Enough for the day

It was supposed to be a quick check for mushrooms in the little woods on the museum grounds. The mushrooms weren't showing up, though; it's still too dry for them. But there were birds, mostly invisible birds. A flicker ran up a tree, stopping to pound at the bark. I saw just hints of movement at first, heard the tap-tap-tap, then he appeared briefly against the light.

I sat for a long time on a log, down there in the dark woods, waiting for another glimpse. Birds came and went, darting from shadow to shadow, flashing across gaps between trunks. A leaf silhouette turned into a bird and flew away, leaving a bouncing branch as only evidence. Dry leaves rustled, though there was no wind. The only other sounds were quiet chirps, more taps, the quick whirr of small wings.

I sat for a long time, camera at the ready, but unused.

I came home with one grainy photo, of that flicker.

October in mixed forest.

Who needs mushrooms? When there are busy, invisible birds?

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Atravesaba el bosquecito del museo, viendo si acaso ya hayan aparecido los hongos de otoño. Pero, no, todavía faltan las lluvias. En cambio, el bosque estaba lleno de pájaros. Pájaros invisibles, por la mayor parte. Un carpintero escapulario, Colaptes auratus, corría en el tronco de un árbol, deteniéndose por breves momentos para golpear la corteza. Al principio apenas veía una variación de la oscuridad del tronco, oí el toc, toc, toc; luego dió la vuelta al tronco, apareciendo brevemente contra la luz.

Me quedé sentada por largos minutos en un tronco caído, allí en la oscuridad del fondo del bosque, esperando por si apareciera de nuevo el carpintero. Otros pájaros venían y se iban, cruzando veloces los espacios entre los árboles. Una silueta de hoja se convirtió en pajarito y voló, dejando como evidencia solamente una rama sacudida. Hojas secas susurraban, aunque no había viento que las moviera. Los únicos otros sonidos eran el gorjeo y el aleteo de los pajaritos, los golpecitos contra madera de carpinteros.

Me quedé sentada por largo rato, con la cámara lista, inútil.

Llegué a casa con una sola foto granulada; la foto de ese pájaro carpintero.

Foto: bosque en octubre, con pájaro carpintero, hojas de arce de hoja grande.

Otro dia habrá hongos; por ahora, los pájaros invisibles son suficientes.

Few and far between

It has been a poor year for birds, at least for me. Fewer on the shore, fewer in my yard, fewer in the tops of the trees. Where I used to count eagles on my way home, a 15-minute drive, finding a dozen or more, this year, I count it a good day if I see one. Along the shore, I see the occasional duck, often all alone. Where are the large flocks I see in my photos from other years?

There are always some, though, in the Campbell River estuary. Distant and elusive, but they're there.

Misty estuary with golden-eyes and mergansers and an underwater loon. (Invisible, of course.)

And a friend's backyard, a well-established bird haven, does attract a fair number of LBBs. And these flickers.

Parent and youngster?

This pair was foraging under the trees, mostly out of sight, and finally flew to a very distant chimney, where they looked to me like two small dots. The camera did a fair job on them. I've been trying to decide if they are a parent and a juvenile still begging for his meals.

And while I'm at it, here are two photos of herons: poor photos, but the herons were indulging in a spot of synchronized flying.

Leaving because I took one step too many in their direction.

5 seconds later.

Maybe this new year will be better. I do miss the birds.

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Ha sido un año de pocos pájaros. Pocos en la playa, pocos en el jardín, pocos en las copas de los árboles. Donde antes contaba águilas camino a casa, unos 15 minutos de viaje, llegando a contar una docena o más, este año tengo suerte si veo uno. En el mar, veo un pato solitario o un par de colimbos. ¿A dónde fueron las bandadas grandes que veo en mis fotos de años anteriores?

Por lo menos en el estuario del rio Campbell, siempre hay aves acuáticas, aunque pocas y distantes.

Foto #1: El estuario en la neblina, con porrones y serretas y un colimbo invisible (bajo el agua).

#2: El jardín de una amiga, ya hace años establecida como refugio para pájaros, si ofrece vistazos a pájaritos entre los arbustos. También hay los pájaros carpinteros, Colaptes auratus. Estos dos buscaban hormigas bajo los árboles, y por fin salieron a la vista, volando hacia la chimenea de una casa distante. Para mis ojos, eran solo dos puntos negros, pero la cámara ve mejor. Sigo tratando de decidir si son un adulto con su cría todavía requiriendo ayuda en encontrar comida.

#3 y 4: Ya que estoy mirando fotos no tan buenas, hay estas. Dos garzas azules practicando el vuelo sincronizado. Me acerqué un paso demás; ni modo.

Bueno, tal vez el nuevo año tendrá más pájaros. De veras los extraño.

Round trip

Third sunny day in a week!

I went to Salmon Point and walked the beach, looking for whelk shells for my hermits, who are growing out of the last batch. An hour of difficult walking, casting up and down the slope, over loose sand, round rocks, tossed-up logs. On the way back, I took the path through the small forest, looking at moss and lichens, and past Woodhus Slough, keeping an eye out for waterfowl, following side trails to look at the water.

I'm not used to it, after this rainy winter  (and a leg injury, to boot); I came home, dropped the shells into the tank, and limped into the bedroom. Woke up 6 hours later, stiff and sore.

And one of the hermits is wearing his nice, new, white shell!

I saw a flicker, a raft of buffleheads, a flock of Canada geese, mallards sleeping and flying, all far across the fields and the slough. My photos will end up posted on the Facebook page, "The worst bird photographs ever."

Well, maybe you can forgive me a photo of the flicker.

Basking in the sunshine

I took one step closer, and he flew away.

Woodhus Slough, glittering in the unaccustomed sunlight. No birds here.

All in all, totally worth the sore leg!

Manna from on high

Starlings congregate underneath the feeder tree, catching bits of suet dropped by a messy eater overhead.

Their bills get all gooped up with the greasy suet, and then the snow sticks to it. Half the starlings have snowy beaks.

The source of the falling suet, a starling waiting his turn, and a grumpy sparrow, who will be third in line at the suet feeder.

Fourth in line. May as well wait over here.

It has stopped snowing. The weather people say more is coming tomorrow.

Gotta wait out 2012 to the last gasp

2013, finally. Except in Hawaii; they've got another 18 minutes left in 2012, as of now**.

The year went out quietly for us. Laurie and I sat and listened to a CD of the Mikado, then I treated myself with a pot of ginger tea, and checked in with my kids on Facebook. All very peaceful.

But 2013; what will it bring? It's a year of 13s; 50 Fridays teamed up with the number, another two doubled: Friday the 13th, 2013, in September and December. Will someone decide that's a good excuse to foretell yet another end of the world?*** There are two good dates there! And when was that 2013 comet arriving?

Well, if you believe in bad luck omens, there are also the good ones. I've got mine; today, in a first for the year, in a short burst of 5 minutes, four starlings, one flicker, and a varied thrush all dropped in to visit. I think that's the first flicker or starling I've seen around here since a year ago. And all at once! It must mean something, surely!*

Here's proof, at least of the first two, photos taken without leaving my desk, which would have chased the flicker far away.

Flicker waiting for a starling to get off the suet feeder.

Still waiting. He eventually gave up; the starlings were not sharing.

Starling and suet feeder. The other three were on the ground underneath, collecting the falling crumbs, and keeping the juncos at bay.

The varied thrush ran past twice, pausing just long enough to be identified. The place was too crowded for him.

*I think it really meant that they were hungry. But sometimes I'd rather be silly than sensible.

**Just checked the time again. It is now officially 14 minutes into 2013 in Hawaii. And that's the very last gasp of 2012.

***Not that I'd worry. I've survived a fair number of world ends already.

The view from my desk

I've been busy the last little while, getting ready for company, a wedding, and a week in Campbell River afterwards. I've been carrying my camera everywhere and never taking photos. Traffic isn't all that inspiring, nor are offices and malls.

But in between times, I keep the camera on my desk. And every so often, I look up from the phone or the mail, and see a squirrel hanging by her toes to get at the suet, or a ray of sunlight pointing out a just-opened flower. And sometimes, I take a breather and wander out to the lawn. With the camera in hand, of course.

This evening, just after dark, I looked out, and there was a baby raccoon. A really small baby; I'd never seen one that young before. Such little stubby legs! And the wide-eyed, amazed stare of a baby discovering the world for the first time; so cute!

Then the mother came down the path to take a drink from my bird bath, and four more kits followed her. I rushed out with the camera, but by the time I had it on and focused in the dim light, they were halfway down the lawn, the kits all lined up watching me, the mother trying to lead them away. As the camera finally clicked, they all turned as one and ran off. The photo shows two black blobs. I'm not posting it; you can imagine it; green lawn, black fuzzy blobs.

Laurie came out and we followed them to his hosta and fern garden. There, the kits hid behind a big evergreen trunk and peeped out at us. We stepped closer, cautiously, and the kits started to climb the tree. But they were too young; a few scrabbled at the bottom; a couple managed to get three feet or so above ground, and clung there, uncertain as to what to do next. Finally, they crawled back down, more awkwardly than they had climbed.

The mother left, and the kits, left alone, dashed across the path  one by one, and into the bushes after her.

Some photos do turn out, though. Here are a few backyard sights:

Astilbe. This was a couple of days ago; this afternoon, several red ones had opened up, too.

The underside of a begonia leaf, in sunlight. I saw it glowing from my desk, and had to drop my work and go out to get a better look.

Crow on the lawn

The lawn will never feature in a landscaper's manual; it's a mix of grass, moss, white clover, self-heal, black medic, and creeping buttercups. And hawkweed, but I weed that out conscientiously. And it gets mowed only when the guy who does it is in the mood. We like it. So do the birds.

The flickers are shy and rarely step out of the undergrowth. This one stayed close to safety. I took the photo from my desk; when I finally stood up to go closer, he left.

We pruned a dragging branch off the plane tree, and found several clusters of yellow eggs. And this busy couple of prospective parents.

I brought in a leaf with eggs on it. They were little yellow ovals, standing on end side by side. The next morning, I looked at them again; now they were black.

I didn't have time to check them again until after supper. And the eggs were white, and surrounded by tiny, just-hatched ladybug larvae.

Empty egg cases. Some of the larvae are eating them; two or three are starting to wander about. 

That was last night. This morning, I went back to the tree and harvested a few leaves loaded with aphids for larvae food. I checked the container just now; there are still live aphids, but quite a few dead ones; the larvae are feeding. Some look quite a bit bigger than they were yesterday, already.

Laurie's pansies. I love these angry faces. They remind me of a crowd of protesters, but where are the signs?

A red, red rose.

And now, I'm off to bed. I've got another busy day tomorrow.

Gardening flicker.

I had a quick errand at the Strathcona Community Gardens yesterday. I was stopped at the entrance by this flicker. It was digging holes in the loose dirt alongside the path, using its beak as a shovel.

Thigh-deep, surrounded by the still-moist dirt it has thrown out of the hole. It eventually got down deep enough for its back to line up at ground level.

A blurry photo, but I liked it because of the detail of the upper tail feathers.

I changed my plans and spent an hour or more in the gardens, wandering about and following birds. More on this tomorrow.
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Flicker nest

In an alder and blackberry strip of bush, in Semiahmoo Reserve, looking down on us from a fungus-ridden snag:

A flicker, on the nest.

It was very curious, and never took its eyes off us. Otherwise, it barely moved. We'd never have seen it, except that we were checking out the fungus, a bit greyer than our usual bracket fungus.

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