There is an unreasonable joy to be had from the observation of small birds going about their bright, oblivious business.
~Grant Hutchison
Well, sandhill cranes aren’t really small birds. In fact, they rank as North America’s second tallest bird at between 3 to 5 feet (depending on the subspecies) falling just short of the slightly taller whooping crane. But what I watched this week was a very young sandhill crane (some are saying it is only a few days old) that was probably only about 7 to 8 inches tall. Sandhill crane babies are called colts because someone thought their long strong legs looked like those of a young horse. They are precocial young which means they hatch covered in downy feathers with eyes open and able to walk within just a few hours. Soon they are trailing after their parents as they probe for small insects to feed them. They grow quickly, up to an inch per day. But this is an extremely vulnerable time for a colt especially in a place like Yellowstone with so many predators. A colt won’t be able to fly for 2 to 3 months so they are reliant on their parents for protection. In the past, I watched an adult sandhill defending a colt from a coyote by going at the canid with wings flared and jumping at it until the confused mammal gave up and left the scene.
Sandhill crane family. Note the tiny orange ball of downy feathers just behind the adults – that’s the colt
But on this morning, I watched this family as they walked along near a wetland marsh looking for food with the youngster moving between parents to get a small morsel of whatever it was they were finding in the soft soil. The whole scene was idyllic – early morning light with a family of majestic birds going about their lives with a group of well-behaved visitors along the road taking it all in. Here are a couple of clips of these birds having breakfast.
It is a remarkably spirited little creature, and one would hardly expect so much fire and courage to be condensed into so small a body.
~John Muir
A couple of years ago on a trip to Yellowstone, I heard reports of a calliope hummingbird near Gardiner. I looked it up in a field guide and was blown away – what a stunning bird! They are the smallest breeding bird in North America weighing in at about 2 to 3 grams or about the same as a ping pong ball or a penny. They also have the distinction of being the smallest long-distance migrant in the world annually traveling 5000 miles between their breeding grounds in the Pacific Northwest and Rocky Mountains to their wintering areas in Mexico and Central America. Last summer we had a couple of calliope females (or immature males) at the feeders a few times but they were overwhelmed by the larger broad-tailed hummers and the frenzy of rufous hummingbirds. But I had not yet seen a male until this past week. Melissa saw a male at our feeder a few times while I was out in the yard working. Then she saw one while I was in the living room but it was on the back side of the feeder out of my sight. But I was hopeful now that one was hanging around.
Then she guided a birding group (including some friends from NC) last week and I tagged along on the walk to hope to see dusky grouse. Along the way Melissa spotted a male calliope that flew past and perched high on a small conifer. The group gathered trying to get a look and a photo. The bird flashed off and then reappeared on the same perch. I managed a couple of poor photos before it zoomed away. I regretted not looking at it through my binoculars instead of taking a distant photo in poor light. But at least we had seen one.
My first view of the male calliope was not the best
On the way back, we spotted the bird again in the same general area as before. I got a little closer and managed a photo with its back turned. It wasn’t until I looked at the pic on my computer that I realized that even with its back facing me I could still see its unusual gorget feathers sticking out away from its body..
Notice the spread gorget feathers visible off the side of the neck even when it is turned around
And that is what helps make the male calliope hummingbird one of the most spectacular birds I have seen. Unlike other North American hummingbirds whose males have a more or less solid pattern of bright color on their neck feathers (their gorget), the male calliope has separate magenta-red feathers that spread out like starburst rays on a white background. When viewed from the side, they appear dark like the gorgets of many other species of hummingbirds. But when viewed head-on, it is amazing!
Our bird soon flew off so the group drove on to other sites. I decided to stay and see if the bird returned so I sat on a log by the trail and waited. I spoke to a nice group of folks from North Carolina and a young couple hiking by and then it was quiet. I waited about 15 minutes and decided it might be time to go when suddenly a male calliope flew in and landed on the other side of the trail on a small dead twig. For a few seconds he was facing the other way and then he turned around and faced me, head turned to the side.
When viewed from the side the separate neck feathers appear dark
But when they turn toward you, the effect is dazzling. The wine-purple feathers are set off by the white background in between. And the male can elevate the bright feathers outward to create that starburst effect. That has got to impress the ladies. It sure impressed me.
The gorgeous display of neck feathers of a male calliope hummingbird
And this was a cloudy day. I look forward to going back to try to catch a glimpse of one in the sunlight which should really set off the colors in those bright streaks of feathers.
Certainly one of our most beautiful birds
Remarkably, no one walked past me on this trail for the 10 minutes I sat with this bird that was only 15 feet away. Before it flew off to parts unknown I tried some handheld video clips. I accidentally filmed them in slow motion (guess I was still very excited to be sitting near this jewel of a bird). Here are portions of the two clips.
Note the breathing action of the bird in this next clip and the occasional flying insect (mosquito?) that gets attention from time to time. That yoga stretch looks pretty relaxing as well.
In the 10 minutes I was privileged to watch this bird, I took over 270 photos and 3 videos. But I could have spent much more time with such an intriguing and beautiful creature. Here’s hoping I get some more chances this summer.
That’s the Dusky Grouse — handsome, big and a bit dim.
~Ben Long
We recently had a group of birders visit. I knew several of them from North Carolina events and they decided to hire Melissa as their guide (through her part-time employer, Yellowstone Wild) for their first day in the park. One of the birds they had hoped to see was the dusky grouse, Dendragapus obscurus. The bird’s scientific name gives a hint to its preferred habitat – “dark tree-lover” as it does like evergreen forests. But we often find them here in Yellowstone in more open habitats of scattered Douglas fir, aspens, and shrub-grasslands. On a park outing a couple of days before the birding group arrived I thought I would check some of the places we have seen these chicken-sized birds in the past. My first hike yielded not just one grouse, but two. The first was a male in display mode. We had seen this in a previous year on a spring backpacking trip when we heard a repeated deep oop sound and then encountered the bird slowly strutting through the vegetation, puffing its side feathers out and ooping.
A male dusky grouse just a few feet from me on a park trail
These birds are normally cryptic with their blend of brown, gray, and white-flecked feathers. But in display mode, the male raises feathers along both sides of its neck revealing some bumpy reddish-purple air sacs surrounded by white feathers. It also inflates the “eyebrow” skin patches that can change color from their normal yellow-ish to orange or red depending on the bird’s level of excitement.
This male started displaying on a log near the trail
This male was not into full display mode it seems as it was just standing in place repeatedly uttering its very low (and almost inaudible) oop calls. Here’s a short clip and despite my proximity, the camera’s microphone failed to pick up its calls.
I slowly walked into the trees so the light would hit the bird when it stepped out into the sun. It continued calling and then hopped off the log and headed straight for me, looking up as it displayed. This may be where the descriptor dim from the quote above comes from – these birds seem to have no fear.
The grouse gives me the eye as it struts towards me
You may remember a post from two years ago where a displaying male grouse was “attacking” cars and people, including Melissa, when she got out to make sure we would not run over the bird as it approached our slowly moving vehicle on a dirt road in the park. Increased hormone levels in spring make males aggressive and they defend their territories from anything that moves be it another male, human, or even a vehicle. This has given rise to another common name, “fool hen”, for their seeming lack of fear around humans.
I stepped away and the bird went back to its log satisfied that this large bipedal rival had been vanquished. But within minutes another bird appeared on the scene. I thought it might be a hen at first as it approached in deep shade and I could not see any color. But when it stepped into the sun, I saw the yellow “eyebrows” indicating this was a potential rival male. And so it began…
The two male grouse began a slow dance (with an occasional leap) around each other.
I watched these two birds interact for about 15 minutes. There was lots of slow circling, periodic lunges, some low squawking, and occasional contact. In the end, the original male reclaimed his territory. Here are several video clips of their “conversations”.
I was lucky to spend 45 minutes with the grouse before anyone else came along the trail. At that point we marveled at his beauty and tenacity and I left with him still performing on his log. Two days later Melissa took the birding group up that same trail (I tagged along for this portion of the trip) and as we slowly walked near his territory, someone spotted the male grouse on a log further off the trail. It blended in quite nicely with the branches and logs of its home. It finally did some half-hearted displays so everyone was able to see and hear a bit of its repertoire.
The grouse acting somewhat subdued for the birding group
Luckily for them, they saw three males displaying the next day so they were able to appreciate the full range of this unusual bird’s abilities.
I’ve always enjoyed writing. In second grade, my best friend Kelly and I would spend indoor recess writing poems and stories. Before we moved to Montana, I went through decades of journals that my mom had held on to over the years. It was both embarrassing and hilarious to read my thoughts on boys and school and teenage life. In college, I spent three years pursing a degree in civil engineering, which later evolved into a degree in environmental science. The science- and math-heavy coursework did not lend itself to much writing, nor did the life of a busy college and then graduate student. But fairly early into my work at the Museum, I participated in a workshop about using poetry as a tool to observe and write about nature. It reignited my interest in writing and provided me with tools to help start putting pen to paper. Since then, I’ve written in fits and starts when inspired by experiences outdoors, often in the eastern North Carolina swamps or in the vastness of Yellowstone.
My illustration of a Rocky Mountain parnassian butterfly laying eggs, from the story “How to Survive the Winter, Butterfly Style”
I was fortunate to have a colleague at the North Carolina Aquarium at Pine Knoll Shores that knew I dabbled in photography who sought out a collaboration to put together an exhibit of my work at her site. As that project progressed and focused in on the swamp and savannah ecosystems of eastern North Carolina, it provided a venue to share some of my poetry about the region along with my photographs. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to get down to the coast to see the exhibit before we moved to Montana, but as far as I know, it’s still there.
I had hoped to pursue writing more as I left my full-time job with the Museum and moved to Gardiner. And by some fortunate alignment of fate, shortly after we had settled in to our new home an opportunity fell in my lap. The Charlotte Mason Institute reached out to Mike and me about writing a nature reader for students in grades 1 through 3 for their Alveary curriculum. They hadn’t been able to find exactly what they wanted that was already published. Their science curriculum coordinator, Danielle, was a fan of this blog and told us how much she enjoyed its sense of discovery and wonder. She asked if Mike and/or I would be interested in writing for them. I was eager for the opportunity, and Mike was enjoying retirement too much to want to take the project on, so I excitedly agreed to do it.
My illustration of a black and yellow millipede, from the story “Rolling Logs”
Danielle gave me free rein to think about my experiences in nature and the things that I found fascinating. My experience at the Museum showing teachers the wonders of nature right outside their classroom doors provided a perfect launching point. There are some things that almost everyone can find near their home that kids reading my stories would be able to explore. A few of the topics headed further afield to talk about slightly less local places, and those provided opportunities to describe different ecosystems or showcase natural phenomena that could be tied to experiences back home. Basically, the project was creative, fun, and perfect for me!
As I was working on the project, I was also exploring drawing and watercolors a bit. I’d taught nature journaling to teachers for years and given away hundreds of sets of watercolor pencils, but rarely took the time to practice those skills myself. My friend, Chris, gifted me a registration for John Muir Laws’ Wild Wonder Nature Journaling Conference, which gave me new ideas and techniques. So I decided to add illustrations to about half of the nature reader stories. Plus, Mike and I had pictures of pretty much everything I was writing about, and we were able to add those visuals as well.
My illustration of a spicebush swallowtail caterpillar, from the story “How Do Caterpillars Stay Safe?”My illustration of a mud dauber wasp building her nest, from the story “Dissecting Daubers” — this one will be in the third book coming out soon!
Today, copies of the first two books arrived in the mail! I can’t quite describe how exciting it feels to hold a book that I have written in my own two hands. The covers have my name on them, and the pages are full of my words and illustrations and photographs (and many of Mike’s, too). I guess it’s much like what has driven my career over the last twenty years: I love sharing nature with others. I love making a difference in their lives and helping them see the world with new eyes. I hope that my books will be another way to do just that.
These first two books are designed to go with the Alveary science curriculum for grades 1 and 2. There are thirty stories in each. I’m not a reading specialist, but I’d guess they’re actually written at an upper elementary or early middle school reading level. Fortunately, writing at grade 1-2 reading level wasn’t the goal, as the books are intended to be used by parents or teachers with their students. And though I’m using the word “curriculum” here, the books are really just a collection of nature stories, many of which end with a prompt to go out and explore for yourself. Over the next few weeks, I’m planning to share a few of the stories on the blog (with the permission of the publisher). I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them!
Here’s one to get that started…
Year of the Cicada
I was born in a cicada year. The summer my mom was pregnant with me, the periodical cicadas showed up. They squeezed their small brown bodies out of holes in the soil, climbed up the nearest tree or fence or house, and split open their backs. Out came an adult cicada that flew away to a tree. They left behind papery exuviae all over the trees and fences and houses. My mom didn’t like it.
Periodical cicada nymph
Seventeen years later, just as I finished high school, they came back! The cicadas that were hatched when I was in my mom’s tummy had grown up with me! This time, I could observe them. Holes appeared in the yard. Small brown cicada nymphs crawled up the trees and fences and houses. They sat there until night time. Then they split open their backs. Very slowly, a white ghost-like adult cicada with bright red eyes and two black spots leaned out and back. Its wings were crumpled up. It hung on the papery exuvia for a long time. It pumped fluid into its wings and waited for them to harden. I couldn’t wait that long. It was time for me to go to bed. In the morning, the adult cicadas had changed color from white to dark green and black. But their eyes were still red!
Periodical cicada adult
The neighborhood filled with a loud whining sound. It was millions of cicadas all singing at once! The song lasted for weeks. Then, at the ends of twigs on lots of trees, small cuts appeared. It was where the cicadas were laying eggs. Once they hatched, the nymphs would fall from the tree and bury themselves in the ground for another seventeen years.
How the cicadas come only every 17 years seems kind of like magic. My mom didn’t think so. She thought they were gross. But I think it’s amazing! Are there bugs in your yard that might be gross… but are also amazing?
Exuvia: An exuvia is the shed skin of an insect.
Note: Some cicadas are annual cicadas and are around every year. Periodical cicadas occur in broods. There are some on a 13 year schedule, and some on a 17 year schedule. Scientists think the reason they do this is so that there are so many cicadas that predators can’t eat them all. Some will survive and lay eggs for the next generation.
This story is copyrighted by the Charlotte Mason Institute and is shared with their permission. It may not be reproduced without their express written permission.
If you want to read more, the books are available to order here!
The ant carrying the coyote blossom across the desert is a Glorian.
A Glorian is an encounter. A Glorain is a meeting with the élan vital. A Glorian is a moment of grace.”
~Terry Tempest Williams
Recently, I’ve been reading Terry Tempest Williams’ new book, The Glorians: Visitations from the Holy Ordinary about her encounters with the wonders of the natural world, both tiny and grand. Last week, Mike and I took a short backpacking trip on Yellowstone’s Northern Range. Here are a few of the Glorians we ran across…
May 6 – We are along the Yellowstone River in the Black Canyon. We started at Blacktail Creek Trailhead after dropping the truck at the Hellroaring Trailhead. Just a short distance in, the trail drops behind a low hill and out of sight of the road for the most part. A pond edges the trail. As we approach, we hear a loud “so-RA” sound. We stop and look, nothing. We decide to eat lunch in the hopes that the small rail will show itself. It’s a no-show, but we see a muskrat and a breeding pair of buffleheads.
My first rubber boa, one of only six species of reptiles that live in Yellowstone.
The wildflowers on the north-facing slope as we descend along Blacktail Creek are coming alive. Larkspur and pasqueflower, spring beauty and shooting star are all in full bloom. I love the elegant lines of the pasqueflower bloom sitting atop an open hand of its bracts, which are completely covered in short hairs to protect from the cold nights of early spring. Vibrant, robust stems of Solomon’s seal push up near boulders and tree roots where the soil is rich. Arrowleaf balsamroot flowers are sheltered in thick clump of leaves. They are still green, but show their shape. Some of the leaves look burned by the late frosts after a too-warm early spring.
By the river at camp, in the shelter of junipers, a ruby-crowned kinglet, mountain chickadee, and two Audubon’s warblers hunt insects. I am so happy to finally see a kinglet after recognizing its songs all spring. It is the sound of my new home. Now, as darkness falls, the evening calls of robins popcorn around the landscape while a low musical note, like one out of a bittern’s strange call, sounds. I don’t know what it is. Mike’s breathing slows beside me, warm in the tent, even as light lingers in the sky.
May 7 – A campsite on Hellroaring Creek. I can see hints of the road: headlights on a distant hill. The wind is gusting in the trees, though it is hard to differentiate the wind from the rush of the creek. The very healthy bull bison that crossed the creek and approached our tent earlier, looking for greener grass I suppose, has disappeared, perhaps up the rocky slope behind us. It’s nearly 9 pm and the sky is still bright, though most of the color of sunset has passed. The clouds have a bit of a golden glow still lingering on their bottoms.
Camp bison… of course he came back at dawn and made packing up camp a bit difficult. As soon as we left, he headed over to rub himself on the trees supporting our food pole. Thankfully, he was pretty chill and didn’t seem to get agitated by our presence before we departed from his home.
A few of the smaller discoveries earlier in the day included a cicada shed, a caterpillar being attacked by thatch ants, and a kestrel tail feather beneath the food pole in our campsite. I heard cicadas in the park last summer, but this was the first larval shed I’ve come across. Shortly after I took the photo of the caterpillar, it dropped to the ground and two more ants began to swarm over it. I picked it up and moved it away, my love of caterpillars beating out my desire to let nature take its course. There were other kestrel feathers in camp, too, including a wing feather and number of body feathers. It’s hard to believe something caught an acrobatic, speedy kestrel. Another moment, one that couldn’t be captured by a camera, was hearing one round of the deep thumps of a ruffed grouse drumming, the rumble so deep you almost feel rather than hear the sound.
Cicada shedCaterpillar and thatch antKestrel tail feather
Our favorite wildlife moment was a curious badger. As we approached, I saw a flash of rusty fur disappear behind a mound. We slowed, and soon it popped its head up to check us out. That striped face is unmistakable. We approached like elk, back and forth, pulling grass, and the badger seemed unfrightened, even curious. At close distance, through my binoculars, I could see its nostrils twitch as it scented us. It pulled down the burrow, ears still visible, then couldn’t resist taking another look at us.
We lingered with the badger for a few moments before heading on to give it space.
Perhaps most notable highlight of the trip was walking out of the canyon and into the open country of Hellroaring. It is a mosaic of vast slopes of sagebrush and grasses, dotted with cobbles dropped by glaciers. The land rolls and swells, backed by rocky cliffs and snow-capped mountains. The low points, many cut with a narrow, winding creek, display a vibrant spring green. The drier slopes have the verdancy of summer. Douglas firs dot the landscape here and there. Most seem to have a large scrape or wallow in their shade. This landscape, dotted with bison and elk waiting to hear a wolf’s howl– this is Yellowstone.
“They obviously don’t have kids.” It wasn’t directed at me. But even though it wasn’t, I felt it. I hear it in the lack of conversation that likely stems from the lack of common ground. I notice it in shared looks between parents. And it’s true. I can’t fully comprehend a world that revolves around one’s children when mine is full of the songs of kinglets and mist rising off black water, towering sandstone cliffs and colorful desert wildflowers.
I recently spent time back East visiting family. I rode bikes and looked for turtles in the pond with my two younger nephews. I played guitar and sang Vance Joy songs with my eldest nephew. I pushed my nieces on the swings and taught the eldest how to hang by her knees from the monkey bars.
Before I left my family for some time in one of my sacred places, the blackwater swamps along the Roanoke River, my younger niece Susie said she wished I could live with her all the time. Each time she cuddled up to my legs and held on like she would to her mother, it both warmed and broke my heart to be so loved and trusted, in spite of my limited presence in her life. It was hard to leave.
Roanoke River, North Carolina
This morning, egrets glow pink as they crisscross the sky like jet contrails, like flying sunbeams streaking across the sky. The incessant whining of the blue-gray gnatcatcher is punctuated by the rising trill of the parula and the rhyming ditty of the common yellowthroat. The glass surface of the creek is tickled by the twirls of whirligig beetles, then shattered by the leap of fish. The tiny pyramid of a turtle’s nose appears below my feet. His shell is a watermark beneath the reflection of the half moon on the water’s surface. The intricate details of gray tree trunks are dotted with white lichen. Each branch is hung with a garish shade of green. The feathery branches of bald cypress cry out to be touched in all their softness. The details of the swamp forest are softened in their reflection in the dark water, framed above by the soft sky.
Paddling through tupelo gum trees on Upper Deadwater Creek along the Roanoke River
Earlier a ruby-crowned kinglet sang from the tupelo next door. I didn’t recognize it until I used the Merlin app to listen for me. When I saw its name pop up, my ear tuned in. The ruby-crown is one of the most common singers we hear in Yellowstone in the summer. It took me a long time to recognize it there, too. But hearing it this morning, I am reminded of my new home, so different from this swampy sanctuary of my last life. It made me smile. I love both places.
Green River, Utah
The afternoon winds have kicked up, pouring up the canyon of the Green River. Out in the sun, you feel the desert heat. But in my hammock under the shade of the gambel oak, it’s chilly. The oak’s branches stretch out to the river like arms. The small, deeply-lobed leaves provide a dappled roof. Below my perch, the river looks to flow upstream as the stiff breeze blows against the current.
Earlier, just upstream, a mule deer swam about halfway across the river, then turned and went back to shore. I’ve stepped into the muck at river’s edge multiple times and sunk beyond my ankles in the most clinging of mud. But the mule deer? She danced across the last without a second thought, like she was some Jesus of the mud flat.
Framing the river as far as I can see are walls of sandstone, almost blood red in the harsh afternoon light. At this point along the river, the giant stone cliffs of the Wingate sandstone are perched atop the shoulders of the Chinle and Moenkopi Formations that lie beneath them. Sitting so high, I don’t appreciate their scale in the same way I could when they rose straight out of the river next to our canoe. There, the cliffs were a labyrinthal wonderland with ravens perched on ledges and cliff swallow nests tucked beneath overhangs. Now, they are a distant monolith. While this section of the canyon is grand, I am more drawn to the awe of the intimate.
Labyrinth Canyon along the Green River
Yesterday, our campsite was in an area of transition from close cliffs to more distant, perched on top on the Chinle Formation. The diversity of plants was remarkable: scarlet penstemon and dwarf yucca, barrel cactus and wooly locoweed, greasewood and narrow-leaf willow, round-leaf buffaloberry and gambel oak. We watched spotted towhees and blue-gray gnatcatchers patrol the line of shrubs edging the river. We listened to the calls of turkey rebound on steep walls and the song of a canyon wren tumble down the wash. Camp had a sense of quiet and intimacy.
Dwarf yuccaBarrel cactus
For the past decade, Mother’s Day has been bittersweet for me. I always thought I would be a mother. I know folks who didn’t want to have children, or who didn’t think it would be prudent to bring a child into this world. For me, I made choices that led me down a different path from the one I thought I would walk. This Mother’s Day, I joyfully catch up with my mom as she travels the world. I celebrate the different ways my sister and sister-in-law are raising their beautiful children. I reflect on meaningful time making memories with my nieces and nephews, and on two trips down two very different rivers… and for the first time since I realized I would not be a mother myself, I am at peace.
Birds are a miracle because they prove to us there is a finer, simpler state of being which we may strive to attain.
~Douglas Coupland
Melissa and I recently did a 4-day canoe trip along the Green River in Utah and on the return trip she spotted several American kestrels (formerly called sparrow hawks) along the park entrance road near our home. Some were on the ground but the ones she saw first were hovering above a large expanse of grassland. We went to the next pullout and turned around to go back to watch. It was amazing to see so many of these diminutive falcons in such a small area. After one hovered very close to our parked car we both decided we needed to go home and get our cameras and hope the birds stayed put. When we returned several minutes later, the kestrels were still at it though more were just sitting on the ground than before. Melissa counted 8 kestrels in an area about the size of a football field. It is migration season for raptors and we have learned that the area along the entrance road is one of the hot-spots and the kestrels seemed to agree. Some of these birds may continue north but kestrels do nest in the park so some of these may stay here for the summer.
One of the female American kestrels perched on the ground after eating a small prey item (click photos to enlarge)
A couple of the birds did fly closer to where we had parked but even then we never got a clear view of what they were catching though on one occasion it looked like one may have caught a caterpillar. We wondered if there was some sort of insect concentration that had attracted the birds or whether they had just stopped here during their migration.
A kestrel hover hunting
The area where they had gathered only had a few wooden stakes to act as perches so you could almost always count on a bird being in that vicinity. They also tended to perch on rocks scattered in the area as they do like to sit in a high spot and watch for prey.
Male American kestrel perched high in a dead tree scanning for prey (this was in a different location from the other photos)
But the dominant hunting strategy we observed started with their impressive hovering skills.
Kestrels use the spread and angle of the wing and tail feathers to help them remain motionless while hovering
Scientists in Australia trained another species of kestrel to fly in a wind tunnel to study their movements in different wind conditions. The birds were wearing numerous reflective markers and were filmed to create computer-generated imagery to see how the birds adjusted for different wind scenarios. The results showed that kestrels can morph their wings almost instantly to adjust their surface area to adapt to fluctuations in the wind. They also make adjustments in their tail feather fan and angle to help with stability while hovering as this series of images shows.
The background made a huge difference in the imagesThe kestrel seemed ready to dive but then aborted
Most of the time, the kestrels would hover and then drop down onto the ground and we could see them eating something small. Occasionally they would change direction and hover over a new spot or simply land and look around. I did see one run after something on the ground and eat it.
This bird banked to a new location farther back in the flats after hovering without success
The truly amazing thing to see was how they maintain such a steady position of their head while hovering. This undoubtedly is important for spotting prey and focusing on the ensuing capture. This slow motion video clip shows a kestrel hovering for several seconds before dropping. Note the head position throughout the hovering. The wind tunnel studies I mentioned earlier documented that the birds’ hovering was so stable that their heads didn’t move beyond 2 millimeters in any direction. The scientists are now working on a prototype drone based on their observations of the kestrels. Best viewed full screen.
My wish is to stay always like this, living quietly in a corner of nature.
~Claude Monet
Melissa was back home and the interior of the park opened last Friday so we opted to spend our weekend rambling about the park looking for signs of spring. An April snow storm added some fresh beauty to the landscape but the animals were out and about nevertheless. We spent Saturday in the interior where some of the roads have now opened after being closed since November. That trip included visiting some of the prime tourist attractions like Old faithful and the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone without the usual summer crowds. Here are a few of our highlights…
Melissa at our first stop in the interior (click photos to enlarge)
Our first stop was along a trail we had hiked last year. This part of the park received several inches of snow in the storm from a few days prior so Melissa was hoping to do one last ski for the season. I had snowshoes in my pack as we headed down the trail but she soon found that the snow was wet and was sticking to her skis. It’s always a bad sign when a guy walking can keep up with someone cross country skiing:) So, we just hiked the rest of the way through the incredibly beautiful landscape.
The Lower Falls of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone as seen from Artist’s Point
Our next stop was the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, one of the most crowded places in the park in summer. A few cars were at each stop along the way making for a very enjoyable (and quiet) experience. I must admit, each time I visit this area, I am taken aback by its beauty and the sheer size of the canyon. I certainly see why it is so popular, but it was also nice to see it without the throngs of visitors.
We walked the short trail down to the brink of the Upper Falls. This puts you right above where thousands of gallons of water per second drop 109 feet to the canyon floor before going downstream to the larger Lower Falls (308 feet high). Peak flow in spring can reach as high as 63,500 gallons per second though it is below that a bit right now. Still, you can feel the power of the water from these stations at the brinks of both falls. Here’s a short clip from the Upper Falls location. Videos are best viewed full screen with sound up.
Next on our visit was the other high visitation spot on the park – Old Faithful. Here we encountered the most people of anywhere on our weekend sojourn. But it was still only a fraction of the summer crowds when several thousand people gather for each eruption of this iconic geyser. Old Faithful was the first geyser given a name by early explorers in the 1870’s. It erupts about 20 times per day reaching heights of 130-140 feet and expelling a few thousand gallons of hot water with each eruption. One weird fact I read is that in the early days, visitors sometimes did their laundry in Old Faithful. They would throw it in between eruptions and it was cleaned and shot back out. Of course, getting near any of the thermal features is no longer allowed for visitor safety and the preservation of the thermal features.
Old Faithful erupting
On our way back home we stopped at Artists Paintpots, a thermal site that we had not visited for many years. A 1-mile loop trail takes you to the main feature, the paintpots, which are mudpots, one of the four types of thermal features found in the park (mudpots, hot springs, geysers, and fumaroles). I particularly love the mudpots because of the sounds and the weird bubbles that often break into fantastical shapes. I didn’t carry the big camera but got a short phone video to share.
After the hike we headed home. You never know what you might see while driving through Yellowstone, but when you see a bunch of cars pulled off the road and a gaggle of folks with cameras and spotting scopes, it pays to pull over (all the way off the road by the way and preferably in a pullout) and take a look. This was a good one – a grizzly! This was Melissa’s first grizzly of the season (I saw a couple while she was away) as they are just now coming out of hibernation. And this was one is a bruiser! A big male known as #970 but also nicknamed van Gogh because he is missing one ear (and truth be told, his other one doesn’t look too great). He had crossed the road moments before we arrived and was now just walking along parallel to the road digging and grazing. We watched him for about 30 minutes as he slowly moved in and out of some scattered trees and patches of snow giving the assembled crowd quite a show.
The grizzly some call van Gogh, digging and grazing along the road.
We shared our scope with many people who had never seen a grizzly and that is always a treat for us. Melissa also took some video clips with her phone on the scope. It was getting late but the videos do show how massive this bear is.
One one video has the bear digging through the soil and it looks to me like he ate an earthworm. That isn’t much of a meal for such a big bruin but I guess if you are doing that for hours a day it all adds up.
That was a great way to end our first trip to the interior. The next morning we headed out onto the northern range looking for wildlife. Our top priority was to see one of the season’s first baby bison. There have been reports of a few being born already although most will come into the world in few weeks. As we approached Tower Junction some bison came into the road and leading the way was a cow with a tiny baby. We stopped, of course, and they ended up walking right by our car. That baby was sooooo cute and was probably born that morning.
Our first sighting of a baby bison this season and mom walked it right by us for a good look
We saw two more newborns that day so it was a successful outing. We also saw another grizzly out in Round Prairie late in the day. This one was a sub-adult we believe and seemed a bit antsy out there in the big world all by itself. We watched for quite some time as it walked along the tree line, stopping occasionally to dig or scratch itself on a tree trunk. Every now and then something seemed to spook it and it would run a short distance before looking back and resuming a slow steady pace.
During the day we did a couple of the hikes I had done while she was away and enjoyed the scenery and quiet away from the roads. Plus, we took our time and looked at some of the wildflowers just starting to bloom and the many insects out and about right now. All of those things may be impacted a bit by our next weather system later this week which promises some more snow! You gotta love this place!
Spring is when you feel like whistling ebven with a shoe full of slush.
~Doug Larson
Melissa was gone for a couple of weeks back East so I spent most of my time out in the park where I experienced the onset of spring. Spring in Montana is not quite like we had back in North Carolina with the fresh green leaf-out of trees, the blooming of redbuds and spring ephemerals, and the dawn chorus of so many returning birds. Here, you look for things like the first grizzlies and black bears, the first bison calves in Lamar Valley, the call of a sandhill crane, and night-time temperatures consistently above freezing. It has been an unusually warm winter so our spring may have come a bit early but winter likes to hang on. Just when I thought it was over we have a winter storm warning in effect right now and did get a steady snow this morning.
The view from the house this morning. Normally you see the mountains in the park but this morning was just a white blanket in the sky (click photos to enlarge)
But last week I did see plenty of signs of spring trying to make a break-through. I reported on my first grizzly in a previous post. I now have my first black bear sightings of both a black one and a cinnamon one. Looking at the huge cinnamon-colored black bear, you can understand how many visitors wrongly identify one as a grizzly.
My first black bear sighting was a big boyA large cinnamon black bear a few days later in almost the same locationMy first wildflowers of the season are the abundant sagebrush buttercupsA couple of days later I spotted the opening buds of Mahonia (Oregon grape)
And with the flowers come the first pollinators…
A common syrphid fly, the white-bowed smoothwing, approaching a willow bloomI was delighted to see a new species of butterfly (for me anyway), the beautiful Sheridan’s hairstreak. These diminutive green flyers are very abundant in the sagebrush flats on the northern range.
Of course, many of the earliest butterflies (like commas and mourning cloaks) have overwintered as adults and they were the first species we found on our walks.
A green comma landed on Melissa much to her delight
Many of the ungulates are changing attire as spring approaches. Male members of the deer family shed their antlers annually. Moose started shedding in January. Elk and deer were hanging on to theirs a bit later.
I saw my last bull elk with large antlers a little over two weeks ago. On a hike last week I found this recently shed antler.I am now seeing bull elk starting to grow their new set of antlers. It is amazing how fast this turns into a huge rack.Now when I walk through the sagebrush flats I hear the warning chirps of the Uinta ground squirrels. They have been underground since last August and are a welcome sight for not just me, but for most of the predators in the park, as these super-abundant rodents seem to be the basis of the food chain for anything that eats meat.
Yellowstone is home to five native species of amphibians including a salamander, two toads, and two species of frogs. That’s a bit different from the 14 species of amphibians we had just on our property in North Carolina. So you can imagine my excitement when I heard my first frog calls of this spring (some boreal chorus frogs) and found my first ever amphibian egg masses in Yellowstone (of Columbia spotted frogs) while on a hike last week.
Egg masses of Columbia spotted frogs in a shallow lake
And like many places, the arrival of spring birds is one of the true signs of seasonal change. Over the last couple of weeks I have seen the return of the gorgeous mountain bluebirds, sandhill cranes, tree swallows, red-tailed hawks, and red-winged blackbirds. Back in North Carolina I am seeing reports of returning warblers and ruby-throated hummingbirds and so much more. I think it may be a slower process here and certainly with fewer warbler species. But it is a much-anticipated series of events nonetheless.
The mountain bluebirds are stunning in the awakening landscapeMale red-winged blackbirds are setting up territories along the edges of wetlands and filling the air with their conk-la-ree calls.Red-tailed hawks have returned and are busy setting up territories and acquiring nest sites
Much of the wildlife in the park is busy preparing to nest or give birth or already has new young. It is a fascinating time to watch and listen as the age-old rituals of a spring unfold. I spent some time watching a male northern flicker (they have red feathers here as opposed to the yellow-shafted feathers of those back in North Carolina) trying to set up a territory in an aspen grove. He spent a lot of time each morning calling and drumming. Unfortunately for my neighbor, one also tried drilling a nest cavity on the outside walls of her house but I think has finally been persuaded to look for a more natural home. Best viewed full screen and with sound up.
One of my highlights for the past two weeks was the return of the ospreys to their nests all along the Yellowstone and Lamar Rivers. Of course, after a winter of no one to tidy up the place, the old nest usually needs some sprucing up. I spent several hours watching a pair of ospreys adding just the right sticks to their nest along the Lamar River. I shot some slow motion video of their tireless efforts to get the nest ready for the spring. I confess that it is harder to track a flying bird than I had thought as you will see in these clips. Best viewed full screen.
In spite of today’s snow, spring will not be denied and new life will continue to burst forth here in Yellowstone. We will try to keep you posted on the exciting developments.
Everyone likes birds. What wild creature is more accessible to our eyes and ears, as close to us and everyone in the world, as universal as a bird?
~Sir David Attenborough
My last post on the migrating birds of central Montana reminded me that we have enjoyed seeing a number of birds in our first year (almost year) in our new home. I have included many in previous blog posts about waxwings, mergansers, hummingbirds, and a great gray owl. We have seen some of the first arrivals in the park of “our summer birds” these past couple of weeks (mountain bluebirds, sandhill cranes, red-tailed hawks, violet-green swallws) so I thought I would go ahead and share some of my favorite bird sightings. Plus, I want to give birds their due since it seems that some park visitors are only enamored with the charismatic megafauna that have fur. It has happened several times while watching birds through a scope that someone will pull up and ask what we are looking at. If it is a bird, some usually smile and drive on. We have even flapped our hands like wings as someone pulls up and that often sends them driving on without even asking (or I suppose they could think we are a bit wacko).
Anyway, we always stop and take a look when we see a bird out in the park. We have been particularly vigilant this winter as we searched for the elusive pygmy owl. Melissa spotted two this winter but I was skunked. We have looked at every small bird and quite a few pine cones or tufts of needles at the tops of trees in hopes of seeing this tiny diurnal predator. What we did see were a lot of Townsend’s solitaires who also like to perch on the tops of trees. They sing all winter as they defend their winter food supply of juniper berries (in summer, they are primarily insect eaters). The Cornell Lab’s All About Birds page cites a study saying a single Townsend’s solitaire may eat between 42,000 and 84,000 juniper berries in order to survive the winter!
A Townsend’s solitaire hanging out in a juniper tree (click photos to enlarge)
Below are some of the other birds we observed since arriving here. Many were absent through much of the winter but are starting to reappear now that spring is approaching (although snow is in the forecast this week!).
Mountain bluebirds have returned to add a brilliant flash of color to the landscapeA young robin last summer thinking about eating some more of our pie cherries before we can pick themA cedar waxwing gobbling some berries in the yard late last summerA white-crowned sparrow preparing to feed its nestlings up in the Beartooths last summerLots of grasshoppers being fed to nestlings last summer – this is a yellow-headed blackbird with a beak fullThis male yellow-headed blackbird gave me a double splash of color as it flew across a pondA juvenile spotted sandpiper on a lake shore in the Beartooths last AugustThis male horned lark had been singing on this rock when I drove up and interruptedOne of four ruffed grouse finding something to eat high up in the aspens in our favorite grove of these beautiful treesA trumpeter swan dozing with one eye open
Some of the birds we watched the most were those that stay here all winter – the eagles, ravens, magpies, dippers, and nutcrackers kept us company on days when other wildlife was a little tougher to find.
American dippers can be found on most any open water in winter, dancing on the rocks and diving into the frigid waters to find some aquatic insects to eat.My, what big feet you have!We have two species of chickadees here – the black-capped (which looks a lot like the Carolina chickadees we are used to) and this mountain chickadee sporting a stripe through its eyeClark’s nutcrackers are large birds sporting a stout bill they use to extract the “nuts” from pine cones, especially whitebark pines. When Lewis and Clark first saw this bird, they thought it was a type of woodpecker, but it is actually a member of the Corvid family like ravens and crows. Nutcrackers have a special pouch under their tongue where they can place many seeds at a time as they fly off and cache them for later consumption.
In years like this with poor whitebark pine nut crops, nutcrackers rely heavily on other conifers like Douglas fir. Here is a short clip of one gathering seeds. Sound up so you can hear the harsh squawk of a nutcracker near the beginning of the clip. There were 6 nutcrackers working this group of trees that day.
The bold pattern of a black-billed magpie stands out against a frozen shoreline of the Lamar RiverI watched several magpies on this cold day in February as they picked at tiny objects on the ice. I finally figured out they were eating some sort of tiny flying insect that probably had emerged from the river and were getting blown onto the ice.In addition to scavenging at carcasses of various ungulates, we often see magpies on the backs of live ones as they pick off insects and parasites from the obliging hostA golden eagle takes flight and reveals its backpack transmitter antenna. There is a long-standing research project in the park looking at golden eagle movements and habitat needs.Bald eagles are commonly seen in winter as they scavenge carcasses. This pair had just flown up off a gut pile from a hunter-killed elk just outside the park boundary.
This last clip is of a group of ravens at the bison carcass (this is one of the bison that drowned this winter at Blacktail Ponds). One thing I noticed is a couple of pairs of ravens on the outside of the main group are giving soft calls and interacting with each other in what seems like an affectionate way. You can also see what look like small horns on the head of some of these ravens. These plumicorns (feather horns) can be raised and lowered and probably have a variety of meanings from aggression and dominance to affection between mated pairs. I think that is what is happening here, some affectionate bill touching as a pair bonding signal.
I’m becoming more and more fascinated by the ravens. They are very intelligent birds with lots of vocalizations that we are still trying to decipher. Whenever we see more than two ravens heading in a direction we wonder if there might be a carcass somewhere. There is a lot of speculation as well as some data about the relationship between ravens and carnivores like wolves. Do ravens lead wolves to prey? I certainly have seen a few ravens just hanging around wolves that were not on a kill site, so at the very least ravens may follow predators in order to take advantage of any kills.
This beautiful raven boldly hopped up on the hood of our car while we were waiting at a carcass just off a pullout that had a grizzly on it. No doubt the raven had been fed by someone in the past so it was letting us know it was available if we we wanted to give it a handout (we did not). But it was a great opportunity to closely view their amazing head and neck feathers.
As spring tries to make an appearance in Yellowstone, we are looking forward to seeing more of our feathered friends (and perhaps some new ones) in the coming months.
Roads End Naturalist 