Charm is an intangible. Chutzpah, charm, charisma, that kind of thing, you can’t buy it. You either have it or you don’t.–Colm Feore
Tufted Titmouse, Edith L. Moore Nature Sanctuary, Houston, Texas (ELM). Image taken in February. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
Among the most charming of the small songbirds are the titmice. Along the Upper Texas Gulf Coast, Tufted Titmice are common year-round. And they are a delight to encounter in the woods, as they peer back with those curious, yet suspicious eyes!
Tufted Titmouse Chick, ELM. Tufted Titmice nest at ELM. Image taken in March. Canon EOS 7D/100-400mm f/4.5-5.6L IS. Hand-held, natural light.
Tufted Titmice seem to prefer arthropod prey (including spiders and their egg cases), but will eat nuts, seeds, and fruit during the winter. They will also visit seed and suet feeders during the lean months, but to my eye, they never seem completely at ease in doing so, being true wild creatures of the forest.
Tufted Titmouse with Caterpillar, Tower Trail (Warbler Alley), Brazos Bend State Park. Titmice are great arthropod hunters. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
Small super-active songbirds like the titmice may be the supreme challenge for the bird photographer—especially under completely natural conditions (i.e., not baited and not near a feeder). Take a look at Elisa’s beautiful image of a singing Black-crested Titmouse from Lost Maples. We often see Bridled Titmice on our frequent trips to southeast Arizona, but I have yet to capture any really nice images (These birds are fast!).
We have seen all but two species of North American titmice: The Oak Titmouse (California), and the Juniper Titmouse (Southwest U.S., west of Texas). I have no doubt they will be just as challenging and charming as their Gulf-Coast kin!
Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative. –Oscar Wilde
Pine Siskin, Portal, Arizona. These birds are common across the Lower 48 in winter—except along the Gulf Coast. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
At some point during the winter, a major blue northern will, hopefully, blow through and stay. Until then we’ll check the radar and bore each other (and the ghost of Oscar Wilde) with endless conversations about the temperature, humidity, jet stream, and El Niño.
But even with the iffy weather, late fall and early winter seem to be the times for charming and oddball little discoveries. Last weekend the first real Arctic blast swept across Texas. Optimistically we headed to the Coast. But at 8 am Sunday on East Beach, Galveston the winds were howling so we aborted our attempts at shorebird photography (a strong wind can twirl the barrel of a supertelephoto lens around and conk an inattentive bird photographer across the skull!) and headed for Lafitte’s Cove.
Hoping the oak motte would expend some wind energy, we approached the trees. But alas, it was still too windy for big glass, and so we settled for binocular birding. On the way into the motte, we heard a Northern Mockingbird imitating the clattering call of a Belted Kingfisher—a first for us. Once in the trees, I spotted a Pine Siskin among a small group of American Goldfinches. This was my first ever sighting of a Pine Siskin on Galveston. Although (according to the literature) Siskins do rarely make it down to the Coast during winter, I have to think that this bird was blown off course by the massive cold front that had just arrived, perhaps 30 hours before.
Male House Finch with Yellow on Head and Throat, Houston, Texas. Color in male House Finches is a result of the mix of plant pigments found in their almost all-vegetable diet consumed during molting, such as carotenoids, but the biochemistry is complex. Female House Finches are thought to prefer males with redder coloration. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
In late fall/winter trees are bare, and as a result we see more songbirds than at any other time of the year. This is a good time to look for statistically rare individual color variations. Sometimes in winter, for example, it’s possible to observe diet-induced House Finch color variants, namely male birds with orange or yellow on their heads and throats (rather than red). I don’t know what the proportion of yellow- and orange-headed male House finches is—but it must be only one in dozens of birds.
This is also the time to really watch waders hunting. I’ve already mentioned the treefrog hunting that goes on around the southern margin of Pilant Lake (and I saw some more of that this week), but it seems that birds are having to work harder and are tapping somewhat atypical resources. The Little Blue Heron below, for example, was hunting in a patch of water hyacinth—and catching grasshoppers. Over the years I’ve watched Little Blues eat countless small fish, frogs and crayfish, but this is the first time I’ve seen one eating grasshoppers. Usually it’s Cattle Egrets that are grabbing katydids and grasshoppers. Perhaps times are getting a little lean, and everybody is a little less picky and willing to eat anything that moves.
Finally, the strangely warm and humid weather that has dragged deep into November has had one very nasty side effect: an explosion in the population of vicious biting gnats. I’ve always been sensitive to gnat bites, but these suckers raise huge itchy welts that hurt for days. On Wednesday of this week, gnats were so thick at Brazos Bend State Park that even the birds were being dogged by clouds of these nasties. So here I sit, hoping for a hard freeze to settle the bugs’ hash once and for all—and begin the real, lovely birding season.
Little Blue Heron with Orthopteran (Grasshopper), Elm Lake, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas. Note that this bird is speckled with gnats. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
My sorrow, when she’s here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.–Robert Frost
You can only get so wet: Female Hooded Merganser, Paradise Pond, Port Aransas, Mustang Island, Texas. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
Last weekend we had another brush with Mother Nature, namely about eight inches of rain. We were out of town hoping to do some birding at Dinosaur State Park (Golden-crowned Kinglets!) in north Central Texas. Early on Saturday morning we learned to our horror that (once again) our neighborhood had flooded, so we hustled home to find our garage inundated. Water had just barely topped our foundation, and so we barely avoided a repeat of the major disaster of Memorial Day 2015.
Early this week, however, we learned that yet another El Niño-spawned storm system was headed for Texas. So, alas, this week has been one of preparation for the next noachian deluge (and pointless fretting, also), rather than significant work on twoshutterbirds.com. Apparently a foot and a half of rain in two weeks isn’t enough. We won’t know the final outcome of this round of storms until after this post.
Tired of squishy, soggy ground and the smell of mildew, I’m starting to long for the next La Niña-spawned drought with the slow dying of the greenery, the cracking of the earth with concomitant buckling of our foundation, burst water mains around the neighborhood, and the daily struggle to open and close our doors without snapping keys off in the locks. I’m pining for the formation of still another broiling bubble of high pressure over Texas producing weather worthy of the Congo and making me resemble Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen–but shielding us from the next monster hurricane . . . . Ah, the good old days!
Female Golden-crowned Kinglet Gleaning Bugs, Skillern Tract, Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge, Texas. I was hoping to see some of these darling little birds at Dinosaur State Park, as I have before. But it was not to be. As you might guess, these birds are lightning fast and really tough to photograph. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
Of all the passions of mankind, the love of novelty most rules the mind. In search of this, from realm to realm we roam. Our fleets come loaded with every folly home.—Foote, in Treasury of Wisdom, Wit, and Humor by Adam Wooléver (1891, 5th ed., p.301)
Female Green Kingfisher, World Birding Center, Edinburg, Texas. Although cagey and suspicious, kingfishers are among my favorite birds. Whenever I hear their clicking (or clattering, depending on species), I hope for a photo-op . . . but they rarely oblige. This was my first quality encounter with a Green Kingfisher. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
As one tied to the work-a-day world most of the time, finding new things in the field is always exciting. First (quality) encounters with species are my favorites, but observing new behaviors by familiar ones often must suffice. Last weekend, for example, a naturalist friend (RD) pointed out the barn spider below apparently eating her own web—something I’d not seen a spider do before. It is widely held that spiders do eat webs to re-utilize protein, and the one below appeared to be doing just that.
A Barn Spider Consumes Her Own Web, Pilant Lake, Brazos Bend State Park, Texas. Eventually the spider ate the entire strand to the upper right. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS. Natural light.
But based on the severe limitations of time and money, I usually have to find “novelty” where I can. For example, the recent shot below of a newly-returned-from-the-Arctic-for-the-winter Black-bellied Plover may reflect my closest contact with this species.
Admittedly the self-imposed pressure of always looking for new things can sometimes defeat the purposes of amateur nature photography: learning about nature and relieving the stress and strain of daily life and possibly extending life itself. Elisa is clearly better at simply getting out there and enjoying the sights and sounds and sensations. I have to (paradoxically) work on not working so hard.
Portrait: Black-bellied Plover, East Beach, Galveston Island, Texas. By October, many shorebirds have returned to the Texas Gulf Coast for winter. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
The story as told in The Odyssey doesn’t hold water. There are too many inconsistencies.–Margaret Atwood
Juvenile Brown Pelican in Flight, Galveston Bay, near Frenchtown Road, Bolivar Peninsula, Texas. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
Last weekend we made the most of the phenomenal weather and birded the Coast, specifically East Beach, Galveston, and Frenchtown Road, Bolivar Peninsula. Although the weather was amazing, not many birds were around, Brown (and a few American White) Pelicans, excepted. A spectacular frenzy of diving for fish that I observed near Frenchtown Road got me thinking about Brown Pelicans.
A Brown Pelican Manipulates a Fish into Swallowing Position, Galveston Bay, near Frenchtown Road, Bolivar Peninsula, Texas. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
I was tempted to repeat the oft-told (and published) tale of how how DDT usage caused the decline of these birds in the U.S. through egg shell thinning, and how they rebounded once the pesticide was outlawed. An offhanded recent comment by an astute friend with a chemistry background (DT) that “DDT doesn’t cause egg shells to thin” gave me pause, though.
A quick internet search revealed a wealth of information about the numbers of Pelicans present in Texas and California in the early to mid-20th Century, as well as other potential causes for the collapse of Brown Pelican populations. I would encourage readers to do their own search and come to their own conclusions . . . . but by my reading of history, in California, the story involves oil spills (note ingested oil does cause thinning of egg shells), disease (Newcastle Disease, specifically), and (horrifyingly) the outright killing and disturbance of nesting birds by, of all people, government employees.
In Texas, the story appears more straightforward: hunters and fisherman in the early 20th Century (before DDT) simply shot most of them. Since the Brown Pelican was placed upon the Endangered Species List in 1970, its numbers have rebounded—and I for one am delighted.
The Holy Grail of Pelican Sightings in Texas: A California Brown Pelican Comes in for a Landing, Offatt’s Bayou, Galveston Island, Texas. Atlantic and Gulf populations of Brown Pelicans have blackish-green throat pouches. Pacific Coast populations have brilliant red throat pouches. This photograph was taken the same day we saw a Pacific Loon, another Texas Gulf Coast rarity. Sometimes birds don’t read the field guides. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.–Jacques Yves Cousteau
Neotropic Cormorant, Leonabelle Turnbull Birding Center, Mustang Island, Texas. Unperturbed, this bird fished a few feet from the photographer. Neotropic Cormorants are far more tolerant of humans than their Double-crested cousins. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
The time is almost here . . . the time when the wretched heat finally breaks once and for all, and we can look forward to the longest stretch of pleasant weather on the Texas calendar. And the place to spend this glorious time is undoubtably on the coast.
Displaying Long-billed Curlew, Indian Point Beach, Corpus Christi, Texas. This bird was trying unsuccessfully to communicate with me. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
Once those blue northers start blowing in, it’s off to the field at every opportunity! We’re already hatching plans for visits to Frenchtown Road, Galveston, and Mustang Island. Beaches, estuaries, and lagoons, here we come!
American White Pelicans Discover a School of Fish, East Beach, Galveston Island, Texas. White Pelicans steam along the shallows single-file until they encounter a school of fish—when they form a ring of co-operative feeding. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
Admiration and familiarity are strangers.–George Sand
Ta-Dah! Sunning Yellow-crowned Night-Heron, Elm Lake, Brazos Bend State Park (BBSP), Texas. This bird was exhibiting gular fluttering while sunning. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
Last week we finally got back into the field for a few hours. Although one of the best birding spots in the country, Brazos Bend State Park is not what we consider a fall migration hot spot. But we decided to visit the park because our photographic skills are rusty due to summer traumas, and we thought that a familiar place might make getting back into the swing of things easier.
Admittedly, it’s sometimes difficult to maintain a fever-pitch of enthusiasm for such a familiar place. At BBSP I find myself looking for subtle new details I’ve not noticed before to stay interested and energized. For example, I’ve seen Yellow-crowned Night-Herons sunning in the above fashion several times before. But when I first saw this bird at distance, it had splayed out its primaries into a spiky display. By the time I hustled into shooting distance, though, the bird had settled into the somewhat familiar pose above—although the feathers at the wingtips were still a bit splayed. Maybe some day I’ll catch one of these birds in the act of the aforementioned display, perhaps providing clues as to what they’re really up to with this sunning behavior. Are these waders just drying the morning dew from their plumage? Or perhaps they’re treating parasites or infections with the purifying rays of the sun (as I’ve seen Green Herons do), or heating up bellies to aid in digestion–or something else? Further study is needed.
Also on Elm Lake, I caught the Pied-billed Grebe below as it took an exceptionally violent bath. At times it looked like a fountain was springing forth from the lake’s surface! As in the case above, I missed the real action as moments before this tough little bird had just grabbed a fish about one-third its size and . . . . down the hatch. Perhaps this grebe felt like cleaning up after a particularly tough fight and messy meal.
Finally, on this trip I was also trying to get used to my new Canon EOS 7D Mark II. This was only the third time in the field for the new body. I don’t feel I’ve achieved any better results yet with the Mark II than with my old 7D’s, although the new camera certainly feels better. It’s just a ridiculously well-made object. Frankly, it’s one of the best-built cameras I’ve ever held in my hands—even nicer than my old Leica and Contax cameras, which I consider to be works of art. At this point, this lack of better results is almost certainly due to operator error, as this camera is a technological tour de force. With practice, I hope to be able to live up to the potential of this remarkable instrument.
Motor Boat: Bathing Pied-billed Grebe, Elm Lake, BBSP. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
A man’s interest in a single bluebird is worth more than a complete but dry list of the fauna and flora of a town.–Henry David Thoreau
Cordilleran Flycatcher, Beaver Meadows, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado. This Empidonax flycatcher can be recognized by its teardrop-shaped extended eye-ring. The two secondary catchlights in the eye are not from a flash, but rather (presumably) internal reflections of the sun within the eyeball. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
This week’s Houston Audubon Nature Photography Association (HANPA) meeting was a summer vacation show-and-tell. The association is in recess during the summer swelter, so members brought images collected during their summer vacations to share with the group. The theme we chose to explore was images of species we had perhaps seen (or perhaps not), but never photographed well before this summer.
Warbling Vireo, Beaver Meadows, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado. A group of these birds was singing and calling from a stand of aspen trees on the edge of Beaver Meadows. We also saw and photographed them gathering nesting materials. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
We’re not the kind of birders who keep life lists, but we know when we see or photograph a species for the first time. Pyrrhuloxias, Yellow-breasted Chats, and Stellar’s Jays are common birds that we have seen many times in the West, but achieved reasonable images of for the the first time this summer.
Notable species completely new to us from this summer’s trips to Big Bend NP and Rocky Mountain NP included the Cordilleran Flycatcher, Varied Bunting, Warbling Vireo, White-tailed Ptarmigan, Hairy Woodpecker, and Williamson’s Sapsucker.
Although we think we got some pretty nice images, it’s always a little troubling to photograph birds on vacation simply because we never feel as though we have had enough time to really do the birds justice. Thoughts tend to run like: If I just had another day, I could have gotten the Hairy Woodpecker shot of my dreams! But alas, vacation is fleeting, and it’s soon time to get back to the grind.
Stellar’s Jay, Beaver Meadows, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado. These are common, suspicious birds. Usually when they see us they take off and fly away immediately (Is it something I said?). Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings.―William Shakespeare
Barn Swallow in Early Morning Light, Beaver Meadows, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado. The Barn Swallow is the most widely distributed member of its family in the world. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
At times like this, the dreary end of a dreary Houston summer, my mind turns to some of those magical places I’ve visited in the past. Upon recollection, some of the most enchanting visions of nature have occurred in the presence of swallows. I remember such a scene in Yellowstone National Park where American Tree and Violet-green Swallows snatched insects from the air and lapped water on the wing from the surface of a beaver pond. Last spring I first noticed American Tree and Rough-winged Swallows performing similar aerobatic feats above Pilant and 40-Acre Lakes, Brazos Bend SP.
Violet-green Swallow at Dawn, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming. Canon EOS 7D/500mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
As a birder I pay close attention to swallows, as they often present an identification challenge while in flight (Is that a Cave or Cliff Swallow?). As a photo-birder, I often pay swallows too little attention as photographing swallows in flight would be quite a trick. Swallows are not particularly swift fliers, but their darting, acrobatic style of flight makes capturing them in the air something I’ve not yet accomplished, except under stalled circumstances like approaching a nest or perched young. Maybe someday I’ll catch one gliding across the surface of a liquid. Until then, I’ll just have to wait for them to land.
Feed Me! Baby Purple Martins, Estero Llano Grande State Park, Rio Grande Valley, Texas. Purple Martins are the largest swallows in North America. Canon EOS 7D/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
Light makes photography. Embrace light. Admire it. Love it. But above all, know light. Know it for all you are worth, and you will know the key to photography.–George Eastman
Canyon Towhee at Dusk, the Basin, Big Bend National Park, Texas. At dusk in the Basin, the landscape is bathed in a warm red light just as the sun disappears below the mountains. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
Canyon Towhees are usually described as drab (“dirt-colored”) nonmigratory desert sparrows of the Southwest. Their charms are, perhaps, a little more difficult to appreciate than those of most birds, but closer inspection reveals a subtle beauty . . . cinnamon undertail coverts, speckling on the breast, a rusty mohawk. And careful observation reveals a few charming behaviors, notably picking dead bugs off parked vehicles and huddling together in the chill of the desert night. In the harsh scrubland environments that these birds inhabit, none of the elements of survival can be wasted–especially not on flamboyance of any kind!.
The Basin at Dusk, Big Bend National Park, Texas. Canon EOS 7DII/Tokina 11-16mm f/2.8 @16mm. Natural light.
The blistering desert sun of a Big Bend summer requires the photo-birder to operate primarily at dusk and dawn. In the Basin, where Canyon Towhees are most observable, the optical conditions at dawn are quite different from those at dusk. Dawn light is cool and gray-green, whereas just before sunset the basin is bathed in a warm red light as noted above. It’s hard to tell, though, how much of the reddish light comes from atmospheric physics and how much is light reflected from the oxide staining that covers the Chisos.
Canyon Towhee at Dawn, the Basin, Big Bend National Park, Texas. This bird is enjoying the last of the cool air of the day . . . before the blast furnace fires up. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
Like many desert birds, Canyon Towhees are curious and will allow a close approach (or they may even approach the birder!). But once they decide the actions of the intruder are threatening or inscrutable, they disappear into the arid landscape.
In the empire of desert, water is the king and shadow is the queen.―Mehmet Murat ildan
Say’s Phoebe, Basin, Big Bend National Park, Texas. On many occasions while photographing in the desert, inquisitive Say’s Phoebes have come to investigate what I was doing. Several almost landed on me. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
Tyrant Flycatchers and kin (Family Tyrannidae) are among the most charming of birds with their curiosity and sallying hunting style. On our recent visit to Big Bend National Park, we found flycatchers everywhere, in all habitats. Small flocks of Say’s Phoebes were especially prominent around the buildings and parking areas of the Chisos Mountains Lodge and the undeveloped areas nearby. The lodge, being at an elevation of about 5400 feet, is near the upper altitude limit for these birds.
Olive-sided Flycatcher, Sam Nail Ranch, Big Bend National Park, Texas. Although flycatcher species are often extremely hard to tell part, some have features that allow them to be readily distinguished from the others. Some birders, for example, say Olive-sided Flycatchers seem to be be wearing a “vest.” Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). High-speed synchronized fill-flash.
At the low altitude abandoned ranches we saw a greater diversity of flycatchers than at altitude. Many individual birds were extremely difficult to identify–even if perched in plain sight! Forget about those lurking in the shadows! Ash-throated Flycatchers, though, were likely the most abundant and seemed to be just about everywhere at low elevation. We spotted the unmistakable Vermilion Flycatcher at several such localities including the Rio Grande Valley Campgrounds and Daniels Ranch–so it wasn’t always an ID guessing game!
Male Vermilion Flycatcher at Dawn, Rio Grande Village, Big Bend National Park, Texas. Most birds migrate, and Vermilion Flycatchers are no exception. However, in North America many of these flycatchers winter along the Gulf Coast and breed to the west of their winter range in the Southwest U.S. and Mexico, rather than to the north. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural Light.
Of all the identification puzzlements afflicting birding, the Empidonax flycatchers take the cake. Widely regarded as “nearly indistinguishable” visually, birders must rely on song (aided by distribution) to confidently identify some of these species. But what if the birds are not singing? Well . . . I guess one must learn to live with uncertainty.
The bird below, for example, would seem to be a Willow Flycatcher. Given the ranges of Willow Flycatcher subspecies, that would likely make this bird a member of the Southwestern race, Empidonax triallii extimus, a federally-listed endangered subspecies. I invite comment from readers who wish to confirm or deny my tentative identification, though.
Willow Flycatcher(?), Sam Nail Ranch, Big Bend National Park, Texas. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
May the sun bring you new energy by day, may the moon softly restore you by night, may the rain wash away your worries, may the breeze blow new strength into your being, may you walk gently through the world and know it’s beauty all the days of your life.―Apache Blessing
Pyrrhuloxia on Hackberry, Sam Nail Ranch, Big Bend National Park, Texas. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
Big Bend National Park (BBNP) is in one of the most spectacular corners of Texas. Broadly, BBNP consists of three major zones: Chihuahuan Desert, Chisos Mountains, and riparian habitats flanking the Rio Grande River. BBNP boasts the largest number of recorded species of birds of any U.S. national park (around 450), with about 50 being permanent residents, the others being nesters or migrants. BBNP is certainly one of the crown jewels of Texas birding.
For this trip we stayed at the Chisos Mountain Lodge in the “basin,” a depression in the center of the Chisos Mountains at an elevation of around 5400 feet. The Chisos are erosional remnants of Tertiary volcanoes that punched up through the local stratigraphic column. This volcanism ended around 12 million years ago. Surprisingly, the weather near the lodge was fairly pleasant even in early August, with highs around 90° F and lows in the mid-60°s F. Only during the heat of the day was it impossible to photo-bird due to the blazing sun. Around the lodge we saw numerous Say’s Phoebes, Canyon Towhees, and Scott’s Orioles.
In many ways, the lodge area is similar to Cave Creek Canyon in the Chiricauhua Mountains region of southeast Arizona, perhaps our favorite birding destination of all. Both are mountainous madrean “sky islands” in the surrounding desert. In the case of the Chiricauhuas, though, the mountains are surrounded from the east by the Chihuahuan Desert and from the west by the Sonoran Desert, whereas the Chisos reside entirely within the Chihuahuan Desert.
Chihuahuan Desert, Big Bend National Park, Texas. Much of the lower elevation parts of BBNP look like this: a desolate rocky landscape dotted with ocotillo, creosote, mesquite, sotol, agave, and grasses. Canon EOS 7DII/Tokina 11-16 @16mm. Natural light. Hand-held.
For this trip we decided to work primarily at low elevation, reserving high elevation hot spots for a future trip in an upcoming May to see (among others) the famous singing male Colima warblers. Working at low elevation meant birding during early mornings and evenings only. From 10am to 7pm in the desert the temperatures routinely topped 100° F, and the sun cut like a knife.
Singing Yellow-breasted Chat, Sam Nail Ranch, Big Bend National Park, Texas. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
Much of the best birding at low elevation in BBNP is to be found at abandoned ranches. Here, wells provide the life-giving water that makes these spots oases in the desert. Our first stop was the Sam Nail Ranch where we were thrilled to find both birds and shade.
At Sam Nail, we spent most of the time shooting from behind the ruin of a mud wall into a thicket backed by cottonwood and pecan trees. In general, the birds were wary and did not allow a close approach, and after about 9am, the light was incredibly harsh. In any case, we saw Varied and Painted Buntings, Yellow-breasted Chats, Northern Cardinals and Mockingbirds, Pyrrhuloxias, a variety of flycatchers (the subject of a future post), Bell’s and Hutton’s Vireos, Blue-gray Gnatcatchers, Summer Tanagers, Blue Grosbeaks, Ladderback and Golden-fronted Woodpeckers, and White-winged Doves (Mexican mountain race).
The Painted Buntings, Blue Grosbeaks, Yellow-breasted Chats, Northern Cardinals, and vireos were all singing at Sam Nail. Likewise Cactus Wrens and a variety of other wrens and thrashers could be heard singing and calling from the surrounding desert.
On the second morning, Elisa turned around to find a Bobcat sitting in the path behind us, but the beast was within the minimum focus distance of her 500mm lens! Later we heard a low feline growl emanating from the thicket behind us, and we decided to cut our visit short: an estimated 25 Mountain Lions live in BBNP and attacks on humans are not unknown.
One evening we also visited Dugout Wells, another abandoned ranch, where we found numerous Pyrrhuloxias, woodpeckers, and thrashers. Loggerhead Shrikes hunted the ranch, and I made a half-hearted attempt to find shrike kills posted on thorns, but frankly the heat was so intense that I could hardly move carrying the 600mm lens and had to photograph Jackrabbits and Desert Cottontails from a patch of shade until the insane fireball in the sky disappeared behind a distant thunderhead.
Jackrabbit at Dusk, Dugout Wells, Big Bend National Park, Texas. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Natural light.
Although Roadrunners are common throughout the park, we decided to take a special trip to the Rio Grande Village camp grounds and Daniels Ranch one morning to see and attempt to photograph them up close. Roadrunners were as abundant as reported in A field Guide to the Birds of Big Bend by Roland Wauer–as were Inca Doves, woodpeckers, and flycatchers (including summering Vermilion flycatchers). But by 9:30am it was so sweltering that we decided to move on to higher elevation.
Roadrunner Portrait, Rio Grande Village, Big Bend National Park, Texas. You know it’s hot when Roadrunners are suffering. This bird was engaged in a number of thermoregulatory behaviors including resting in the shade, gaping, gular fluttering, and feather rousing to expose bare skin to the air. Canon EOS 7DII/600mm f/4L IS (+1.4x TC). Hand-held from truck; natural light.
Big Bend is one of those majestic places that demand repeated and prolonged visits. And we are drawing up plans to visit again during the other seasons. I can hardly wait.
