were in luck. I went through and carefully returned all the survivors to the cool dark waters of Delaware Bay, leaving the sliver of beach I could access HSC-free.

I didn’t keep count, but I would guess I picked up between two and three dozen of the creatures. It took the better part of an hour, to great dismay of my dog, Brecon, who silently implored me to cut the good samaritan act and get back to more important things, namely, our eternal game of fetch.

I don’t know if my flipping these Horseshoe Crabs did any good, beyond providing me with a little wave of good feelings. As I’ve said here before, I reluctantly tend toward skepticism about these kinds of things, though in this case, there are many, some well informed, who say it is helpful. So that’s good. In any event, it’s hard to imagine what it could hurt. Heaven knows, we provide the gulls and flies with plenty of other dining options.

So I’ll keep flipping, whenever the opportunity presents.