When you poke sea anemones they close up… and maybe squirt you.
Black oystercatchers are rather skittish.
And you can never outgrow tidepooling.
January 22, 2009
a covey of quail, a flock of bushtit, a pod of orca, a confusion of warblers. (and a party of jays)
California quail are chubby and I like imitating their calls.
When you poke sea anemones they close up… and maybe squirt you.
Black oystercatchers are rather skittish.
And you can never outgrow tidepooling.
When you poke sea anemones they close up… and maybe squirt you.
Black oystercatchers are rather skittish.
And you can never outgrow tidepooling.
January 13, 2009
An (11) hour tour
So besides banding at Palomarin, penguin research in Antarctica, shrubsteppe work all over the Great Basin and points East, among other places, PRBO has field biologists stationed on the South East Farallon Island. Depending on the season you can find those biologists gathering data on elephant seals, migratory birds, resident burrowing owls, nesting gulls, and even watching for great white shark attacks from the top of “the rock” that is the island. The Farallon Islands are a national wildlife refuge that are incredibly rough. The only way to get onto SE Farallon (or SEFI) is by a safe boat (basically a zodiac) with cables that attach to a crane permanently fixed to the rocks overlooking a small inlet.
Nora and I had the opportunity to make the “food run” out to the biologists on SEFI this past weekend. We drove to the Petaluma PRBO headquarters on Friday, picked up our 2 page, single spaced, doubled sided shopping list, then headed for the nearest Safeway. We were shopping for the four people out living on the island. We were picking up 2-3 weeks worth of food for them. (It’s longer if the weather is so bad that the next re-supply boat is delayed.) By the end of the approximately 3 hours that we were in there we had 4 full shopping carts, and spent 911 dollars at the checkout. I do have a bone to pick with Dane Cook though. It is not true that if you leave your cart unattended it will be left alone. There was no way Nora and I could get around the store efficiently with 4 carts, so we left two, out of the way, and continued on with our shopping, to come back to them later. When we had crossed off everything on our list we made our way back to the left carts… only to find them missing. Some scrambling around ensued, and we soon found out that the Safeway employees had started replacing our perishables back on the shelves… mainly all the produce we had picked up (10 avocados, 7 heads of lettuce, a bag of brussel sprouts, 6 eggplants, 10 portabella mushrooms, 5 red beets, 2 heads of kale, 1 of chard, 6 zucchini, blueberries, grapes, clementines, 18 pounds of various kinds of onions, etc.) So we re-grouped, thanked the fact that we’re used to proofing lists of data, and began re-collecting what we had lost. When we had it all, we made our way to the checkout, I called off the items as I placed them on the belt, and Nora checked the list. We were the celebrities of the store. Everyone stared and the Safeway employees thought we were hilarious.
We drove back to HQs and removed everthing from the bags, and tetris-style packed them in 5 crates for the trip the next day.
After all that we were tired. And hungry. So we took the extra cash I had made for the Visitors Eye View chore, and went out to get some Mexican food.
The next morning we woke up, loaded up the truck, and drove to Sausalito, where we would be sailing out of. We met up with our skipper, Jeff, and loaded up the boat, “True North,” a 42 foot sailboat. We were underway at 1020 and passing under the Golden Gate at about 1100 hours.
Our crew was very competent. Alan, Steve, and Andrew did whatever it is that sailors do (I sure didn’t understand all the lingo, although, by the end of the trip I was beginning to pick things up.) The way they were talking about who was who in their sailing world, talking about races they had done, and speculating on the next international trips they would make, I felt like I was surrounded by a group of climbers. The enthusiasm was the same, just the vocabulary was different. There was no seasickness with the wind at our backs, and we saw about 8 grey whales and countless dolphins. We arrived at SEFI at 1500 hours according to plan, and began the process of getting onshore.
See the island in the distance? Getting closer…
When we got near enough we contacted the island via radio, and they informed us that they already had a safe boat in the water. We tied the “True North” to a large buoy, and then loaded all the supplies that we had brought out on the sailboat onto the safe boat. Derek, the PRBO biologist piloting the safe boat, would come back for passengers after the supply load.
Nora and I jumped on the first passenger run, and after being lifted by the crane out of the water, and carefully placed on the island, we hopped off the boat. Or, in my case, got my boot heel stuck in the last metal ladder rung, and fell onto the island. (Oops.)
We got the 25 cent tour of the island, which took only about 30 minutes total. (It’s a small island.)
We saw elephant seals on the rocks, including a few massive males. Saw an inlet completely covered in groaning and barking sea lions. Walked among hundreds of Western Gulls. Spotted one of the resident burrowing owls hanging in the shade of a rock positioned above his/ her burrow. Peered over cliff edges at hundreds of Common Murres, and laughed at the Black Phoebe we saw. (They’re everywhere Nora goes.) We made the short hike up to the lighthouse on top of the island and surveyed the landscape. It was golden in the late afternoon sun.
Our time on the island was short lived. We had a long trip ahead of us and the sun was soon setting. Back onto the safe boat and lowered by the crane into the water. We untied from the buoy, and made the circle around the western side of the island as the sun sank into the Pacific and the full moon rose in the East. A few sea lions put on a show for us, porpoising out of the waves, silhouetted by the sun, while groups of birds made their way to the island for the night.
We sailed into the night, headed towards the moon which lit up the sky like a headlight.
Along the way we scared up whole flocks of Common Murre, Cormorant, a few Brown Pelican, and one Ancient Murrelet. We sailed back under the Golden Gate at 2100 hours, the whole San Francisco sky line lighting up the southern shore like blinking fireflies. We docked at 2130, unloaded the “True North,” bid the sailors adieu, loaded up the truck, and drove back to HQs. Unloaded the truck, jumped into Carlos, Nora’s car, and drove back to Palo. We arrived at 2430. And I was up at 0600 the next morning to band at Pine Gulch…
Nora and I both agreed that the hours spent in the grocery store, the less than ideal nights sleep on a couch in the office, the hours on the boat (really not bad at all), and the exhaustion the next day, were well worth the awesome experience.
Nora and I had the opportunity to make the “food run” out to the biologists on SEFI this past weekend. We drove to the Petaluma PRBO headquarters on Friday, picked up our 2 page, single spaced, doubled sided shopping list, then headed for the nearest Safeway. We were shopping for the four people out living on the island. We were picking up 2-3 weeks worth of food for them. (It’s longer if the weather is so bad that the next re-supply boat is delayed.) By the end of the approximately 3 hours that we were in there we had 4 full shopping carts, and spent 911 dollars at the checkout. I do have a bone to pick with Dane Cook though. It is not true that if you leave your cart unattended it will be left alone. There was no way Nora and I could get around the store efficiently with 4 carts, so we left two, out of the way, and continued on with our shopping, to come back to them later. When we had crossed off everything on our list we made our way back to the left carts… only to find them missing. Some scrambling around ensued, and we soon found out that the Safeway employees had started replacing our perishables back on the shelves… mainly all the produce we had picked up (10 avocados, 7 heads of lettuce, a bag of brussel sprouts, 6 eggplants, 10 portabella mushrooms, 5 red beets, 2 heads of kale, 1 of chard, 6 zucchini, blueberries, grapes, clementines, 18 pounds of various kinds of onions, etc.) So we re-grouped, thanked the fact that we’re used to proofing lists of data, and began re-collecting what we had lost. When we had it all, we made our way to the checkout, I called off the items as I placed them on the belt, and Nora checked the list. We were the celebrities of the store. Everyone stared and the Safeway employees thought we were hilarious.
We drove back to HQs and removed everthing from the bags, and tetris-style packed them in 5 crates for the trip the next day.
After all that we were tired. And hungry. So we took the extra cash I had made for the Visitors Eye View chore, and went out to get some Mexican food.
The next morning we woke up, loaded up the truck, and drove to Sausalito, where we would be sailing out of. We met up with our skipper, Jeff, and loaded up the boat, “True North,” a 42 foot sailboat. We were underway at 1020 and passing under the Golden Gate at about 1100 hours.
Our crew was very competent. Alan, Steve, and Andrew did whatever it is that sailors do (I sure didn’t understand all the lingo, although, by the end of the trip I was beginning to pick things up.) The way they were talking about who was who in their sailing world, talking about races they had done, and speculating on the next international trips they would make, I felt like I was surrounded by a group of climbers. The enthusiasm was the same, just the vocabulary was different. There was no seasickness with the wind at our backs, and we saw about 8 grey whales and countless dolphins. We arrived at SEFI at 1500 hours according to plan, and began the process of getting onshore.
See the island in the distance? Getting closer…
When we got near enough we contacted the island via radio, and they informed us that they already had a safe boat in the water. We tied the “True North” to a large buoy, and then loaded all the supplies that we had brought out on the sailboat onto the safe boat. Derek, the PRBO biologist piloting the safe boat, would come back for passengers after the supply load.
Nora and I jumped on the first passenger run, and after being lifted by the crane out of the water, and carefully placed on the island, we hopped off the boat. Or, in my case, got my boot heel stuck in the last metal ladder rung, and fell onto the island. (Oops.)
We got the 25 cent tour of the island, which took only about 30 minutes total. (It’s a small island.)
We saw elephant seals on the rocks, including a few massive males. Saw an inlet completely covered in groaning and barking sea lions. Walked among hundreds of Western Gulls. Spotted one of the resident burrowing owls hanging in the shade of a rock positioned above his/ her burrow. Peered over cliff edges at hundreds of Common Murres, and laughed at the Black Phoebe we saw. (They’re everywhere Nora goes.) We made the short hike up to the lighthouse on top of the island and surveyed the landscape. It was golden in the late afternoon sun.
Our time on the island was short lived. We had a long trip ahead of us and the sun was soon setting. Back onto the safe boat and lowered by the crane into the water. We untied from the buoy, and made the circle around the western side of the island as the sun sank into the Pacific and the full moon rose in the East. A few sea lions put on a show for us, porpoising out of the waves, silhouetted by the sun, while groups of birds made their way to the island for the night.
We sailed into the night, headed towards the moon which lit up the sky like a headlight.
Along the way we scared up whole flocks of Common Murre, Cormorant, a few Brown Pelican, and one Ancient Murrelet. We sailed back under the Golden Gate at 2100 hours, the whole San Francisco sky line lighting up the southern shore like blinking fireflies. We docked at 2130, unloaded the “True North,” bid the sailors adieu, loaded up the truck, and drove back to HQs. Unloaded the truck, jumped into Carlos, Nora’s car, and drove back to Palo. We arrived at 2430. And I was up at 0600 the next morning to band at Pine Gulch…
Nora and I both agreed that the hours spent in the grocery store, the less than ideal nights sleep on a couch in the office, the hours on the boat (really not bad at all), and the exhaustion the next day, were well worth the awesome experience.
January 01, 2009
So this is the new year
On the evening of the 28th all the current winter banding interns, plus Kathleen, the fall education and outreach intern, got together to make gingerbread houses. I was housesitting over the holidays, so we had a great set up for spreading out and enjoying ourselves. We made the batter, let it chill, ate an excellent meal, and then came back to bake and construct our houses. I’d say that the results were satisfactory… and even better than we were all expecting. There was definitely something in that frosting mixture. It worked like tacky glue. I kept the recipe for future construction projects.
This is the view in the morning from where we band birds at Pine Gulch. Pine Gulch is a Bolinas town park that sits on the lagoon.
While there this past week I extracted and processed an adult male Anna’s Hummingbird. Holding him in my hand took a little getting used to. He was only slightly thicker around than a cigar would be. And he squirmed. You can’t hold hummingbirds in the usual “bander’s grip” with two fingers around the neck because they’re too small. And they’ll flap their wings like mad. So instead, you hold them by placing a thumb over one wing, and a finger (or two) over the other. Getting one of those wings out to measure its length was another trick. This male was not happy with me. He was scolding me while I was processing him.
The last net run of the day at Pine Gulch I had no birds, until I got to the last net… where as I approached I saw three birds. Those three quickly multipled to 11 as a large group of birds foraging on the ground near the net suddenly spotted me approaching and took off. I watched as countless birds flew straight into the net. Some bounced out, but a large number were caught. I called Nora for backup to help get the birds out faster. We worked quickly extracting them, then carried them all back to the banding station…
About 8 of the birds were Oregon Juncos that had never been caught and banded before. A few were young White Crowned Sparrows, and two were Ruby-crowned Kinglets. We had our work cut out for us. It was a busy winter day at Pine Gulch. We processed 33 birds throughout the banding hours.
New Year’s Eve Colin and I banded at Palo… and had 5 times as many visitors as birds… Luckily the majority of the visitors seemed to show up when we had caught a bird and could show them what we do. (Besides just tossing a knotted up bird bag into a mist net to demonstrate how they work.)
New Year’s Eve at night we celebrated the birds’ “birthdays.” From now on there will be no more birds classified as “Hatch Years” when we age them… At least until the breeding season is underway and there are new fledglings. We made wishes and blew out candles on our cupcakes. We also had a ping pong tournament in the library… and Nora kicked all our butts.
At midnight we went for a dip in the Pacific. It was cold. But it was so worth it…
I enjoyed the water and waves so much I went back for more in my rubber boots shortly after putting some warm clothes back on.
December 26, 2008
Blue Jay Way
We have finally caught (and not just had it momentarily stuck in the net) a Jay. A Western Scrub Jay.
I was banding with Colin at one of our "offsites," Muddy Hollow, sometime last week, when we caught it. I was the lucky one to be on the net run that discovered the bird in the net. We don't catch them very often, even though there's lots around due to them being too smart, and the fact that the nets we use are more like a hammock to them, than something they get tangled in. This bird had it's feet wrapped up pretty well though, which took some doing on my part to get it to let go. Definitely much bigger in the hand than a Florida Scrub Jay. I can't imagine how much bigger the Island Scrub Jays are going to be that I'll be handling in April. Catching that Scrub Jay at Muddy Hollow made up for the kind of crappy morning it had been shaping up to be... a tangled net and snapped rope made opening less than a smooth operation. And the rain that would start, soak us, then stop just as we were about to close nets, was also an annoyance. After the Jay it was all better. And it stopped raining.
But when it does rain, it pours so they say. The next day banding at Palo I went on a net run that turned out to be rather ridiculous. 9 birds in one run... which is a lot for the winter. And two of those birds were Stellar's Jays. I banded and processed them both, (after taking care of the numerous little birds that should be processed first... the bigger birds can handle being captured for longer). I still have little scrapes on my right hand where the Jays liked to grab onto my thumb, or any fingers within their grasp, while I took a look at them. When I released them out behind the banding lab they each yelled at me as they flew off. There was a Stellar's Jay the next day who was hanging around the banding lab who would yell at me every time I stepped out for a net run. I wouldn't be surprised if it was one of the two I banded the day before. I've known Jays to remember individuals.
On a topic other than my obsession with Corvids... I went for a short hike today in Samuel P. Taylor state park to see some Redwoods. It was very peaceful in the trees. I could hear a creek running down below, and flushed up 4 Varied Thrush along the way. (They were interested, but not convinced by my imitation of their call...) Where the sun could actually work its way through the dense trees you could see long strands of spider webs, lit up like filaments of gold from branch to branch. The trees were pretty much all second growth Redwoods, so none as big as what I'd see if I actually went to the Redwood National Park or Forest, or whatever, but there was one big one. It was called "the pioneer tree." (Which explains why the trail was the Pioneer Tree Trail. Which I failed to realize until I got to said tree.) The Pioneer Tree had a nice little sign in front of it talking about how old it probably was, etc... and at the end it said "go on in and check it out." Which took me by surprise. The tree had been hollowed out at the bottom by fire, so there was a huge cave you could walk right into. I of course checked it out. It felt a bit creepy at first. It was awfully dark in there. But once my eyes adjusted it was interesting to see the patterns in the wood, and how the tree had healed itself from its fire wounds. (Redwoods can do that apparently.)
Tomorrow is back to banding at Palo after a short Christmas break.
Here's a nice view of the Farallon Islands seen from a bike ride back from Bolinas one evening...
I was banding with Colin at one of our "offsites," Muddy Hollow, sometime last week, when we caught it. I was the lucky one to be on the net run that discovered the bird in the net. We don't catch them very often, even though there's lots around due to them being too smart, and the fact that the nets we use are more like a hammock to them, than something they get tangled in. This bird had it's feet wrapped up pretty well though, which took some doing on my part to get it to let go. Definitely much bigger in the hand than a Florida Scrub Jay. I can't imagine how much bigger the Island Scrub Jays are going to be that I'll be handling in April. Catching that Scrub Jay at Muddy Hollow made up for the kind of crappy morning it had been shaping up to be... a tangled net and snapped rope made opening less than a smooth operation. And the rain that would start, soak us, then stop just as we were about to close nets, was also an annoyance. After the Jay it was all better. And it stopped raining.
But when it does rain, it pours so they say. The next day banding at Palo I went on a net run that turned out to be rather ridiculous. 9 birds in one run... which is a lot for the winter. And two of those birds were Stellar's Jays. I banded and processed them both, (after taking care of the numerous little birds that should be processed first... the bigger birds can handle being captured for longer). I still have little scrapes on my right hand where the Jays liked to grab onto my thumb, or any fingers within their grasp, while I took a look at them. When I released them out behind the banding lab they each yelled at me as they flew off. There was a Stellar's Jay the next day who was hanging around the banding lab who would yell at me every time I stepped out for a net run. I wouldn't be surprised if it was one of the two I banded the day before. I've known Jays to remember individuals.
On a topic other than my obsession with Corvids... I went for a short hike today in Samuel P. Taylor state park to see some Redwoods. It was very peaceful in the trees. I could hear a creek running down below, and flushed up 4 Varied Thrush along the way. (They were interested, but not convinced by my imitation of their call...) Where the sun could actually work its way through the dense trees you could see long strands of spider webs, lit up like filaments of gold from branch to branch. The trees were pretty much all second growth Redwoods, so none as big as what I'd see if I actually went to the Redwood National Park or Forest, or whatever, but there was one big one. It was called "the pioneer tree." (Which explains why the trail was the Pioneer Tree Trail. Which I failed to realize until I got to said tree.) The Pioneer Tree had a nice little sign in front of it talking about how old it probably was, etc... and at the end it said "go on in and check it out." Which took me by surprise. The tree had been hollowed out at the bottom by fire, so there was a huge cave you could walk right into. I of course checked it out. It felt a bit creepy at first. It was awfully dark in there. But once my eyes adjusted it was interesting to see the patterns in the wood, and how the tree had healed itself from its fire wounds. (Redwoods can do that apparently.)
Tomorrow is back to banding at Palo after a short Christmas break.
Here's a nice view of the Farallon Islands seen from a bike ride back from Bolinas one evening...
December 17, 2008
A Day in the Life, and the Wintern Wrens
0640- My cell phone begins chiming. I groggily reach out from under the warm covers, grab the phone, hit snooze, glance at the time, and curl up back under the covers with the phone under the pillow.
0645- The phone begins chiming again. I can hear Nora’s phone now ringing and vibrating across the room. Stretch. Sigh. Roll out of bed, stumble over to where my favorite hoodie is hanging, pull over head, push hair out of face, slide slippers on, shuffle to the kitchen. Turn on the lights and blink until my eyes have adjusted to the sudden change. Shuffle to the fridge, contemplate what I want to eat while staring inside. (This morning it was a piece of pumpkin pie that I made the night before… It’s good breakfast food… has pumpkin, honey, yogurt and almond in it, and most importantly, tastes good.) Nora wanders in, probably hits a limb on some random corner of a counter or table, moans/ laughs. Not much is said while breakfast is being eaten (This is how I best function, like some people need their coffee, I need some food in my belly.) Step out of the kitchen, into the bathroom, brush teeth, etc. Back into the room to put on some clothes, socks and shoes. Grab my binoculars and camera, head up to the library. Dump my stuff on the table, change the message on the hotline (“Today is Wednesday, December seventeenth, and the Palomarin nets are open.”) Start filling out the weather for net opening (temp., wind speed and direction, barometer). Walk outside to a good vantage point and estimate cloud cover, type and visibility. Admire the pink underbellies of the clouds if it’s a nice day. Glance with apprehension at the gray blanket if it’s an iffy weather day. Walk back into the library, finish writing the weather in. Meet up with Nora in the banding lab, who is removing all the tools we’ll need for the day from the drawers behind the counter. While she places all the bands on their respective size pegs I pull out the banding laptop and boot it up. Nora organizes the banding pliers and rulers while I plug in the scale. Erase the previous banding day’s data from the white board behind us. Decide what our “Most wanted” bird for the day will be. (Today it was White-crowned Sparrow. It can’t always be Western Scrub Jay…)
0735- Step out of the banding lab, radios in pockets, bird bags hanging from our belt loops, binoculars slung over our shoulders, open the nets. All 20 nets in 14 locations over the 3/8th mile long net trail, which winds around, up and down, a section of the Palomarin property.
0755- finish opening the nets, decide who’s going to go on the first few “net runs” to check for birds, and who will conduct the “area search.” Nora takes the first few net runs, I head back to the banding lab to pick up a clipboard and blank area search form. Head back out to the net trail, check my watch and record the time. I now have 30 minutes to bird the net trail. First bird of the morning… a screaming Stellar’s Jay. A Western Scrub Jay yells back. A Wrentit scolds from the Coyote Brush as I tiptoe past. Two Anna’s Hummingbirds scream by overhead, one chasing the other, all while yelling its little head off. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 Bushtits chipping and flitting from one section of Scrub to another. A Song Sparrow barks at me. A few Ruby-crowned Kinglets type away on their typewriters. I continue on and a Red Shafted Flicker pops up from the ground, flies to the nearest Douglass Fir, then takes off, heading further away. A gang of Chestnut-backed Chickadees is foraging overhead, chatting all the while. A Red-breasted Nuthatch pipes up. Another replies. Then another. Pretty soon they’re all whining their “yank yank yank yanks” at each other, nearly in unison. A Hutton’s Vireo wheezes. I hear some scratching on the ground, move to a better vantage point, spot a group of Fox Sparrows all scratching in the dirt together, leaves are flying. A Robin laughs in the forest above me. A few Oregon Juncos call to each other from in the branches as well. A funny wheezy, whirry call… a Varied Thrush. I hope we catch it. The characteristic chipping of Warblers… but which ones? I stalk the sounds, and find a group of 4 Townsends Warblers all bouncing from branch to branch together. Golden-crowned Kinglets overhead. Sharp calls point my binoculars in the direction of the Winter Wren that I see nearly every Palo banding day in his usual spot. Emerging from the forest, back into the scrub I startle 3 Golden-crowned Sparrows foraging in the trail. A Common Raven calls overhead. I check my watch, only a few more minutes. Make a few more tallies, head back to the banding lab. Check out the awesome Varied Thrush that stumbled into one of our nets that Nora is processing. Check the time. Time for a net run.
0905- Net run #1 of many for the day. (Between the two of us we will walk the net trail once every half hour from 15 minutes after sunrise, until 6 hours later.) No birds this run…
1035- I’m on a net run. I come up a little rise and see net 8.4. There’s something big in it. Bigger than what we usually catch. My heart skips when I realize it’s a raptor of some sort. A Sharp-shinned Hawk. I dash up to the net and pinch two trammels together, trapping the bird, before it can flap its way out. He’s not tangled at all… too big for the holes in the net. He’s just a little confused, on his back, in a pocket. I cautiously open the trammels. The Sharpie eyes me. I toss in a cloth bag. He latches onto it with his talons. I cautiously reach into the net and place another bag over the Sharpie’s head. (Helps them remain calm.) I carefully reach in, grasp the hawk around the upper legs and lower body, pinning his wings to his side, lift him out of the net, and head back to the banding lab. Nora and I work together to process the bird, Part Two of the Pyle Guide is our bible. It looks like an after hatch year male. Plumage and wing measurement confirm this. When done we take a few pictures, then I head over away from the nearest net, which has trapped a Hermit Thrush while we were working, and throw the Sharpie into the wind. It doesn’t take long for him to realize he’s free, and he wheels away in a long arc, headed back up the hill, towards the forest again. No doubt to stalk the small songbirds that he likes to eat. Nora hands me the Hermit Thrush to process and heads off to finish the next net run.
1335- The end of the banding day. Nora and I head out together to do one last check on the nets, and when empty, furl them up, and tie them off until another morning. Today was a beautiful day we agree as we furl net 1.4 and look out on the Pacific Ocean and the Farralon Islands on the horizon. We finish entering our banding data for the day, check out our “recap report” (Look at past records of birds already banded we caught that day.) Then we proof our data and make any needed corrections.
1445- Lunch! Change into more comfortable shoes, if it wasn’t warm enough for me to be wearing sandals all day... (note: I wear sandals when most would think is inappropriate, so before you make comments about it must be so warm... it's not really. I just like a breeze for my toes.)
Relax. Band practice tonight. Colin on guitar, Nora on Penny Whistle, and of course, myself on the flute. “The Wintern Wrens.”
0645- The phone begins chiming again. I can hear Nora’s phone now ringing and vibrating across the room. Stretch. Sigh. Roll out of bed, stumble over to where my favorite hoodie is hanging, pull over head, push hair out of face, slide slippers on, shuffle to the kitchen. Turn on the lights and blink until my eyes have adjusted to the sudden change. Shuffle to the fridge, contemplate what I want to eat while staring inside. (This morning it was a piece of pumpkin pie that I made the night before… It’s good breakfast food… has pumpkin, honey, yogurt and almond in it, and most importantly, tastes good.) Nora wanders in, probably hits a limb on some random corner of a counter or table, moans/ laughs. Not much is said while breakfast is being eaten (This is how I best function, like some people need their coffee, I need some food in my belly.) Step out of the kitchen, into the bathroom, brush teeth, etc. Back into the room to put on some clothes, socks and shoes. Grab my binoculars and camera, head up to the library. Dump my stuff on the table, change the message on the hotline (“Today is Wednesday, December seventeenth, and the Palomarin nets are open.”) Start filling out the weather for net opening (temp., wind speed and direction, barometer). Walk outside to a good vantage point and estimate cloud cover, type and visibility. Admire the pink underbellies of the clouds if it’s a nice day. Glance with apprehension at the gray blanket if it’s an iffy weather day. Walk back into the library, finish writing the weather in. Meet up with Nora in the banding lab, who is removing all the tools we’ll need for the day from the drawers behind the counter. While she places all the bands on their respective size pegs I pull out the banding laptop and boot it up. Nora organizes the banding pliers and rulers while I plug in the scale. Erase the previous banding day’s data from the white board behind us. Decide what our “Most wanted” bird for the day will be. (Today it was White-crowned Sparrow. It can’t always be Western Scrub Jay…)
0735- Step out of the banding lab, radios in pockets, bird bags hanging from our belt loops, binoculars slung over our shoulders, open the nets. All 20 nets in 14 locations over the 3/8th mile long net trail, which winds around, up and down, a section of the Palomarin property.
0755- finish opening the nets, decide who’s going to go on the first few “net runs” to check for birds, and who will conduct the “area search.” Nora takes the first few net runs, I head back to the banding lab to pick up a clipboard and blank area search form. Head back out to the net trail, check my watch and record the time. I now have 30 minutes to bird the net trail. First bird of the morning… a screaming Stellar’s Jay. A Western Scrub Jay yells back. A Wrentit scolds from the Coyote Brush as I tiptoe past. Two Anna’s Hummingbirds scream by overhead, one chasing the other, all while yelling its little head off. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 Bushtits chipping and flitting from one section of Scrub to another. A Song Sparrow barks at me. A few Ruby-crowned Kinglets type away on their typewriters. I continue on and a Red Shafted Flicker pops up from the ground, flies to the nearest Douglass Fir, then takes off, heading further away. A gang of Chestnut-backed Chickadees is foraging overhead, chatting all the while. A Red-breasted Nuthatch pipes up. Another replies. Then another. Pretty soon they’re all whining their “yank yank yank yanks” at each other, nearly in unison. A Hutton’s Vireo wheezes. I hear some scratching on the ground, move to a better vantage point, spot a group of Fox Sparrows all scratching in the dirt together, leaves are flying. A Robin laughs in the forest above me. A few Oregon Juncos call to each other from in the branches as well. A funny wheezy, whirry call… a Varied Thrush. I hope we catch it. The characteristic chipping of Warblers… but which ones? I stalk the sounds, and find a group of 4 Townsends Warblers all bouncing from branch to branch together. Golden-crowned Kinglets overhead. Sharp calls point my binoculars in the direction of the Winter Wren that I see nearly every Palo banding day in his usual spot. Emerging from the forest, back into the scrub I startle 3 Golden-crowned Sparrows foraging in the trail. A Common Raven calls overhead. I check my watch, only a few more minutes. Make a few more tallies, head back to the banding lab. Check out the awesome Varied Thrush that stumbled into one of our nets that Nora is processing. Check the time. Time for a net run.
0905- Net run #1 of many for the day. (Between the two of us we will walk the net trail once every half hour from 15 minutes after sunrise, until 6 hours later.) No birds this run…
1035- I’m on a net run. I come up a little rise and see net 8.4. There’s something big in it. Bigger than what we usually catch. My heart skips when I realize it’s a raptor of some sort. A Sharp-shinned Hawk. I dash up to the net and pinch two trammels together, trapping the bird, before it can flap its way out. He’s not tangled at all… too big for the holes in the net. He’s just a little confused, on his back, in a pocket. I cautiously open the trammels. The Sharpie eyes me. I toss in a cloth bag. He latches onto it with his talons. I cautiously reach into the net and place another bag over the Sharpie’s head. (Helps them remain calm.) I carefully reach in, grasp the hawk around the upper legs and lower body, pinning his wings to his side, lift him out of the net, and head back to the banding lab. Nora and I work together to process the bird, Part Two of the Pyle Guide is our bible. It looks like an after hatch year male. Plumage and wing measurement confirm this. When done we take a few pictures, then I head over away from the nearest net, which has trapped a Hermit Thrush while we were working, and throw the Sharpie into the wind. It doesn’t take long for him to realize he’s free, and he wheels away in a long arc, headed back up the hill, towards the forest again. No doubt to stalk the small songbirds that he likes to eat. Nora hands me the Hermit Thrush to process and heads off to finish the next net run.
1335- The end of the banding day. Nora and I head out together to do one last check on the nets, and when empty, furl them up, and tie them off until another morning. Today was a beautiful day we agree as we furl net 1.4 and look out on the Pacific Ocean and the Farralon Islands on the horizon. We finish entering our banding data for the day, check out our “recap report” (Look at past records of birds already banded we caught that day.) Then we proof our data and make any needed corrections.
1445- Lunch! Change into more comfortable shoes, if it wasn’t warm enough for me to be wearing sandals all day... (note: I wear sandals when most would think is inappropriate, so before you make comments about it must be so warm... it's not really. I just like a breeze for my toes.)
Relax. Band practice tonight. Colin on guitar, Nora on Penny Whistle, and of course, myself on the flute. “The Wintern Wrens.”
December 12, 2008
The point of the kings
Another week has passed at Palomarin. All the winterns are present and accounted for. I am mostly up and running on my own. (Most exciting bird of the day, and most likely week, was the Wilson’s Warbler I extracted and banded today.) Banding is going full swing. The Scrub Jay total is one in the net. Who escaped while the net was being lowered so the bander on the net run could extract them. (and he/ she hadn't been banded yet either. Sly devils.) I’ve watched a group of them hanging out by a net, squawking to each other. Flying almost straight for the top section, then cutting up at the last second and dipping back down again on the other side. They’re too smart.
Last week all the winterns had a day off together. So we decided to head to the actual point of Point Reyes and visit the lighthouse out there (as well as bird and look for migrating whales.) It was a success on all fronts.
I especially enjoyed the Surf Scoters and Brandt’s Cormorants. The Scoters were flying South in huge flocks, headed I don’t know where, and the Cormorants were mostly hanging out in huge gangs, out on rocks out in the surf. It’s entertaining to watch them make their awkward arrivals on the rock hangouts. They’ll paddle up to the base of a rock, on a calm side, to avoid the swirling currents and clashing waves. Then they’ll lift their heads up, peering in the direction that they’re about to jump in… then its go time. They flap up out of the water, plant their short little legs on the rock, (hopefully gaining purchase,) and thrust their necks and heads forward for a counterbalance. Most of the time they don’t quite land in the best position, and much flapping and hopping is necessary to finish the task and join the crew already drying their wings at the hangout. I watched as a few Cormorants that tried to join the crew from the air awkwardly landed on top of the group, and received a few well placed bites and pokes in return.
The lighthouse at the point was in operation from about 1870 to 1975 when it was decommissioned.
The original lens is still there, and was being used up to the decommissioning. It was made in Paris in the 1860s. The lens that is in the Point Reyes lighthouse is the largest size that the French company made.
The lights were fueled by lard oil, kerosene, and electricity alternately through the years. The rotation of the lens was managed through a system of gears, turned by a counterweight that the lighthouse attendant had to crank up every so often. Colin was very excited.
And we saw migrating whales! (Well, Colin and I did… Nora is kind of bitter about it, I’ll try not to rub it in too much.) They were way out nearly on the horizon. We only spotted them by their spouts… and that was with binoculars. Apparently peak migration is in about a month, so we’re planning on heading back. We’ve been told they’ll be much closer in then.
We also planned our visit to the historic “lifeboat station” (where rescues used to be launched until about the 1930s) perfectly. While birding there, and hoping to spot some seals, 2 trucks pulled up with 2 dog crates in the back of each of them. With license plates reading things like “pinniped” I knew we were about to see something out of the ordinary. Sure enough, the cargo in the dog crates were four young Northern Fur Seals that had washed up malnourished, and were now being released. One was very vocal while being carried to the boat ramp where he would be set free. All four were slapping their front flippers against the front of their crates, ready to go. When the doors were opened they were gone in a matter of seconds. I was lucky to get one picture before they disappeared into the surf, frolicking and porpoising in the waves.
We also saw one elephant seal… a young lone male, lounging in the sun on this beach, enjoying a flipper powered sand shower.(He's just a bit early for the breeding season.)
For scale, try and find the two people… (hint: one’s wearing a red coat.)
Last week all the winterns had a day off together. So we decided to head to the actual point of Point Reyes and visit the lighthouse out there (as well as bird and look for migrating whales.) It was a success on all fronts.
I especially enjoyed the Surf Scoters and Brandt’s Cormorants. The Scoters were flying South in huge flocks, headed I don’t know where, and the Cormorants were mostly hanging out in huge gangs, out on rocks out in the surf. It’s entertaining to watch them make their awkward arrivals on the rock hangouts. They’ll paddle up to the base of a rock, on a calm side, to avoid the swirling currents and clashing waves. Then they’ll lift their heads up, peering in the direction that they’re about to jump in… then its go time. They flap up out of the water, plant their short little legs on the rock, (hopefully gaining purchase,) and thrust their necks and heads forward for a counterbalance. Most of the time they don’t quite land in the best position, and much flapping and hopping is necessary to finish the task and join the crew already drying their wings at the hangout. I watched as a few Cormorants that tried to join the crew from the air awkwardly landed on top of the group, and received a few well placed bites and pokes in return.
The lighthouse at the point was in operation from about 1870 to 1975 when it was decommissioned.
The original lens is still there, and was being used up to the decommissioning. It was made in Paris in the 1860s. The lens that is in the Point Reyes lighthouse is the largest size that the French company made.
The lights were fueled by lard oil, kerosene, and electricity alternately through the years. The rotation of the lens was managed through a system of gears, turned by a counterweight that the lighthouse attendant had to crank up every so often. Colin was very excited.
And we saw migrating whales! (Well, Colin and I did… Nora is kind of bitter about it, I’ll try not to rub it in too much.) They were way out nearly on the horizon. We only spotted them by their spouts… and that was with binoculars. Apparently peak migration is in about a month, so we’re planning on heading back. We’ve been told they’ll be much closer in then.
We also planned our visit to the historic “lifeboat station” (where rescues used to be launched until about the 1930s) perfectly. While birding there, and hoping to spot some seals, 2 trucks pulled up with 2 dog crates in the back of each of them. With license plates reading things like “pinniped” I knew we were about to see something out of the ordinary. Sure enough, the cargo in the dog crates were four young Northern Fur Seals that had washed up malnourished, and were now being released. One was very vocal while being carried to the boat ramp where he would be set free. All four were slapping their front flippers against the front of their crates, ready to go. When the doors were opened they were gone in a matter of seconds. I was lucky to get one picture before they disappeared into the surf, frolicking and porpoising in the waves.
We also saw one elephant seal… a young lone male, lounging in the sun on this beach, enjoying a flipper powered sand shower.(He's just a bit early for the breeding season.)
For scale, try and find the two people… (hint: one’s wearing a red coat.)
December 05, 2008
Life in the 415
Life at Palo is good. Being here two weeks I’ve already learned a lot… and have much more to learn. Actually banding the birds that we catch in the mist nets is really only one small facet of what are a bander’s duties. Every half hour we walk our net trails to check for captured birds. If/ when we find one we have to carefully extract it from the net, wing by wing, and coax the especially grabby ones to let go with their feet. We place the captured birds in a small cloth bag, and walk back to our banding station for the day. (They’re actually calmer, and safer, in the bag than if we were to walk around with them exposed.) If they’re already banded we record who we’ve caught, and if not we give them a nice lightweight aluminum bracelet to wear with their own 9 digit code. After that we try to determine the bird’s age and sex, look at feather condition, amount of fat, and weight among other measurements. Some birds we color band. Then we release the bird. If it’s a small bird, just releasing it from the bander’s grip over your palm, close to the ground is fine. If it’s a raptor… throw it into the wind. (Keep those talons as far away from you as possible.) Most of the birds we catch are small, like this Yellow Rumped Warbler.
But sometimes we catch larger birds. Like this juvenile Red Shouldered Hawk.
I have not “processed” a raptor yet, but I have released a Sharp Shinned Hawk. (Who was smaller than even the juvenile Red Shouldered.)
I’ve been hoping for a Western Scrub Jay in the nets, but so far they have eluded us. There is no shortage of them around the Palomarin field station. Lately the only time you see one is with an acorn in its mouth. Perched high on the top of the nearest tree, surveying the area for other jays, and either yelling at/ to them, or flying, beak full, with the characteristic flap like mad, tuck your wings, flap like mad, Jay flight pattern. Nora, one of my banding intern buddies, has been hoping to catch a Black Phoebe. Especially since at least one appears wherever she goes. (And I mean everywhere.)
Another duty of the bander is mending mist nets. Yesterday Nora and I attempted to mend nets in the backyard while Colin, another winter bander, worked with Renee banding. Just figuring out the diagram of how to tie the correct knot was hard enough. Doing it was another story. A good chunk of the time we’d end up tying slip knots by accident. Re-do. Then it got windy. And it was impossible to work out where the little square of net that you were attempting to knot into had just disappeared to. At that point we broke for lunch, I rode my bike to Bolinas to drop off a movie at the library, and then we re-grouped for some proofing of data from the previous month. (Another duty)
Today we banded at one of our “off sites” and I extracted and processed my first few birds alone, which was exciting. I also had a Winter Wren stuck down my shirt for about 10 minutes. He/ she was getting a little shaky, so it was back in the bag, and zipped loosely in my jacket while I processed another bird. By the time I was done with the second bird the WIWR was kicking and biting again. Success!
Biking around Bolinas is very scenic. You alternate riding along cliffs overlooking the Pacific and through stands of eucalyptus trees. A sea breeze, or the smell of fresh bark mulch and vick’s vapo rub combined (which, call me strange, I find rather pleasant.) The only downside to the ride are the hills. This is near San Francisco after all. Going downhill is tons of fun. Going up again… not as much.
I have found a place to get some bouldering in only 10 miles from the field station. Right on the beach. I’ve never had to plan my climbing around tides before. There’s a nice little traverse that I’ve found, and a V1 that could be a project. It feels a little strange pulling on the rocks on the beach. The texture of the dried salt on them is a whole new element. They almost feel slippery.
Here's Nora on the traverse, hanging out.
and some of the other boulders in the area.
I also went surfing for the very first time on Thanksgiving day with some scientists from the station. I was lent a board and a wetsuit, given about a 5 minute primer on how to stand up, read a wave, and proper surf etiquette, then ran after my teacher, Nat, into the waves and paddled out here… (the little black specks are surfers)
Having seen it firsthand now, I can imagine surfing being a scary thing if you haven’t had a lot of swimming experience. There was only once when I panicked a little bit after riding face first off my board into the water. I got tossed around a little, smacked on the head by the board, and couldn’t pop up until another wave had passed, but once I relaxed it was fine. I didn’t stand up in the 2 hours I was out there, but by the end I was getting the idea of what waves were good, and how to get into a good position to paddle into them. I caught a few waves, and rode them on my stomach. One of them I rode long enough for Nat, riding next to me, to yell at me “Stand up! Stand up! All the way!” At which point I jumped, but hesitated at the last moment, and only made it to my knees before I pitched over sideways with a yelp. I was immediately swallowed up by the wave. I popped up grinning a little while later, and paddled back out for another try.
But sometimes we catch larger birds. Like this juvenile Red Shouldered Hawk.
I have not “processed” a raptor yet, but I have released a Sharp Shinned Hawk. (Who was smaller than even the juvenile Red Shouldered.)
I’ve been hoping for a Western Scrub Jay in the nets, but so far they have eluded us. There is no shortage of them around the Palomarin field station. Lately the only time you see one is with an acorn in its mouth. Perched high on the top of the nearest tree, surveying the area for other jays, and either yelling at/ to them, or flying, beak full, with the characteristic flap like mad, tuck your wings, flap like mad, Jay flight pattern. Nora, one of my banding intern buddies, has been hoping to catch a Black Phoebe. Especially since at least one appears wherever she goes. (And I mean everywhere.)
Another duty of the bander is mending mist nets. Yesterday Nora and I attempted to mend nets in the backyard while Colin, another winter bander, worked with Renee banding. Just figuring out the diagram of how to tie the correct knot was hard enough. Doing it was another story. A good chunk of the time we’d end up tying slip knots by accident. Re-do. Then it got windy. And it was impossible to work out where the little square of net that you were attempting to knot into had just disappeared to. At that point we broke for lunch, I rode my bike to Bolinas to drop off a movie at the library, and then we re-grouped for some proofing of data from the previous month. (Another duty)
Today we banded at one of our “off sites” and I extracted and processed my first few birds alone, which was exciting. I also had a Winter Wren stuck down my shirt for about 10 minutes. He/ she was getting a little shaky, so it was back in the bag, and zipped loosely in my jacket while I processed another bird. By the time I was done with the second bird the WIWR was kicking and biting again. Success!
Biking around Bolinas is very scenic. You alternate riding along cliffs overlooking the Pacific and through stands of eucalyptus trees. A sea breeze, or the smell of fresh bark mulch and vick’s vapo rub combined (which, call me strange, I find rather pleasant.) The only downside to the ride are the hills. This is near San Francisco after all. Going downhill is tons of fun. Going up again… not as much.
I have found a place to get some bouldering in only 10 miles from the field station. Right on the beach. I’ve never had to plan my climbing around tides before. There’s a nice little traverse that I’ve found, and a V1 that could be a project. It feels a little strange pulling on the rocks on the beach. The texture of the dried salt on them is a whole new element. They almost feel slippery.
Here's Nora on the traverse, hanging out.
and some of the other boulders in the area.
I also went surfing for the very first time on Thanksgiving day with some scientists from the station. I was lent a board and a wetsuit, given about a 5 minute primer on how to stand up, read a wave, and proper surf etiquette, then ran after my teacher, Nat, into the waves and paddled out here… (the little black specks are surfers)
Having seen it firsthand now, I can imagine surfing being a scary thing if you haven’t had a lot of swimming experience. There was only once when I panicked a little bit after riding face first off my board into the water. I got tossed around a little, smacked on the head by the board, and couldn’t pop up until another wave had passed, but once I relaxed it was fine. I didn’t stand up in the 2 hours I was out there, but by the end I was getting the idea of what waves were good, and how to get into a good position to paddle into them. I caught a few waves, and rode them on my stomach. One of them I rode long enough for Nat, riding next to me, to yell at me “Stand up! Stand up! All the way!” At which point I jumped, but hesitated at the last moment, and only made it to my knees before I pitched over sideways with a yelp. I was immediately swallowed up by the wave. I popped up grinning a little while later, and paddled back out for another try.
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