Christmas Bird Count 2012

Counting birds (instead of shooting them) for 113 years and beyond...

Good old Frank Chapman had it right back in 1900 when he suggested a bird "census" as an alternative to the annual "side hunt" that had routinely claimed the lives of many feathered animals.  I personally have been participating for a mere 10 years, and this particular count was the wettest one in my short association with citizen science contribution.  It rained and rained all day on December 15th, 2012 with a temperature of 47 degrees as the high of the day.  I stayed in "Area 20" as my one-mile "square" of the 15 mile count circle managed by Andrea Szymczak.  Carl Schroeder acts as Wisconsin's CBC Regional Editor for data.  I was on my own this year as Barbara needed to be at work on that particular Saturday and I'm almost certain that in the end, staying warm and dry was just fine by her; however I know that she would have if she could have gone along to be with me.

I began my search for random avian life along the south bank of the Menominee River Parkway just south of State Street in Wauwatosa on the easternmost "edge" of Area 20.  Despite the gray skies and miserable conditions I tallied some Dark-eyed juncos and Mallards, with a pair of Ring-billed gulls out in the drizzle and cool of that particular CBC morning.  On my way back out, I encountered three individuals walking towards me on the woodsy path.  They looked just like birders. In fact, they were when I asked them what they were "up to" on this wet morning.  Interestingly I did not expect to encounter anyone else on this stretch of the CBC, as one must first "register" with the count chairperson beforehand.  It turns out that this group was part of a larger group on the bluff-side of Doyne Park led by Urban Ecology's Timothy Vargo.  Somehow he had his small group of soggy bird-watchers walking through a combination of CBC areas, and claimed to have "told Andrea" this planned route in the week prior.  I pointed out that I had "done" Area 20 for the past three years and that (while I was glad to see company) that perhaps it might be problematic if his group just moseyed through several areas "counting" birds that may have already been accounted for by the area leaders.  Well, ultimately...that's for the "experts" to sort out; I just knew I was "official" in my area, and that all I could do was to continue my organized census in the constant rain. With a round of handshakes for his group of fellow well-intentioned birders I climbed into my trusty WPT, eventually leaving them as they walked northward towards who-knows-where - counting the birds they saw for who-knows-what eventual purpose.

A stop inside Calvary Cemetery next to the freeway that also abuts a strip-joint property called Monreal's Encore scored me another group of juncos, Northern cardinals and a half-dozen Black-capped chickadees.  I marveled at some of the elaborate graffiti scrawled against a retaining wall and listened to the disjointed echoes of a microphone-narrated ceremony to honor fallen war veterans that wafted through the rainy mist across four lanes of traffic on I-94 from the direction of the distant but impressively expansive, civil war era (36,738 graves) Wood National Cemetery.  I mused that those patriotic umbrella-wielding folks with their uniformed attachment were also getting pretty soaked, but for an even grander cause than I was currently involved with.  I respectfully paused to attempt to glean the purpose of the solemn rainy-day gathering, but was unable to distinguish the exact meaning due to the distance, and the constant splashing of the cars and trucks on the rain-soaked freeway.  I moved on.

The remainder of the day's count went fairly routinely with one exception; a surprise encounter with a homeless person "living" in an encampment deep in the woods between (upper) Vliet Street and (lower) Juneau Ave.  In a small, grassy woods-clearing just below an Milwaukee Police vehicle facility (on approximately 48th and Vliet streets) there's a small City tot-lot with a swing set planted in a bed of wood chips. I walked past it as something deeper in the woods caught my eye. I began moving towards the color.  I almost blindly wandered right into a bright-blue, tarp-created, homeless domicile out of sheer careless curiosity. As I crunched on the wet branches and high-stepped through the leafless bramble; I saw sudden movement.  I froze. A black-jacketed figure wearing a fuzzy-rimmed hood, hunch-walked towards a pile of soaked newspapers piled on a stump and began riffling through them with some purpose unbeknownst to me.  I peered into my drippy and foggy binoculars and spied the sprawling homeless "spread" that had a lot of miscellaneous items scattered around that looked suspiciously as though they might have been "liberated" from the surrounding neighborhood. As I stood watching from a distance leaning against a large tree trunk, I saw a newer looking green ten-speed type bicycle wheeled out from the brush, and this unlikely bicyclist  proceed to actually "lock" it to a nearby tree.  (Apparently there's no honor among the homeless either.)  

Now perhaps this particular unfortunate situation is somehow known and tolerated, however if my home was located in that cozy Milwaukee neighborhood, it would majorly creep me out knowing that while my small children were at play on the tot lot swings in that clearing, that there was a disgustingly grubby human lurking nearby in the woods with some of my stuff possibly collected from my own back yard.  I debated stopping in to tell the police in person however I envisioned a hassle with that scenario, so I sent an anonymous email "tip" instead.

I drove the remainder of my route in a serpentine fashion, cutting up one street and down another with my window open as much as I could tolerate the wind and raindrops; listening.  I was rewarded in the Washington Highlands neighborhood with a random Red-bellied woodpecker call and four different groups of House sparrows, noisily cheeping deep within clumps of weather-protective shrubbery.  I called it quits just as daylight (gray as it was) began to fade into dusk.  I was wet and tired, ready to tally up my sightings for the day.  I later emailed my results to Andrea and skipped the post-count festivities at the Schlitz Audubon Center for the dryness and warmth of the apartment and the equally warm company of Barbara; the 2012 CBC was now only a memory with only the day's census results to view.  That was just fine with me...I did my part and felt glad to have assisted in even the smallest of ways.   The data collected by observers over the past century allow researchers, conservation biologists, and other interested individuals to study the long-term health and status of bird populations across North America. When combined with other surveys such as the Breeding Bird Survey, it provides a picture of how the continent's bird populations have changed in time and space over the past hundred years. 

Next year; why not join me?  

Email me your interest for 2013 -  birdstud@birdmilwaukee.com

Blue Moon Weekend

Sky and Telescope asks, "When is the Moon 'blue,' in a calendrical sense? According to the Maine almanac, a Blue Moon occurs when a season has four full Moons, rather than the usual three. This type of Blue Moon is found only in February, May, August, and November, one month before the next equinox or solstice. According to modern folklore, a Blue Moon is the second full Moon in a calendar month. This type of Blue Moon can occur in any month but February, which is always shorter than the time between successive full Moons.  

I ask; "When is a Blue Moon drinkable?" Regardless of the real reason for calling a moon "blue," modern marketing rules:  Just make sure to drink a Blue Moon beer, under a Blue Moon.  We did.

It was Labor Day weekend 2012 and time to head "up the 43" to the north, for a late-summer camping trip.   The destination was Kohler/Andrae State Park.  I had fortuitously somehow found an electric site (only about a month prior) on Reserve America that had been released by whomever had earlier planned to use it.  Barbara and I loaded up the WPT with all our various sundry camping items,  the Canoe-dle and our bicycles for a three-day (roughing-it) relaxation period.   Our site was high on a rolling pine needle-covered hill of pure Wisconsin sand.  Tall, straight, mature White pines were all lined up in rows throughout our site; making it handy to tie ropes with fiberglass tarps in various places.  There was a small threat of inclement weather that never happened, but the tarps overhead did provide some welcome shade for our Cabela's brand, Zero-gravity chairs.

When I camp, I also bring along some bird seed.  I have seen some of the greatest birds right in the campsite - so I always want to put out a small offering, just in case.  This time it was a blend of seed that I found on clearance at Puhl's hardware in Wauwatosa for $ 2.99.  It wasn't my first choice, but I've been under a bit of a tight budget for obvious reasons.  Cheaper seed blends like this one contain far more milo (grain sorghum) fillers, cracked corn and far less sunflower seed than more expensive brands but what the heck; it was all I had.  I sprinkled a small pile at the base of several of the pines.  I thought that the millet and milo might attract sparrows and juncos (which it did) but never did I expect the absolute flurry of "other" activity that the small amount of black-oil sunflower seeds delivered.

Barbara and I sat drinking our vintage (E bay) Coleman stove-perked coffee and were treated to the most Red-breasted nuthatches I had ever seen in one place, at one time!  In one would fly, and land on a tree trunk near the ground.  It would chatter some kind of greeting, or warning, or whatever and then drop to the pile of seed below it.  The small reddish brown, black and white bird would stir its longish beak in the pile and come up with a sunflower seed and take off to a nearby tree.  The tiny birds would not even eat the seeds they took; instead, they found some crevice or fold in the pine bark and (with amazing speed and accuracy) pounded in the seed - leaving it behind as they flew in for another.  This cycle was repeated over and over again as the two of us sat watching, and listening to the chittering.  Occasionally a Black-capped chickadee would get too near this shuttling activity and be scolded soundly for its proximity, but these little dynamos were equal opportunity complainers - they would dive-bomb the larger White-breasted nuthatches too with equanimity.

With their strong toes and claws and unique ability to "run" over tree bark in any direction; they would even first deftly pound a small divot into the bark, before depositing their seed.  Red-breasted nuthatches form monogamous pairs. They usually excavate their own nest-cavities in a rotten snag, often aspen, and require fairly soft wood to excavate. They will occasionally use a natural cavity, old woodpecker hole, or artificial nest box. Both members of the nuthatch pair create the nest hole, and the female actually builds the nest inside. Their nest is a soft cup of grass, needles, bark fibers, moss, feathers, and hair. Both sexes coat the inside and outside of the nest hole entrance with pine pitch that may help keep predators and competitors away. They sometimes use a piece of bark as a tool to transport the pitch to the nest, and then smear it on the entrance hole. They avoid the pitch by flying straight into the hole. The female incubates 5 to 8 eggs for 12 to 13 days. Both parents feed the young for 18 to 21 days on the nest, and for about two more weeks after they have fledged.

The entertaining feathered activity around the campsite continued off and on throughout the entire glorious day.  A crazy looking Northern cardinal with most of its head feathers missing would show up and take a few seeds, along with a (quite normal-looking) female.  Barbara and I speculated aloud as to that peculiar relationship.  Perhaps it was some sort of Phantom of the Avian Opera attraction?  A thirteen-lined ground squirrel ran in fast and low to the ground filling up its cheek pouch several times; taking the moist oral stash back to its burrow about 15 yards away.  Chipping sparrows and the occasional junco would join the others, but weren't interested in the sunflower seed like the nuthatches were.  The sun continued to shine through the pines and kept the air at a perfect temperature as we sat and relaxed; watching the free nature show.  An Eastern towhee crept out of the leaf litter it had been foraging through to investigate the seed piles, but didn't stay long before retreating once more to the security of the underbrush.

Later that evening as our (Emerald ash borer-free) fire crackled and cast its warmth in the direction of our chairs; we both unscrewed icy-cold bottles of Blue Moon as we watched the uniquely glowing orb rising above Lake Michigan, peeking through the dark pines.  Lifting them to our lips, we thanked God for the chance to be there in the first place, and for the glory of His creation that surrounded us.  

Yes, life is good....VERY good indeed.

Pecking Order

At times things can get a little Hairy, so keep on your toes and listen UP↑

Thanksgiving 2009 saw this blog author back in his old stomping grounds visiting the in laws. Never wanting to miss an honest to goodness natural opportunity; I made sure I took a few morning hikes around the neighborhood. Not wanting to become a statistic in this year's Gun-Deer hunt, I stayed in the City limits proper, wore my RED Budweiser Dale Earnhart Jr. hat, and kept my fingers crossed as I wandered about; removing the usual white handkerchief hanging from my back pocket, for good measure. (JK about the last part) I was however truly vigilant and wary as I meandered along the railroad tracks and along the highway for traces of blaze orange, just in case. I had just walked down from the railroad bed that I love to walk along attracted to an anomaly of an ancient wire embedded in a large poplar when the loud, brief sound of a whitetail "huff" caused me to freeze in my tracks. I leaned next to the enormous power pole that was nearby, waited and listened. My eyes caught a tiny movement between the trees and leafless brush piles. As I waited, camera in hand for the animal to come into view, a new sound on the highway just ahead startled me. "Errrrrrweeeeeee...THUMP!"

Having grown up in the Northwoods that sound, proximity to the highway and the fact that I was awaiting a whitetail's appearance from the woods told me everything in two seconds: Car VS Deer...a bad match-up. I struggled through the adjoining marsh, getting two soakers for my troubles and emerged from the entanglement onto the gravel shoulder. Up ahead about 50 yards I saw a white Cadillac and a woman standing on the passenger side looking towards the Marathon gas station to the north. I sidled up and asked was she all right. She said that she was fine and that her vehicle had struck the deer's hind leg after it had plowed into another vehicle as she pointed to a forest green Chevy Suburban parked in the Marathon's lot. A shaken looking young man was peering at the both of us about 75 feet away standing next to his passenger side door that looked like it had met with a massive impact. "That deer must be around here because I think I broke it's leg," she offered as she looked through the cattails on the roadside between her car and the Marathon station. "I've seen more than my share of three-legged deer in my yard" she added. I explained my unexpected appearance and concern telling them both that I'd look for the injured animal across the marsh to the south. The woman drove off and the young man headed for the warmth of the station kiosk...he probably needed to process a few things.

I tracked the hoof prints as they had dug into the soft gravel shoulder in its fateful leap onto the tarmac and into the side of the suburban; to the other side of the divided four lane highway. I wandered in amongst the woods and cattails for a time and finally gave up, going on my merry way, but guiltily wondered if my presence in the adjoining woods has spooked the deer to panic-strickenly flee across the busy highway. Oops...my bad if that was what had truly happened. Hopefully this particular unfortunate (now three-legged) creature knew where the woman's yard was so that it had kindred spirits to hang with.

A large wide swing around the properties that fronted this particular segment of the Pelican River yielded a variety of interesting sights and sounds from submerged Trig's shopping carts to the peck, peck, pecking of a Hairy woodpecker. I stood and watched the Hairy for quite a while as it worked on the bark of a maple tree. These larger "cousins" to the more plentiful "Downy" woodpeckers are efficient excavators. At about 7½ inches long Picoides villosus has a much longer bill as well and is missing the spotting along the undertail that the smaller Downy features. Hairy woodpeckers forage primarily on the trunks or main limbs of trees, where they probe into crevices and scale off bark searching for prey. They drum frequently in spring. Their diet consists of bark-boring and wood-boring beetle larvae in dead and dying trees. They also feed on sap from sapsucker holes, berries, nuts, seeds, and suet. Hairy Woodpeckers form monogamous breeding pairs in late winter, and pairs from previous seasons often re-pair. Both members of the pair excavate nesting and roosting holes in soft or rotten wood, especially in aspens or dead conifers. Although Hairy Woodpeckers spend most of their time in coniferous forests, they prefer to nest in deciduous trees. Both parents incubate the 4 eggs for about 14 days, and both feed the young. The young leave the nest after 28 to 30 days and follow the parents around for some time thereafter. Each pair of Hairy Woodpeckers typically raises one brood each year.

The next stop on this particular "tour" lead me to a section of backwaters that were obviously on some nature group's continual radar. In the trees that rimmed the river's edge were about a dozen Wood duck houses that were in various conditions from beat to hell, to brand new. I was impressed that here along this seemingly lonely stretch of river that humans has actually decided to help out with the provision of handy avian housing. But as I looked up at the condition of some of the older decrepit units, I wondered what it would be like as the neighbor to one of these slum-duck squatters living in wooden squalor. Heck, I guess any duck could choose to move out of it's dive and into one of the new units; making them an instant "slum-duck-millionaire." (yeah, I know...) Industrious Beavers had also decided that there were a few tasty poplars that needed felling and dismemberment near this spot of land...thier tell-tale signs were everywhere.

Back to the tracks...I had only traveled about 300 yards when sweetly familiar sounds caused me to stop. Darting back and forth across the tracks and in and out of the lower brush were Black-capped chickadees. Their call notes and interspersed songs were delightfully pleasing on this cold and snowy morning. I stood watching in the center of the rail-bed at the antics of these tiny birds and quickly realized that there was definite purpose to their seemingly random flitting. A 6" diameter Paper birch tree had apparently rotted and snapped off (or vice-versa) near the tracks edge and the chickadees had discovered that it would make a convenient place to begin building their home for the winter. The minuscule bird (or birds, it was impossible to tell) would land about 24 inches away from the hole they had started, and then take a "turn" at the excavation of the inside. Down would go the chickadee into the hole and reappear with a beakful of saw chips and dust. The bird would fly off a short distance and deposit its tailing into the air, allowing them to cascade earthward before returning to the staging area once more. Fascinating! I must have watched (ahhh, hell-O it's called bird "watching") for about ½ hour before I had pretty much had gotten the gist of this marvelous building activity.

The next day it snowed. It was one of those "clinging" type of crystalline snows that coats each branch and makes them appear as if the whole world were dipped in marshmallows; at least as long as the temperature stayed cold enough. To that end I wandered out very early to get some nice digital images of the spectacle. I began walking again along the train tracks; walking slowly and inhaling the crisp clean air. I made it to the river and ultimately to the enormous Hodag at the Rhinelander visitors center snapping pictures all the way. This particular post-Thanksgiving morning was gloriously quiet and blissfully peaceful. I saw a few more of the "usual" species and was struck by a particularly large covey of Mourning doves that had gathered underneath my mother-in law's deck. Of course they "exploded" into whistling flight as I approached, but it was breathtaking nonetheless.

So perhaps the message of this particular blog (as it so often is) is to keep your eyes and ears open because you just never know what you'll see and hear; but also remember not to spook the deer towards the highway when you encounter them.

Sources: 2005-2008 Seattle Audubon Society

Videos below...

Watch the Hairy Woodpecker work

Chickadee Homebuilding Session

Leave it to Beaver

Deer Crossing - Zzzzooooooom!

Thanks for reading!! - B.Stud