Secret Agent Ornithologists

Picture this: You’re flying through the sky in a helicopter. Headset on. You pull up over a mountain ridge and into the warm orange glow of the rising sun over the Pacific Ocean and a coastal grassland below. The sun off of the water is almost blinding. You can feel the warmth fill up the open cockpit. You momentarily become lost in the moment, fixated on the scene in front of you. You regain enough composure to mutter something about how beautiful it is to the pilot. He agrees… then it’s back to business. GPS unit out. We’ve got some birds to count today. Skids on the ground, you hop out of the helicopter (or back out really, very carefully) and crouch down, trying not to be blown over as the chopper becomes airborne again and leaves you. The birds settle down, and the count begins. How many Island Scrub Jays will I see at this point today? When your time is up at the point, you pull out your radio… “Santa Cruz Chopper, this is Bird Watch Two… I’m ready for pick up.” The sound of helicopter blades beating through the air is soon in your ears. You crouch down and brace yourself for the wind again. With a nod from the pilot you’re safe to approach the chopper, place your bag inside, and carefully climb in. (If all of the skid isn’t on the ground, like when being picked up at a steep point, this carefully climbing in becomes even more important… don’t rock the boat…) Repeat until eleven o’clock.



A typical morning conversation does not include the phrase “Where is the helicopter???” Wondering where your lift in the morning is usually only applies to the fabulously rich, politically important, or your caffeinated beverage of choice. The ISSJ crew this spring (and past fall) out on Cruz has been lucky enough to be part of an island wide survey, attempting to get an idea of just how many Jays there are on the island. We’ve seen some pretty cool spots that not many others have seen before. If we tried to count all our points in typical point count, by foot, fashion, this project would take us an entire season. (or more) With the helicopter we can make quick work of it, blitzing the island in just over a week of flying mornings. We’ve discussed the advantages of having little personal helicopters for checking nests, and nest searching. It certainly would make things easier on a few sections of my plots (where otherwise you’re searching for an opening in the scrub, on a crumbly slope, in order to view the opposite slope, and hopefully spot your study Jays.) Of course, these personal choppers would be silent, in order to be stealth.



I could have used one of those choppers this afternoon, hiking out 20 minutes to a nest to check if the young had fledged. The hike (for the fourth day in a row) was worth it though. Today when I showed up I could see one of the nestlings perched on the edge of the nest... Looking back at me cautiously. I didn't want to get any closer for fear of encouraging the little guy to jump. From where I stood it looked like his 3 siblings had already made the leap at some point during the day. The Island Scrub Jay fledglings are huge. To put it in perspective, I'd say almost as big as a full grown Florida Scrub Jay, or at least the females or small males. (With stubby rectrices of course.) I'll have to go back tomorrow to do the final check on the nest, but things look good for Schwarzenegger... Arnie is such a good dad.

Life on Cruz

Any field job has its quirks. Being at a remote field location lends itself to even more quirks, (and usually epic stories.) While Sheldon certainly was remote, it's not as isolated as living here on Cruz. A half hour car ride (in low 4 wheel drive the whole way), followed by a 2 hour sprint (minus stops for marine mammals spotted on the way), gets you onto the mainland in Ventura, California. When living in remote field locations creativity is best for keeping oneself entertained. For example, today, after thumbing through my Sibley Guide to Western Birds, sitting on a cliff, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, Ben and I decided to drive back towards the field station. We made a pit stop at the orchard along the way. Picked some oranges and one very small avocado. Ate an orange. And then I got the brilliant idea that it would be immensely satisfying to throw a rotten orange at a tree across the road. And it was. All approximately 20 times I did it.

Today was my second trip to the orchard. I will never be able to eat an orange on "the mainland" again without comparing it to the sweetest oranges I have ever tasted, and that is, on Santa Cruz. (This is Anna with an excellent orange.)



Getting around on the island is also an adventure. As I mentioned before, the ride to Prisoner's Harbor, where we Island Jay stalkers land and leave on the island from, is a half hour ride in low 4. All the trucks on Cruz are geared in low 4. Permanently. There is a "wall of shame" in the field station kitchen which has photos posted on a corkboard of all the trucks that have been destroyed over the years. My personal favorite is of the jeep, face down in a narrow canyon, suspended who knows how high over the ground below. The basic rule of thumb on the island is go slow. All the trucks are manual transmissions, so that is a help. Our field crew of 6 all ride in one truck to our sites each morning. 2 in the cab, 4 in the back. Depending on the roughness of the road, (or how cold it is in the morning), we either ride standing up, holding onto a cargo rack, or sitting down in the bed. You've got to keep your eyes out for foliage overhead if standing, otherwise you may end up with a branch to the face. This is harder than it sounds, as the views from the back of the truck are amazing.







Lest you think that I am living the easy life, in an island paradise (which I guess I kind of am... the island paradise part at least), I'd just like to explain the nature of the fieldwork... I throw myself against vegetation for about 6 hours a day. That's the long and short of it. Scrub Jays, Island Jays included, like to nest in scrub... who knew? So, think dense, shrubby, pokey vegetation. Sometimes you get a nice clearing. Then you get poison oak. Or prickly pear cactus. Sometimes you get a super steep slope with all the dirt crumbling out from underneath you. Sometimes you get a boulder strewn stream bed. Sometimes you get to try to walk through dead, dried up fennel. (When this hits you in the face it is not fun.) Sometimes you spend the majority of your time on your hands and knees, or even army crawling to get to where you need to go. Or you sit on your butt and slide down a steep slope, trying not to get too many little rocks down your pants. All this for the birds. To find their nests. To map their territories. To learn what their eating even. Is it worth it? For sure.

Climbing skills come in handy checking this nest (McCain's). See it? Yeah, That's got to be around 15 feet up.



Checking this nest is easy. Right at eye level. And what a good Mom, sitting on the nest even when I'm this close. (Apollo's)

Peanuts in my pockets

Well, I have officially been on Santa Cruz Island in Channel Islands National Park for a week now. I've found my first Jay nests, gotten my first fieldwork bruises, and started working on my watch/ Chaco/ farmer's tan.

The ride out to the island was a two hour boat ride from Ventura California. On the way out we saw about 5 grey whales. The highlights for me though were definitely my first Cassin's and Rhinocerous Auklets, as well as Xantus' Murrelets and a Northern Fulmar. Most of the people on the boat were headed to Scorpion Anchorage, on the National Park Service owned section of the island. Only a few of us stayed on for the final docking at Prisoner's Harbor. From there it was a very bumpy half hour truck ride to our cabins.

And I met my first Island Scrub Jay! Bill Clinton we affectionately refer to him as. (Since he's the breeding male on the territory we've named Clinton.)



The next day it was up nice and early to start nest searching the Island Jays. We have three areas of the island that we visit on a three day rotation. My first day was up at Portezuela, where the territories are named after beers. The second was at Coches, where all the territories have constellation, or otherwise mythological names. The third day was a "field station" day. Basically we just step out the door and can walk to our territories. Field station territories all have political names. (Hence the Clintons. I am also responsible for the McCains, the Kennedeys, Schwarzenegger, or Arnie as I call them, and the current first family, the Obamas. There is also another suspected territory a little further up a canyon, behind the McCains. I haven't decided whether I should go with Perot or Churchill...)

My first day out I "re-found" a nest that we thought was abandoned. The Jays in this particular territory are just glacially slow builders. I'd say that two material carries to the nest confirms that it's still active. I found the Obama's nest a few days later. Again, by chasing down a material carry. (Over rotting logs, under snags, and through curtains of poison oak. No prickly pears on that plot though! Score!) I've been skunked the past few days. Not for lack of trying though. I've been slipping and sliding and scrambling all over the slopes of the canyons my territories are located in.

As a crew we've been attempting to "peanutify" the jays so we can catch them in our traps and band them. We had a very successful day with 4 birds a few days ago, and caught 3 today as well. Scrub Jays love their peanuts. It's an addiction.



I've also seen my first few Island Foxes. They are about the size of a house cat, and incredibly curious. They're not really that scared of people. On the contrary, if you call them, they will come closer to check you out. This is cute when you're up at the cabin, just hanging out. But not so cute when you've just found a nest and you spot a fox swimming through the grass behind you. (That you thought you lost a long time ago... this time you will throw rocks in its general direction to get it to leave.) The foxes have been seen on our videos predating nests, walking on pencil thin twigs, climbing trees. They are cute. But a terror nonetheless. They are also fond of pooping on our deck in the middle of the night, right in the path to the kitchen from the cabins. Needless to say, walking in a half asleep state in the morning to breakfast can be hazardous. It is also not advisable to leave your boots out overnight. The foxes are like little puppies, carrying everything off, somewhere into the scrub oak of the island, most likely to never be seen again.

Life on the island is good. And you can't argue with the backyard view...

If I was going to throw mist net poles... where would I throw them?

The above question guided us to the location of our poles this past week at our offsite banding station at Pine Gulch. We had originally planned on being at the station the previous day... but it was too windy to band. So nets were closed up and disassembled. Normally we set out ropes and poles at Pine Gulch the night before we plan on banding there. This is because often in the past people walking through the park would steal our supplies. We thought that we could leave the poles and ropes out for one day and it would be fine. We hid them under leaves and in the shrubs. But apparently not well enough.

When we showed up the next morning Nora, Kathleen and I began setting up nets like usual... but were quickly foiled. Nora was the first to have a problem. Poles and ropes missing from net 4. Problems at net 5 soon followed. Next, net 1 was missing both sets of poles and all but one rope. things were looking rather complicated when I got to the last net I was setting up. At that net another set of poles and a rope was missing. That's when I spotted a rope attached to a big stick, flung into the blackberry brambles and stinging nettle patch. I waded in, and fished it out. Then I found the poles. Also thrown into a different thorny patch. I began to wonder if this was a pattern. Sure enough, back at net one I found poles and ropes flung into the thorny riparian vegetation. I radioed Nora with my findings, and we began the search for all our missing supplies. It took us about 3 hours of running around, searching for poles and ropes, between net runs, to get all the nets up. By far the best (or worse), location of lost poles was uncovered by Kathleen. While at net 5 she began to think... "If I were going to throw poles, where would I throw them for maximum satisfaction..." The unpleasant answer came quickly: "The creek! Splashes are AWESOME!" Sure enough, when she peered hesitantly over the side of the bridge, there they were. In the deepest part of the creek. So clear that you could see the number five written on them in sharpie. So in she waded. Over her boots. Needless to say, we were not amused. And being stung multiple times by stinging nettle did not enamor us any more to our pranksters.

It's that time of the season again. Nora and I are off tomorrow to our new jobs, and the birds are starting to get into breeding shape. (We've seen our first Brood Patches and Cloacal Protuberances on Song Sparrows...)The migrants are also starting to return. Orange-crowned Warblers can now be heard singing nearly every day. (And we caught two a few days ago!)



The Common Yellowthroats are back. I even spotted an early Wilson's Warbler recently. Western Scrub Jays are carrying nesting material and acting shady. Colin and Sayed have left, and the new Palo interns have started to arrive. It's time for the nomadic field biologist to migrate to new things. I am starting to feel an acute case of zugunruhe. Which is good, because I will very soon be off...

My ferry ticket is booked. I'll be making the trip out to Santa Cruz Island on the morning of the 17th, and will very soon be stalking Island Scrub Jays... locating their nests, banding their legs (and their babies' legs), taking blood samples, and of course, feeding them peanuts.

Rhus diversiloba

I spoke too soon.

I have poison oak.

It started small. A little scrape on my knee. And at first it was no big deal... Then you scratch it absentmindedly. And it itches more. So you scratch. And then it REALLY itches. So you keep on scratching. And then it bleeds. But it feels better now.

After a few more absentminded scratching episodes you notice the little scrape has turned into a little patch. And still itches like crazy. So you try to stop scratching. But most of the time you give in. Interns run at you from across the room to hold your hands in a futile attempt to stop the carnage.

You discover the therapeutic benefits of Technu and a scalding shower. And when I say scalding, I mean it. If the water touches anywhere other than the poison oak that you are trying to scorch you should be yelping in pain. The water on the rash feels like a really intense session of scratching... just without causing the rash to spread. the itching will stop for a few hours after this. The shower treatment also has the added benefit of helping the rash dry out.

Now this may sound like I'm miserable... but really it only itches about 5% of the time. I have a really mild case. When it does itch, it really itches though. I can't imagine having a severe case. This being the first time I've ever gotten Poison Oak or Poison Ivy I'm only dreading the next time I'm bound to run into it on Santa Cruz. Apparently many people have more severe reactions after being exposed for the first time.

I'm hoping I am an exception.

Gung ho fat choy (happy new year)

I decided to take my 4 day extended break while my friend Beth was out visiting me from NH. Our first day was rainy, but we did manage to get a short hike in the redwoods in while the rain temporarily stopped. We had big plans for the next day, so a low key day was just fine.

Saturday we got up bright and early, packed lots of snacks, packed a borrowed San Francisco guide, and drove into the city… Our first stop was Baker Beach in the Presidio. There was a sign placed by the path to the beach warning that people had drowned there while both swimming and just wading. I believed it when I saw the size and violence of the waves hitting that beach. At times the noise was so loud that we nearly had to shout to hear each other.



We made our way down the beach, all the while with the Golden Gate Bridge in our sights.



At the end of the beach there were some pilings… and I attempted to climb one and sit on top of it. I just ended up humping it kind of awkwardly and getting a few splinters. I even tried bringing over a piece of driftwood to stand on top of to give me a bit more leverage. I only gave up when that piece of wood nearly fell out from under me and left me dangling in the air. I think if I had my climbing shoes it would have been possible, but my chucks just didn’t quite cut it. (It was still fun though.)

After we had our fill of the beach we hopped into the car, consulted our directions, and headed for our planned parking garage for the rest of the day. We quickly got lost, despite all the best laid plans, and ended up driving down Lombard Street. The curviest (and arguably steepest) road in the city. (Don’t worry, I didn’t stall the slugmobile and roll into the car behind me at the stop sign on the 10% grade.) After some consulting of our city guide and maps we managed to work our way to the parking garage. After all that work we were hungry… so we ate sushi in Japantown.

We spent the afternoon exploring the area around the embarcadero. There were a bunch of local artists showing and selling their work under tents by the ferry building. We did some browsing, and Beth ended up buying some glass pendants from an artist originally from Londonderry… small world. We explored the fountain and the strange head sculptures. A nice lady with a French accent offered to take our picture goofing off and imitating the grimaces on the heads, but she failed multiple times to get us both in the picture without cutting half of one of our bodies off.




After that we made our way back towards Chinatown in order to stake out a spot on the sidewalk for optimal parade viewing. We waited for an hour for the parade to start, munching on snacks and chatting with the people around us. Kathleen showed up to join us in watching the parade just as it was starting.

The parade was definitely an experience. There were dancing lion troops, spinning teacup people, strange giants on stilts with fireworks at their feet, lots of drum beating, gong smashing, and cymbal crashing, bright glittering floats, multiple dragons a half a block in length carried by at least 20 people, and lots of the color red. The spinning people in teacup costumes wore triangular red sequined hats… and since their hands were trapped in their costumes it must have been hard enough to stay standing after jumping around and spinning, not to mention when your hat slips down over your eyes. I watched one teacup nearly careen into the crowd. His “handler” on the side had to catch and right him, then readjust his hat so he could see again.



My favorite part of the parade was definitely all the dancing lion troops. Two people make up one lion. One for the head, and one for the rear. Most lions had a permanent head and rear… but I watched as one young lion, from a local elementary school, flipped its head and rear when the rear grew tired and began sagging and lagging behind. The lions interacted with the crowds as they made their way down the street. When they came upon a particularly rambunctious section they became even more spirited. Their eyelids and mouths flapped open and shut, they stood up on their hind legs and shimmied their butts.



There were also lots of strange costumes of people, which I’m sure had significance, but what I don’t know. Kathleen said she thought it had something to do with ancestors… all I know is that this guy was kind of creepy.



The dragons were exciting anytime they appeared, and there were many to keep the crowd pleased.






After the parade we were extremely hungry… and cold. So we made our way to Chinatown where we explored some trinket shops, then made our way to a restaurant to eat some real Chinese cuisine in Chinatown. After dinner Kathleen and Beth were drawn into a bakery where they bought authentic pastries for cheap. While they were battling the crowd in the shop I wandered the street a bit and took in the architecture and art.





After wandering around a bit more we decided to call it a night, made our way back to the garage, and managed to find our way out of the city on the first try. (Definitely not Boston driving where the route you need to take changes nearly every week due to some construction project, most likely related to the Big Dig.)

The next day we slept in a little, did some research, and then headed to Sonoma for the afternoon to visit a combined vineyard and olive oil press. While there we did a wine tasting and explored the building, which was an exact replica of the Jacuzzi family home in Italy.



The place was rather fancy. It even had a huge open room with barrels stacked along the walls, candles burning, stained glass windows, and a 3 piece mural from a cathedral in France. This may have been my favorite place on the “estate.” The room smelled sweet, like wine saturated wood, from the barrels along the walls. Nora and I did ballet jumps, cartwheels, and round-offs with our shoes off in the open space.




The back courtyard was complete with a fountain and benches where you could sit and look out over part of the vineyard. We naturally identified any birds we saw.



We felt a little out of place, being the non-classy field biologists that we are. (much more comfortable drinking whiskey and sitting in carharts and flannel) That and we butchered the pronunciation of nearly every wine we wanted to try. Our “bartender” was extremely nice though, and gave us all a lesson on the history of the Jacuzzi wine and family, and educated our fledgling wine connoiseuring skills. We left a little wiser, a little happier, and with 2 bottles of very classy wine.

Winter at Palo

Another job of the winter intern at Palo is called “The Winter Bird Census.” This is essentially like spot mapping during the breeding season… except it’s not the breeding season. Each of the interns chose a “grid,” and once a week, for 8 weeks, we visit that grid and map all the birds we see and hear, (or both.) I chose a historically grazed plot. Very different from the coastal scrub with poison oak growing up in forests of despair that the other interns muck through weekly. I also get some different birds than the typical coastal scrub, which was part of the reason I chose that grid. Pretty much every week I see the same white-tailed kite hanging out on top of a Douglass Fir. Even though it is easier to get around on, my plot it isn’t a cake walk. I’ve gotten stuck it my very own pit of despair a few weeks ago… slipped down an embankment in a riparian area and came to rest up to my eyeballs in blackberry vines. A very painful 10 or 15 minutes followed during which I extracted myself from that spot… and then another 10 or 15 minutes were spent trying to find my way out of the brambly, thorny riparian area. (I got great data though.) I now know my way much better around the plot, and can avoid falling into the pit of despair, while still getting good detections. I’m thankful that the worst I now get from my plot is dried up thistle thorns stuck in my pants and socks. These only hurt until I change my clothes and dump out my boots. Nora has had a mild case of poison oak for 4 weeks. And probably won’t be rid of it until the end of the Winter Bird Census.

Winter interns at Palo also have the opportunity to help with a wintering shorebird survey on Bolinas Lagoon. Basically we go out there to ID and count all the shorebirds that we see in a given area. This data is being used to look at trends over time in which species of birds are using the lagoon. I’m definitely learning my ducks… and large shorebirds… and even getting better at sandpipers, thanks to a lesson from Steve Howell. Last census I spotted the Eurasian Widgeon in our plot. (By standing in the bed of a truck, and scanning a group of American Widgeon partially hidden by vegetation. He was asleep.)

Don’t forget to do something special for Darwin’s birthday this upcoming February 12th. It’s his 200th after all! I’ve organized an informal interns vs. staff ultimate frisbee game… and the trash talking has already begun. We’ll see who comes out victorious…