Filler

I'm feeling a bit lackadaisical tonight, a little bit off-kilter. So here are some so-so photos of birds not being helpful. But they made me smile.

Crows on the rigging of a boat at the dock. The whole purpose of all those posts and ropes is to provide crow and gull perches, right?

Okay, we'll pose for you. Just this once.

Someone called this photo "artsy-fartsy".  Ok. Had to do something with starlings too far away, on a rainy day, seen through a double window.

And then there were two. Beautiful birds. Seen up close, of course.

I don't know why I kept this photo, except that it's so very typical of the juncos; always looking for places to become invisible.

Tomorrow's another day.

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Un dia de esos ... No me animo a nada. Pero estas fotos, ninguna muy buena, me hicieron sonreir.

1. Dos cuervos en la arboladura de un velero. Creen que el único propósito de todos estos postes y cables es proveer sitios donde los pájaros puedan juntarse con sus amigos.
2. "Bueno, posamos para la foto. Por un momento, nada más."
3. Alguien me dijo que esta foto "arreglada" es "artsy-fartsy". Ok. Tuve que hacer algo con una foto que saqué por la ventana, en la lluvia, de pájaros más allá del alcance de mi lente.
4. Y ahora son dos. Los estorninos son pájaros muy bellos. Vistos de cerca, claro.
5. No sé porque guardé esta foto, aparte de que describe perfectamente la costumbre de los juncos; siempre buscan sitios donde volverse invisibles.

Bueno, mañana será otro dia.

More busy LBBs.

LBBs.  Walking down a path or along a dock, they bounce ahead of me, bright-eyed handfuls of feathers, flitting away as I approach like leaves blown by the wind, diving into dense shrubbery (how do they avoid getting tangled in that tightly-woven web of criss-crossing branches, I always wonder). I turn around, and there they are again, close behind me, industriously pecking at specks on the trail. Time's a-wasting; the days are short, the nights cold.

Sparrow on the dock.

Junco on a bridge.

Someone's been dropping sunflower seeds.

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LBBs. Little Brown Birds, pajaritos color café. En el camino los encuentro, pequeños manojos de plumas con sus ojitos negros, dando saltitos en el suelo. Al acercarme, se alejan en vuelos cortos, como hojas llevadas por el viento; se esconden entre las ramas entrelazadas de los arbustos; como es que evitan atorarse en esa maraña de ramas, no puedo comprender.  Doy la vuelta, y allí están a mis espaldas, casi a mis pies, diligentemente buscando su comida; hay que apurarse; ahora los dias son cortos, las noches frias. 

1. Gorrión en el muelle.
2. Junco ojioscuro, en un puente.
3. Alguien ha estado esparciendo semillas de girasol.

Brown on brown

It's snowing. Farther south on the island, it's a snow storm; here it's a sprinkling. But we'll have white snow light in the morning. If it doesn't melt before dawn.

Here's a junco on a light dusting of snow, farther up in the hills.

He's a lighter brown than is usual, and blends nicely into the colours of his foraging ground.

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Está nevando. Más al sur de la isla, lo están llamando una tempestad, pero aquí apenas caen copitas bien separadas. Pero tendremos esa luz especial tan blanca, luz nevada al amanecer.

La foto es de un junco, Junco hyemalis, en tierra cubierta de hojas muertas y un leve salpicón de nieve. Saqué la foto desde la ventana del coche en las laderas de un cerro. Es de un color más claro que sus compañeros, que le sirve bien de camuflage en los sitios donde busca comida.

Patience pays off

It was a good afternoon for birds at Oyster Bay. The birds, of course, were hiding or hopping (juncos) or flying, and/or a long, long way away, but the sun was shining and I was wearing my winter jacket; I was in no hurry. I sat on a couple of benches and a log, and waited.

So I even caught a junco between hops.

Junco in the old apple tree. With lichens.

A towhee watched me from the centre of a patch of wild roses, now leafless, and decorated with bright red rose hips. I sat, he sat; I kept waiting for him to come out from behind the branches. He kept waiting for me to leave. I gave up first.

All puffed out for the cold.

I took two photos 30 seconds apart, the one above with the pocket point and shoot, the next with the Nikon. Same bird, same lighting, same distance, same processing at home; different results.

That same junco. Here, his eyes are redder, his orange belly darker.

Wigeons. Three males.

The flock. The males have the green curve on their heads; females have brown heads.

Ducks and ancient pilings and brown water.

A sparrow trying to hide among the rose hips. Not looking happy about me.

Seen but not caught on camera: crows, a diving loon, a scurrying wren, umpteen mallards, circling peeps, calling as they flew, gulls in the air, on pilings, on distant rocks. One dropped a clam on the rocks a few metres in front of me.

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Era un buen dia para estar viendo pájaros en Oyster Bay. Los pájaros, claro, se estaban escondiendo, o estaban dando saltitos (los juncos), o volaban, o si no, estaban bien lejos. Pero había dejado de llover y salió el sol, y yo llevaba mi chaqueta de invierno; no tenía prisa. Me senté en un banco, en otro, en un tronco en la playa, y esperé.

Así que hasta capturé un junco en un momento en que dejó de dar saltos.

1. El junco en el viejo manzano.
2. Este Pipilo maculatus me observaba desde el centro de un grupo de rosales silvestres, ahora sin hojas y decoradas con escaramujos, sus frutos rojos. Yo me quedé sentada; el se quedó sentado; yo esperaba a que saliera de detrás de las ramas, el esperaba a que yo me fuera. El fue vencedor.
3. Saqué estas dos fotos una tras otra, una 30 segundos después de la primera. La primera fue con mi cámara de bolsillo, la segunda con el Nikon. La misma luz, el mismo sitio, la misma distancia, procesadas en casa igualmente, pero las fotos son muy distintas. En la segunda se ven sus ojos de rojo fuerte.
4. Tres patos Anas americana, machos.
5. Una bandada de estos patos. Los machos tienen la marca verde en la cabeza; la cabeza de las hembras es color marrón o gris.
6. Otros patos (Patos reales, hembras, probablemente) y pilotes antiguos, en agua color de café.
7. Un gorrión tratando de esconderse entre las ramas y los escaramujos. No parece estar contento.

Vistos, pero sin fotos: cuervos, un colimbo buceando, un trogloditido (chochín) que corría entre los troncos en la playa, gran número de patos reales, aves playeras "peeps" llamando mientras volaban en círculos, gaviotas en el aire, en los pilotes, en las rocas. Una dejó caer una almeja sobre las rocas para romperla, a apenas unos metros de donde yo caminaba.

Scruffy Jays and Whiskey Jacks

 Picture this. We're standing on the boardwalk at Paradise Meadows, surrounded by raggedy forest, half green trees, half lichen-wrapped snags.

Centennial Loop, Paradise Meadows.

We're behaving; we stay on the boardwalk, we walk sedately, stand quietly. And yet from every side, we're hearing loud complaints. Angry calls, annoyed comments about our invasion. We see nobody at first, then begin to notice quick flittings from high in one distant dead snag to the next; birds that immediately become invisible on their branches against the bright sky, from where they continue to scold us.

Eventually, one or two — they turn out to be Steller's Jays — perch where the light is better. For us, at least.

Scruffy Steller's Jay.

It's molting season, when birds replace their old, worn-out winter feathers with all new ones. Some do this gradually, but some, like the jays and crows, drop whole sections of feathers at once, leaving them ragged and scruffy for a while. And somewhat vulnerable; mallards and Canada geese lose enough wing feathers to become flightless.

Half-bald Steller's Jay.

So what were the jays saying? "Go away, we're not dressed for company!"? Or "We don't feel safe with you standing there right now"?

Junco, singing his heart out. He's got all his feathers: no worries, he says.

A couple of robins, watching us watching jays. The one on the right has the mottled breast of a juvenile.

An hour later, a couple of kilometres on, we came across a group of Whiskey Jacks (aka Grey Jays) mobbing a family with three kids carrying bird seed. We had been nibbling on sesame seed crackers while we watched dragonflies, and I still had half a package. I broke them in half and held one up; within seconds, a jay had come down and landed on my finger to grab the cracker. His talons were sharp; that first time, I jerked my hand away. With the rest of the crackers, I managed to hold still.

Whiskey Jacks are bold, bolder even than gulls, and hang around campsites or follow hikers begging for treats, any human food. They especially like peanuts or any seeds, which they will carry off to hide in the trees for a rainy day.

Waiting to see if I'm going to find more crackers in my pack.

(Audubon Magazine has a good article about molting birds. "Who wore it Worst? Behold the Awkward Glory of Molting". Go see.)

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Imagínate esto: estamos paradas en el paseo entablado de Paradise Meadows, en un bosque mixto; árboles vivos, árboles muertos cubiertos de líquenes.

Foto: el bosque al principio del Círculo del Centenario, Praderas de Paraíso.

Nos estamos portando bien; no salimos del paseo marcado, caminamos tranquilamente, no hacemos ruido. Y sin embargo, de todos lados nos llega un alboroto; quejas furiosas, reclamaciones, protestas contra nosotras las invasoras. Pero no vemos a nadie al principio; después de un rato empezamos a ver figuras que vuelan rapidamente entre los troncos distantes, para luego volverse invisibles otra vez entre las ramas y los líquenes, de donde siguen con sus regaños.

Por fin, unos pocos — y resulta que son los arrendajos de Steller — se detienen donde la luz nos favorece.

# 2 y 3: Arrendajos de Steller, con el plumaje desordenado.

Es temporada de muda, cuando los pájaros pierden las plumas desgastadas del año anterior y se visten de plumas nuevas. Algunos hacen la muda poco a poco, pero los arrendajos y cuervos cambian grupos enteros de plumas a la vez, lo que los deja como despeinados, desordenados, por un tiempo. Los patos ánades reales y los gansos Canadienses hasta pierden las plumas que necesitan para volar, quedando limitados a quedarse en tierra o agua hasta que las nuevas llegan a su tamaño normal.

Y ¿qué estarían diciendo estos arrendajos? ¿"Lárguense; no estamos vestidos para visitas"? O ¿"No nos sentimos muy seguros en este momento"?

# 4: Un junco, cantando feliz. Este pajarito tiene todas sus plumas. Anda sin preocupaciones. 

# 5: Dos petirrojos. El petirrojo a la derecha con las manchas en el pecho es un joven.

Una hora más tarde, a un par de kilómetros de distancia, nos encontramos con una bandada de arrendajos grises, Perisoreus canadensis; una familia con tres niños les estaban echando semillas para pájaros que traían en botecitos de plástico. Nosotras habíamos estado comiendo galletitas de semilla de ajonjolí mientras mirábamos las libélulas y todavía me quedaba medio paquete. Las rompí por la mitad y levanté un pedazo hacia las ramas donde se congregaban; en un instante, un pájaro voló a posarse en mi dedo y llevarse la galleta. Sus garras estaban bien afiladas; esa primera vez, retiré la mano con prisa. Con lo que quedaba de galletitas, pude aguantar sin moverme.

Estos pájaros son atrevidos, más aun que las gaviotas. Se congregan alrededor de campamentos, o siguen caminantes en los bosques, pidiendo alimentos; aceptan cualquier comida de los humanos. Les gustan, sobre todo, los cacahuates y otras semillas, los cuales se llevan para guardarlos en los árboles para tiempos de escasez.

# 6: Un arrendajo gris, esperando para ver si todavía me quedan galletas. Pero no, ya no.

(Hay un artículo muy interesante en la Revista Audubon sobre los pájaros en muda. Haz clic aquí.)

Back to normal: soggy

 So it's been raining off and on for a few days. Not heavy rain, just a steady dripping, but enough to wet down the fallen leaves and turn a few lawns green. I went to the museum to look for mushrooms, without much luck. There were a few, around stumps, but none of the usual ones that grow in the lawns. I'll try again in a few days. But I walked through their little wood, uphill and downhill. Again, there were no mushrooms, but the juncos were out in force, digging through the soggy leaves. And the air smells of autumn spice. Many of the big-leaf maple leaves have fallen, but the huckleberries and some of the alders still hold onto theirs; the woods are still green, with tan and yellow blobs.

Since there were no mushrooms, I took photos at random along the trails.

Big-leaf maple leaf, still on the tree.

Big-leaf maple leaf fallen into a hollow stump.

In the centre of the woods, a big rock waits, carelessly dropped by a glacier on its way down the hill.

Detail of roots clasping a nurse stump.

A tangled wood, with one junco who sat still for a moment.

Rock, moss, leaves.

A few more maple leaves.

I'll post the few mushrooms I did find around the lawn tomorrow.

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Por fin está lloviendo, desde hace unos pocos dias. No es mucha la lluvia, solo una salpicadura, una llovizna, pero fue suficiente como para mojar las hojas caídas y volver el color verde al césped. Fui al museo a buscar hongos en sus alrededores, sin mucha suerte. Encontré unos pocos en muñones viejos, pero ninguno de los que crecen normalmente en el césped. Trataré otra vez en unos cuantos dias. Pero subí a su bosquecito y seguí los senderos cuesta arriba, cuesta abajo. Tampoco hubo hongos allí, pero una bandada de juncos escarbaba entre las hojas, buscando comida. Y el aire olía a otoño. Muchas de las hojas del arce de hoja grande han caído, pero los huckleberry (arandano nativo) y los alisos todavía retienen sus hojas verdes.

Ya que no veía hongos, saqué fotos casi al azahar a lo largo del sendero.

Fotos: 

1. Una hoja de arce, todavía colgada del árbol.
2. Una hoja de arce caída dentro de un troncón hueco.
3. En el centro del bosque, una roca grande, dejado caer descuidadamente por los glaciares en su prisa para llegar al mar.
4. Detalle de raices que se agarran fuertemente al muñon enfermera.
5. Bosque desordenado, con un junco que se detuvo por unos segundos.
6. Roca, musgos, hojas.
7. Y más hojas de arce.

Y mañana subiré las fotos de unos cuantos hongos.

Rain, rain, glorious rain!

Look at this! Isn't it beautiful?

Weather forecast: Rain, rain, rain. We needed that.

I sat in a garden as the first raindrops fell. Most of the summer blooms are gone, but some still hang on, smiling in the cool weather.

Rain-sprinkled cosmos.

As seen from my shelter.

The last dahlia.

Tiny white asters.

There were birds; juncos and chickadees and starlings and a robin and a towhee. All bouncing about, mostly under the trees, poking through the fallen leaves for goodies. One junco paused on the fence for a moment.

Taking a short break.

The land breathes.

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¡Mira esto! ¡Tan bello!

Foto: el pronóstico del tiempo para la semana que viene: lluvia, lluvia, lluvia ... Nos hacía falta.

Pasé la tarde en el jardín de unos amigos, viendo mientras las primeras gotas caían. Ya casi todas las flores del verano han dejado de florecer, pero algunas persisten, gozando del tiempo más fresco.

Fotos:

1. Cosmos, salpicada de gotas de lluvia.
2. Las plantas desde mi lugar bajo techo.
3. La última dahlia.
4. Unas flores pequeñas de la famila de los Asteraceae.
5. Este jardín es un lugar preferido de los pájaros. Hoy había muchos juncos, carboneros, estorninos, un petirrojo y un pipilo, todos buscando entre las hojas caídas debajo de los árboles. Un junco salío a la luz por un momento.

Y la tierra respira.

Elusive

A flock of tiny birds was browsing in the evergreens at Oyster Bay. Really tiny; they looked like large, fast moths. They bounced from twig to twig, sometimes hanging upside-down, sometimes perching on the trunk, but never for more than a couple of seconds. Stop, peck at twig, flit to another, peck, flit, flit, flit. Neither my eyes nor the camera could focus that fast, but I could see flashes of yellow on back and head.

I took about a hundred photos. Two sort of turned out.

A golden-crowned kinglet, I think. 

Hanging upside-down

In the deciduous shrubs and around the logs on the shore, a flock of juncos were feeding. Easier to identify, but much more cautious; any attempt to approach on my part, and they were off.

Alder branches, mini-cones, and junco against the sky.

A Skywatch post.

Rainy day in the slough, with distant birds

The weather is going to turn rough; they're saying we'll have winds up to 100 km/h today. For now, it's just raining.

Before the rain got going in earnest, I went down the Salmon Point/Woodhus Slough trail to look for mushrooms again, with no luck. But two flocks of trumpeter swans flew overhead, discussing the weather as they went. I forgot about mushrooms.

The second group. The first group was about 60 noisy swans strong.

Heading back, near sunset (but there was no sun), I took the summer trail along the slough floor; last chance, because the water is already rising, and it will soon be covered.

The water begins to rise. Last time I was here, this was dry. In mid-winter, the water will cover all the grasses and sedges.

Slough bottom, with rose hips.

Birds forage busily among the trees here, eating old berries and rotting fruit. I saw towhees, sparrows, juncos, chickadees, bouncing happily through the tangled branches, mostly too dark to see clearly on this dark, rainy afternoon.

Junco in a tree with lichen

The water will rise soon. The berries will drown. The small birds will move to higher ground. And the mallards will move in, eating the summer vegetation, as it rots underwater.

As seen by the BirdCam

Birds by day...

Junco and box of heather

Sparrow and cowslips, just opening.

And sometimes a coon by night ...

Just passing through.

And with every batch of photos, a few shots of my bare feet. But I'll spare you those.

Free lunch

It hasn't been a good winter for birds around our place. Whether it's the weird weather, or the unusual lack of insects, or something else, I can't tell. But only a few chickadees have been using the sunflower seed feeder, and a mere handful of juncos has been feeding on the ground in the sunny patch. Apart from those, we've seen a pair of varied thrushes, a sparrow or two, and one little wren that comes occasionally to use my birdbath.

I set out a suet cake on top of a winter-bare planter, hoping to attract more birds, and possibly to help them over the freezing days. One junco came, almost daily. Last week he brought a partner for a few minutes.

No-one else was interested.

Until today; the juncos have gone, but a squirrel followed his nose to the planter, and I found him chowing down with gusto.

"This is yummy! And wasted on silly birds!"

Showing his teeth.

In other years, the squirrels and I were at loggerheads; they kept trying to steal the suet, and I kept chasing them off; that was bird food!

That was then. This little guy is welcome to finish up the whole cake. I don't think the junco will mind.

Hard water, fluffy water

And cold feet

(I've been sorting files all evening and night. This one from a few years ago turned up, and seemed very appropriate for today; our first snowfall of the year.)

Spectral chickadee

I've been trying to get photos of towhees -- too timid -- and juncos -- too jumpy --, with not much luck. They don't mind the BirdCam's flashes, but mostly the photos show a place where there was a junco a second before.

But I had to laugh at this one.

Junco and the ghost of a chickadee in the rain. The junco seems a tad perturbed.

I don't know how the camera caught half a transparent chickadee, rather than a flying one.

One junco sort of in focus. Another few thousand photos, and I might get a good shot, maybe.