Camera Blues

Bad news, folks. I dropped my camera two weeks ago and it broke. Ouch. Worst time and place to lose photo-taking abilities. I can still take photos but you can see the side of the lens in most of them and the image stabilization function is, well, non-functioning the majority of the time. This unfortunate technology set-back compounded with the "I've-been-in-the-field-ALL-day" delirium makes blogging in a coherent way nearly impossible. Unless you are Luke, whose blog Boom Chachalaca is kept up and pretty awesome (he has a fancy camera and a good eye). Also, check out the Los Farallones blog.

I wish blogging were my thing right now, but it is not. This is not the end of it all, nowhere near, but I do expect to post less frequently until I get motivated to get into a regular groove.

Here are some pre-camera-bounce photos and a few post-camera-bounce to demonstrate what my current photographing abilities are.

Adult male Anna's Hummingbird in the mist-net. We caught four on my birthday!

Another male Anna's Hummingbird...less iridescent feathers!

Lifer Grasshopper Sparrow.

A mildly socked-in day.

Horned Puffin! A life bird for all that saw it.

Arboreal Salamander in a crack.

Rusty Blackbird dancing manakin style.

Harbor Seal being so damn cute.

Northern Saw-whet Owl

Banding the Saw-whet Owl, broken camera.

A Barn Owl! I've held many dead Barn Owls, but never a live one until it got caught in our net. We banded it. Amazing.

My very sad camera attempting to photograph the Barn Owl in the tree. Artsy squiggles.

Cuddle-puddle of Mirounga

Young Elephant Seals snoozing in Sewer Gulch at low tide.

The Elephant Seal (in the genus Mirounga) is a bizarre and awesome creature. Their weird noises bubble up from the gulches around the island--their squabbling roar is a combination between a rocket-launch fart and someone gagging and vomiting. Sounds gross, but it's really quite endearing. Most of the time they just sleep and snore. When you sneak up on them, they look up at you with these big, sad, baby eyes.

What Exactly Am I Doing Here?

I realized that my last post never even mentioned what I am doing on the Farallones. I am a volunteer field intern for PRBO's Southeast Farallon Island Project. PRBO has been out here studying wildlife in some capacity since 1968, so I am essentially just gathering data to add to their long-term dataset. In the Winter (December to March-ish) the project focuses on Pinnapeds (seals and sea lions), in the Spring/Summer (March to August) the project monitors breeding seabirds, and in the Fall (August to December), the current season, the project focuses on migrating songbirds and White Sharks (known to most as Great White Sharks). These projects monitor long-term population trends as well as explore the ecosystem's response to climate change.

Red-breasted Nuthatch grabs a grub from a crack in the "sidewalk" at the lighthouse.

In the Fall, the crew of 5-6 people methodically scour the 95-acre island for birds everyday and conduct a variety of surveys to monitor other island dwellers and visitors. We mist-net and band as many birds as we can catch when the weather is good which allows us to keep track of birds that stick around for more than a day or two. We also conduct 10 hours of "Shark Watch" in 2-hour long shifts at the Lighthouse to scan for attacks.

The schedule for the beginning of October. Descriptions of jobs below.

 Dinner is a very important job. One person cooks and cleans each night and we sit down family-style to enjoy the meal together. This is great because when you get in from a long day in the field, it is really nice not to have to plan a meal and clean up after yourself. Depending on how many people are on the island, you end up cooking about once a week. We eat well out here. Incredibly well, in fact. The Farallon Fifteen is real.

A.M. Seawatch is a 5 minute count of passing seabirds (shearwaters, fulmars, loons, etc) done with a telescope.

A.M. A.S. means Morning Area Search. This is a 1.5-2 hour bird search of the entire island. The island is broken up into 5 areas and one person walks the entirety of the accessible land looking for new birds and re-sighting birds with bands.

BATS is a scan of each of the three trees on the island and of the lighthouse for bats. We have had 3 Hoary Bats this season, two of which were before my arrival.

SHOR means Shorebird count. One person walks the edge of the island counting shorebirds at high tide.

P.M. A.S. is the Afternoon Area Search, done exactly like the AM Area Search.

GULLS is an all island count of roosting gulls. Western Gulls are the most abundant; there is a smattering of California Gulls, and occasionally another species or two that are hanging out.

P.M. Seawatch is a series of six 5-minute seawatches in the evening, facing the opposite direction of the A.M. Sea watch for better lighting.

COLOR means one person spends 2 hours searching the island for color-banded birds (see BAND below).

BUOW is the Burrowing Owl assistant for the night, who stays up with Maggie, the Burrowing Owl intern, to help her band the owls and take photographs to help age and sex the birds. They usually get to sleep in the next day.

E-SEAL is a search for tags on Elephant Seals every 3rd day at low tide, when the seals are hauled out in the coves and gulches.

BAND is the person who is in charge of running nets and banding birds all day. We band all birds we catch with a lightweight aluminum band on their right or left leg depending on the day (left on odd numbered days, right on even days), and we band six of the more abundant species with plastic color bands so we can keep better track of how many there are and how long they stay (see COLOR above).

Shark Watch is a constant scanning of the waters surrounding the island for shark attacks, whales, and boaters.

Last but not least, DATA. This person is in charge of entering data when there is time in the day. This job definitely depends on the day---on a busy day with lots of birds, data is the lowest thing on the list and will most likely not get done.

This busy busy schedule basically has everyone running around all the time on a birdy day, helping each other out and seeing lots of cool natural events unfold while taking notes and keeping lists. On slower days, we get to take a breather and enjoy the island life.

Banding a Burrowing Owl on my Birthday.

Western Palm Warbler after I banded it.

Male Varied Thrush taking a break.

Mmm, Sunrise.

Farallones: Arrival

I am here! I actually live on Southeast Farallon Island (SEFI from now on). A sailboat dropped me off and wont be back for two weeks. I'll be here for eight weeks without leaving the island and after one full day of work, I am incredibly excited for my time here. I have already learned a ton and add so much more knowledge into my brain every day, about birds, whales, sharks, people, seals and sea lions, fish, etc!

I live in the house on the far left, called the PRBO house. Next to it is the Fish and Wildlife Service house. On the far right is the Powerhouse.

I left home on Friday to do the food shop for the resupply. We had a giant list to get at local Green String Farm and Safeway. It took three hours, four shopping carts, and almost a thousand dollars. We (being myself and Sophie Webb, the other biologist who came out on this food run) drove back to PRBO's Petaluma Headquarters, packed the items in Action Packers and buckets, and packed the PRBO Farallon van with the goods and our personal gear. We slept on the couches at the headquarters and woke up bright and early (meaning dark and early) at 4 AM. We left the office at 5, arrived at the boat at 6, and were sailing under the Golden Gate bridge at 7 in the 66' sailboat named Gundamain, which means "Home at Sea" in aboriginal australian! The ride was calm and foggy so it was pretty uneventful, but the people were nice and interesting to talk to and the boat itself was lush and spotless.

The food.

The Gundamain.

Sailing out of Sausalito Harbor at 7am.

City Skyline with fog.

As we arrived at the Farallones, the fog lifted and the hot sun beat down. Jim, my new boss, zoomed out to meet us in the Zodiac (inflatable boat) and start unloading the food and our gear. Then it was our turn. To get onto the island, we must attach the Zodiac to a large crane that pulls us up out of the swell and onto a large concrete pad. This set-up is known as East Landing. There is another small hand-cranked crane on the North side of the island in the area called (appropriately) North Landing. More about these places in another post (an upcoming history post!). Once I set foot on the island, it hit me that I would not be stepping off the island for two whole months!

East Landing crane with the Zodiac.

The view of the North side of the island; Most of these rocks are inaccessible, but covered in sea birds.

The view from the top of the lighthouse.

It took a day or two to feel settled, but now my segment of the field season is in full swing! More about my duties in the next post.

Nora’s 2012 Rich Stallcup PRBO Bird-A-Thon (or, as it turned out, the Red-breasted Nuthatch-A-Thon)

Red-breasted Nuthatch at the Point Reyes Lighthouse observation deck.

 

They were everywhere, and they were plentiful. Oh, little Red-breasted Nuthatch (or Red-Nut, as I affectionately call them), you tricked me every time. Warbler? Nope, it’s another Red-Nut. Wait, something else just flew over there…nope, Red-Nut. Well, you itty-bitty-flitty “yank, yank, yank”-ing Sittidae, I still love you, even though the purpose of my Bird-A-Thon was to see as many species as possible instead of individuals of one species (had I only counted Nuthatches, perhaps it would have increased my final tally!) but you and your brethren had commandeered the Outer Point cypress trees to the point of total domination, letting no other songbird rest their tired wings and fatten up on grubs. I still appreciate your goofy little noises and your awesome stripy head. I’ll look at you any day.

It started in the waning full moon at Five Brooks Pond in Olema. My brother Ben joined me in the surprisingly bright and warm morning that smelled like horse manure, dust, and bay leaves (the smells of our childhood, and, specifically for me, my 5^th birthday party). We wandered around listening to the birds wake up. The first bird of the day was a covey of CALIFORNIA QUAIL exploding out of the bushes near the parking lot. It sounded like a predator was rustling around in the bush, which was exciting. MALLARDS and AMERICAN WIGEON quacked and squeaked from the pond (I love how wigeons sound like squeaky puppy toys). Slowly, the other birds began to wake up. SPOTTED TOWHEEs called from the bushes as horses whinnied from the stables. The persistent simple call of the BLACK PHOEBE stayed with us all day. Ben spotted a BARN OWL swooping towards us in a dark meadow. It perched on a snag, ruffled its feathers, and took off again into the dark.

The dark meadow at Five Brooks, just before the Barn Owl flew up.

The dawn chorus began almost exactly fifteen minutes before sunrise: SONG SPARROWS, HERMIT THRUSHES, PACIFIC WRENS, AMERICAN and LESSER GOLDFINCHES, GOLDEN-CROWNED KINGLETS, WRENTITS, and FOX SPARROWS mostly calling rather than singing. A RED-SHOULDERED HAWK called out his repetitive “Kee-ah, kee-ah” and AMERICAN CROWS and COMMON RAVENS began to call as well. STELLER’S JAYS and WESTERN  SCRUB-JAYS called and rattled from the woods and edges. On the pond we found a single AMERICAN COOT and several WOOD DUCKS (what a beautiful and exotic looking bird!).

Wood Duck pair.

I heard a BROWN CREEPER sing from deep in the dark woods and a HUTTON’S VIREO “sneeze”. CHESTNUT-BACKED CHICKADEES and BUSHTITS began to gather in flocks and Ben identified a NORTHERN FLICKER calling. A PILEATED WOODPECKER (aka dinosaur bird) flew to a tree close to us. All these birds before sunrise! As the sun hit the trees we watched YELLOW-RUMPED and TOWNSEND’S WARBLERS foraging for insects with hyper RUBY-CROWNED KINGLETS. A VARIED THRUSH flew into a bay tree not 4 feet from us! We saw a Woodrat balancing on a bramble bush and a Muskrat swimming through the pond with green vegetation in its teeth. We picked up a DOWNY WOODPECKER, a GOLDEN-CROWNED SPARROW, a BEWICK’S WREN, a PACIFIC-SLOPE FLYCATCHER, a CALIFORNIA TOWHEE, a TURKEY VULTURE, DARK-EYED JUNCOS, a NUTTALL’S WOODPECKER, and our first few RED-BREASTED NUTHATCHES of the day before we took off for the Outer Point. On the drive out, we saw AMERICAN ROBINS, EUROPEAN STARLINGS, EURASIAN COLLARED-DOVES, a WHITE-TAILED KITE (while driving by the Olema Marsh), and a DOUBLE-CRESTED CORMORANT (flying over Highway 1). We stopped at a Giacomini Marsh overlook and picked up KILLDEER, GREAT EGRET, and MARSH WREN. We stopped for a breakfast bagel at the Blackbird in Inverness and saw CANADA GEESE, WESTERN GULL, ACORN WOODPECKER, SNOWY EGRET, and BELTED KINGFISHER. On a stop where the road crosses the Drakes Bay Estero we picked up PINE SISKINS and WHITE-CROWNED SPARROWS. At F Ranch (Abandoned Ranch), we watched WESTERN MEADOWLARKS fly frantically back and forth in the short grazed coastal scrub and HOUSE FINCHES perch on the tips of the cypress trees. We picked up BREWER’S BLACKBIRD, MOURNING DOVE, and watched an AMERICAN KESTREL fly into his old nest and then back out to perch abidingly on a snag. Also at F Ranch were a HAIRY WOODPECKER and a COOPER’S HAWK perched on a fencepost.

American Kestrel at F Ranch.

Cooper's Hawk at F Ranch.

We checked out B Ranch to see if the Ovenbird and Connecticut Warbler were still there, but they had flown the coop. We luckily saw the Ovenbird the day before, so Ben got a great look at this awesome bird then. I’ve seen them in the Southeast, but it was amazing to see one strutting around like a mini chicken underneath the mossy cypress trees in Point Reyes. So, no luck with these rarities, but we did see RED-WINGED and TRI-COLORED BLACKBIRDS, HOUSE SPARROWS, SAVANNAH SPARROWS, AMERICAN PIPITS and our first RED-TAILED HAWK of the day at B Ranch. We continued to the Lighthouse, which, of course, was closed. We scoured the cypresses on the road out to no avail. They were filled with our lovely Red-Nuts, but no new warbler species. From the observation deck, we scoped out BROWN PELICANS, WESTERN GREBES, HEERMAN’S GULLS, PELAGIC and BRANDT’S CORMORANTS, COMMON MURRES, and a young Grey Whale hanging out in the south cove! We watched the whale for a while. It had a large patch of barnacles on its face. I wonder if I’ll see it while I’m out on the Farallones and recognize it. It was hot and sunny at the point, which is bizarre, seeing as the rest of my visits there in the last 22 years have been cold, foggy, and wildly windy. I was actually sweating and fanning myself. What?! The heat of the day probably lowered my numbers a bit, as well as the week of good weather that allowed the vagrant warblers and other rarities to continue with their southward migration rather than hunker down and stay awhile.

Grey Whale at the Lighthouse.

The classic Point Reyes National Seashore shot.

We continued on to the Fish Docks, where we saw COMMON and PACIFIC LOONS, HORNED GREBES, SURF SCOTERS, a BLACK OYSTERCATCHER, a ROCK PIGEON, a WESTERN BLUEBIRD, an ANNA’S HUMMINGBIRD, and, best of all, a pair of HARLEQUIN DUCKS that have been hanging out below the pier for the last few days. Elephant seals and their awesome fart-like grunts abounded.

Harlequin Duck at the Fish Docks.

We continued on to Abbott’s Lagoon, where we ticked NORTHERN HARRIER, THAYER’S, HERRING, and RING-BILLED GULLS, GADWALL, OSPREY, RUDDY DUCKS, AMERICAN WHITE PELICAN, NORTHERN SHOVELERS, NORTHERN PINTAIL, and DOWITCHER Sp. As I sat down to tally up the species so far, a large yellow garden-type spider crawled across my shirt. Creepy but cool! The day was slowing down at this point, species-wise and my list still had some serious holes in it. I dropped Ben off at home (he had to go to work) and headed out to Limantour Beach for the last segment of my day: looking for shorebirds as the high-tide dropped. In the marsh by the parking lot I saw my one and only GREAT BLUE HERON of the day, along with five foraging WHIMBRELS. I hiked to Muddy Hollow Pond, hoping to clean up my duck list and completely struck out—it was empty, not a frog in sight. After a full hour without a new species, I headed out on the Limantour Spit trail and was rewarded by a COMMON YELLOWTHROAT that popped up to investigate me from the coyote brush.

Common Yellowthroat at Limantour.

In the Estero, I added SCAUP species to my list (they flew by quickly and I couldn’t ID them down to Lesser or Greater). A mixed flock of SANDERLINGS and WESTERN and LEAST SANDPIPERS swirled around the windy mudflats in flashes of white and grey, while one BLACK-BELLIED PLOVER plucked at the mud calmly. SEMI-PALMATED PLOVERS foraged out of the wind, and while I had them in the scope view, I saw something large and brown trundle out of the current. Otters! Four otters, one large and three slightly smaller, galloped along the shore and then back into the water, swimming upstream, frolicking as otters often do. I watched them charge out of the water and musk the vegetation on the shore and run back into the water, endlessly in motion. When the largest otter noticed another otter falling behind she (I’m guessing) would turn around, lift her head high up out of the water as if she was waiting expectantly and then speed towards the lollygagger and join them as if to offer support to get them to catch up. It was an amazing group to watch. Otters! 

Otters! They made me very happy. A definite highlight of the day.

I walked out farther, trying to pick something else, anything else, out of the constantly moving peep tornado, but as the wind really picked up I decided to turn back and walk along the tideline with waves crashing on my right. I found over twelve WESTERN SNOWY PLOVERS, each huddled behind their own little sand hill (more like a lump) to protect themselves from the sandy wind. I drove away from Limantour as the sun was dropping into the ocean and headed towards home. I stopped at the Inverness Store for my last bird of the evening on a tip from my brother—BLACK-CROWNED NIGHT HERONS roosting in the trees behind the store. 

Snowy Plover hiding in sand.

Sunset from above Limantour. The Point is in the distance, Drakes Bay in between.

One hundred and five species total for the day! That is only 9 species short of my last two years Bird-A-Thon totals combined! I’m very happy with my day. I had a wonderful time with the birds and other critters, and also with my brother who is an amazing naturalist/earthy dude. Being out all day like that—seeing the sun rise and then set again, watching the tide rise and fall—helps us fully realize the cycles of the earth that we are born from, the earth that we owe gratitude, love, and dedicated hard work for allowing our presence here. Doing a Bird-A-Thon is just a small way to give back to the earth, but it is a step towards a better future because I believe in PRBO Conservation Science’s mission to conserve birds, wildlife, and ecosystems. I will continue to support conservation with my life’s work (and play) by spending my days outdoors, investigating the world that I live in and my place in this ecosystem, and sharing my passion with others.

Thanks so all my donors who have made this endeavor so successful! With your support I raised over $650 that will benefit PRBO’s Eastern Sierra Program (which is in dire need of a new 4WD field vehicle). For those of you who are just now learning about my fundraising efforts and want to contribute, you can still donate online by clicking HERE.

Thanks to Renee, for the use of her scope; and to Diana, Jules, Millie, Jeff, Gayanne, Maggi, and Lorri, who graciously offered their scopes to me as well. I couldn’t have done it without one!

And, lastly, thanks to the birds, for lighting up my life.

Simple Silence, the Owl Opened My Soul and Looked In

Great Gray Owl

The meadow breathes

Rippling grasses are dotted with pale petals that are really butterflies

who knew?

Deer nibble in silence, faces disguised by grass masks, flicking their tails

Mosquitoes nip and buzz around like maddening children    

“not touching, can’t get mad. not touching, can’t get mad”

Meadow edge, a presence unlike any other turns his head, hushed

the meadow slips into focus, all senses sharp like obsidian tip

this being humbly commands all hearts to beat in muffled rhythm

a song of awe, of tranquil not-being

Juncos chide him with their metallic “tcht”, bouncing like grasshoppers

No passing noise can shift his serene state, no disturbance pains him       

            acceptance

                  take in, let go, move on

Perched upright on a branch, this regal yet modest zen master sees more

than we see in an entire lifetime

What can we learn from him? 

Great Gray Owl in Yosemite National Park. Photo by Christopher Mccreedy, 2012. I was standing right next to him, jaw-dropped as he clicked away. Thanks Chris!

Tufa Kayak Sunrise Bliss

At 2 AM on July 6th, I tossed and turned in the back of my pickup truck, despite how comfortable my bed back there is. The waning moon shone bright through the windows of my camper shell. I'm not sure why I couldn't sleep, but I felt the imminent time of my beeping watch alarm looming nearer...still not asleep! Just after 5 AM, I crawled out of my warm cocoon into the cool pre-dawn air. I could hear the dense salty water lapping on the shore of Mono Lake. The air smelled fresh; a new day. I pulled on a waterproof jacket and packed my camera into a dry bag. I stashed my water bottle in the back of my borrowed kayak, clipped myself into a yellow PFD, and slung my binoculars over my shoulder. As I launched the kayak into the thick brine-shrimp filled water, everything else in the world melted away and I slipped into the simple bliss that is Mono Lake at sunrise.

After a half hour paddle across open water, I began to weave into the Tufa grove as the sun's rays burst above Paoha Island, glancing of the smattering of clouds, gilding them with peachy gold. The Tufa towers stood tall, silently sillhouetted against the gaudy colors of the morning sky. Tufa is not a word you hear every day. In fact, most of you are probably thinking "Tufa? What the heck is that?" Tufa towers are limestone columns that form under water in Mono Lake. Freshwater underground streams trickle down from the Sierra and bubble up under the lake; on the journey down, they pick up trace amounts of minerals from the earth they traveled through to arrive at Mono; one prevalent mineral is calcium, which reacts with the carbonate-rich lake water and precipitates out to form CaCO3 (Calcium Carbonate), also called limestone. The freshwater is less dense than the twice-as-salty-as-the-ocean lake water, so it rises to the surface of the lake, creating the towering forms of tufa. When the lake drops (like it did drastically after L.A. started diverting water, see "Part 1: "Seagulls" and Politics), the tufa towers are exposed and simply beckon to be photographed.

I truly love the little things in life that remind us that though we may not know exactly why we are here, it is miraculous that we are here at all and that we get to experience the immense beauty the earth has to offer.