This small bird is common in the south, and when it flies away the beautiful primary wing feathers flash with brick red color.
They usually nest on the ground, but I flushed one from her strange spot today, wedged between fence post and fence slats near the recycling and trash bins at work. Three white eggs: a full clutch for this sparrow-sized beauty.
A lot of people like birds, and occasionally bird watch, but not everyone is a “birder.” Birders are usually obsessive, love birds and everything bird-like, so this quality may seem impossible to miss. Still, loving birds and being a birder are a little different, so if you are wondering if you or a loved one is right on the edge of being a “birder” these tell tale signs will help you identify:
1. While driving, they suddenly shout out, “TURKEY VULTURE!” or “SWALLOW-TAIL KITE!” This should be terrifying, especially since you usually don’t see said bird, or the bird is very far from the road that the driver should be concentrating on.
2. Occasionally, movies are not fun to watch with this person because he/she totally ruins the mood. A conversation might spring up as you settle down to re-watch some favorite classics, like Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark: “Oh, did you hear that willow ptarmigan calling? SERIOUSLY, a willow ptarmigan! That is an arctic bird!! Tundra, not rainforest! This really makes the movie unbelievable.”
3. You are unsure if he/she is ever really listening to you, because in the middle of a conversation, he/she might interrupt with, “I just heard a Northern Parula! Wow! They are migrating kind of early this year, how cool.”
4. Binoculars are apart of the wardrobe, regardless the event or place. Bonus points to those with the fancy harness instead of the neck strap.
5. If you put their MP3 player on random, eventually a startling, loud bird call will blast through the speakers.
6. Vacation spots are planned based on eBird updates of rare sightings and the need to fill in “lifer” birds.
7. You know what getting a Life Bird means. Party, list writing and joy.
8. You wonder about his or her sense of humor.
“Which bird is still a virgin?” – birder
“Um what? Don’t all individuals want to procreate for the good of the species and themselves…?”
“Not the Fish Crow!! They always say Not-a! not-a! Hahahahaha!”
9. They have more photos of birds on their computer then photos of friends or family members.
10. While out on a walk with them, they will nonchalantly mimic birds, whistle back to towhees, caw at crows, and say “Cheery up! Cheerio!” when a flock of robins pass.
If all these points sound like your one special love, then congratulations! You are dating a birder, and it is only a matter of time before you become one too…
As an observer of the natural world, I find it very easy to take a “that’s natural selection” emotion when other species interact negatively with the bird I currently study. I become invested in all the nests, and when I look in and see only bones and red fire ants, I feel heartbroken (because that is not a kind death) but I still respect that ants need to eat too. When snakes eat six eggs and the female incubating to boot, I don’t like it, but I respect the relationship between predator and prey that keeps an ecosystem running smoothly. I love vireos more than any other bird, and when I closely tracked nest success of Bell’s vireos in Arkansas I saw countless nests abandoned due to brown-headed cowbird parasitism. Yet I value the oddity of cowbirds reproductive strategy, and being a member of the species Homo sapiens, I know we are as much to blame for cowbirds wild success and ability to destroy tiny populations of open cup nesters.
And I love nearly all birds…except one. The Eastern Bluebird Bully.
Brown-headed nuthatches are small, hard working birds that do an amazing job creating cavities for themselves and ultimately other species as well. They very rarely reuse cavities, so after their early breeding season is complete (February to May), they have created homes for bluebirds, small woodpeckers, and chickadees. Nuthatches are tool users as well, and generally a very impressive tiny bird to observe all day. They walk upside down nearly always. They cooperative breed even if they aren’t related to the parent breeders (unlike other examples of cooperative breeders, such as the Florida Scrub Jay and Red-cockaded Woodpeckers).
Ok, ok, you get it: nuthatches are ninjas who make cavities, work together to raise young, use tools and steal hearts with their cuteness. But why do I hate bluebirds? Bluebirds please most backyard bird watchers and children too; boy scouts put nest boxes out on public land to help bluebirds out. They can’t be that bad!
I recognize my emotional bias and investment in nuthatches, but I wanted everyone to know. Bluebirds are the mean kids on the block, don’t let that flashy feather color fool you. This parent nuthatch attempts to feed its young, but a bluebird couple in town won’t have any of it! They mob and mob the nuthatch, and sometimes grab the smaller bird off the snag all together. Nuthatches are persistent, and in response end up moving even faster then their normal, quick little movements. Bluebirds, if they can wedge themselves into the nuthatch cavity (which must be just large enough for a nuthatch) will destroy nuthatch eggs. Yes, they are creating a cavity vacancy for themselves, but I still feel like the abuse just isn’t justified. Nuthatches are done so early! But bluebirds are impatient.
Watch your back, nuthatches!
Bluebirds are always watching.
Yep, that’s a DSLR in my day pack, and I am just now understanding why so many birders become photographers. Well, I suppose I’ve always understood it, but I never thought I would join the fun.
Since I arrived at Tall Timbers in February, I have carefully stalked over a dozen groups of brown-headed nuthatches, hoping to spy which cavity they call home for breeding season. I carry a scope, a tripod, binoculars, and a slew of other field equipment. My track record with nice things hasn’t always been impressive, and that combined with my general traveling way of life, I protested adding an expensive camera to the things I must carry, worry over and eventually feel unbelievable sadness about when dropped, soaked in a downpour, or simply lost. Just a month ago I dropped my old iPhone in a bowl of water shaped like a toilet, but since I haven’t lost my knife in the field yet, I felt like I could handle a used, wonderful, life-altering Canon T3i DSLR. And let me tell you: it’s a game changer.
For work, I already hide in bushes with optics pointed at birds, and since one of main goals (after nest searching) is to peg individual color bands on teeny, tiny birds, the camera adds a world of a difference.
This individual, known as DBDB/PuAl, exits the cavity with a chick’s fecal sack in beak. Yeah, that’s a sack of poop. Nuthatches are super clean birds, and they keep their nest very tidy. The amount of time it might have taken me to peg the bands on this bird could have been way longer with just a scope, but the camera allowed me to snap a bunch of shots and get both leg combinations in one nest visit by this individual. The nest cavity these guys have shacked up in is a new type of box we put out this season, and it succeeds where others fail because, turns out, nuthatches like a hardwood interior and do not settle for less.
I worried most that owning a nice camera would ruin my general enjoyment of outdoor experiences. For example, instead of feeling joy when I see a new species, I would feel dread that my camera wasn’t with me. Unexpectedly, the camera actually makes me enjoy birds more. The other day I saw a pair of brown thrashers copulating, so I ran inside to grab my camera, and of course the cloacal kiss had already gone down and everyone was back to foraging by the time I came back outside. But instead of disappointment at not catching that moment, I was grateful the pair still were in my backyard and I was able to snap this shot.
I am so excited to capture the strange and beautiful movements of bird flight! As long as I can be an adult and not destroy the camera, I have a feeling we will do amazing things together.
Learning how to navigate in a world with a map at age 12 is still my favorite skill I acquired while saving the Princess Zelda. Now if only life were like a video game, and the world handed you a map with marked treasure boxes and could even show you what room you are in. Oh wait, what’s that Siri? (She is an awful lot like Navi) In 200 feet turn left? The iPhone is just like acquiring a map in this video game world of life. And to my delight, my job also supplied me with a map. On my phone. With treasure (past nest sites) marked in red.
The app, Avenza, allows the user to upload PDF maps (georeferenced in ArcMap) and will display them just like a google map. The feature is fantastic, especially while working in a place with many unpaved roads not displayed on regular maps. On top of that, you can drop pins and label them very easily. Every time I do I feel like I’m leaving a beacon (Zelda Skyward Sword) and I can quickly re-find nests no matter what road or direction I take to get there. When I opened the program and saw the fire breaks as dotted lines, the 2014 nests in bright, 2013 nests in dark red, and older nests in grey, I couldn’t help but think of a Zelda map in a new dungeon.
Screenshot from ZeldaDungeon.net
Navigating through the upland short leaf pine mix proved to be very much like exploring a new dungeon for the first time, and with the PDF pre-marked map, I felt comfortable in a strange place. 
It truly does have a bit of a magical new land feel to it too. The roads smell of fresh pines, and while searching for nuthatches, I often witness a group of red-cockaded woodpeckers foraging high up on the bark.
In the scientific community, facts trump feelings, statistics separate the actual trends from the correlations you think you have observed in the field. We love significant differences and low p-values, it’s true. So when immersed in this field, sometimes being an emotional human contradicts my identity as a scientist. I am to observe bird behavior and I discourage thoughts that anthropomorphize animals. For example, “This nuthatch loves his lady, I’ve seen him allopreen several times.” (Allopreening is when they puff up and adorably clean each other’s feathers).
I know they don’t “love” and I know they have extra-pair copulations given the chance (well so do humans, but that only makes it easier to tag these guys with emotions). Logically, I know emotions do not really belong in the field, other than my passion for working with these wonderful creatures and being outside every day.
We keep track of our birds and nests by assigning numbers. However, like many overly emotional humans, I am terrible with numbers. But naming a bird creates an emotional response, and my memory seemingly triples in size. So, after giving recalling locations by numbers a try and always needing a cheat sheet to figure things out, I have resorted to naming my birds. The first season I named the birds was my second season in graduate school, tracking Bell’s vireo nest success. Several years have gone by and I can still remember individual birds and nest fates. Casanova renested three times, the first and last failure due to cowbird parasitism, and the second failure (the most heartbreaking) red fire ants attacks the nestlings days before they fledged. Gomez attempted five nests, and I could point them all out on a map. The season before my naming birds, I could barely recall (off the top of my head) where the successful nests were located months after the summer ended. I am holding Tron, who flew into the net after his mate did, and they were successful! Four little Bell’s vireos fledged.
I no longer shamefully admit that I name the birds I work with (or the animals I rehabbed at a clinic). I am emotional, and that is part of my strength as a person. I know that I depend less on a map to re-find nests because I named them.
So, let me introduce some of my favorite brown-headed nuthatches.
This is Disco, she is excavating a cavity. That cavity is a little too small for her right now, and sometimes she gets stuck, head first.
So cute! These guys are all color banded, so Disco has a unique code to identify where she bred last year, if she was born on the property and banded as a nestling, and who she is related to near-by.
This is Han Solo. His personality is fierce, he calls frequently, and he enjoys perching on top of the snag they are excavating and simply watch or sing. The nest box he hangs out of in the photo isn’t lined, and I think he just hangs out in there for fun.
I am emotional, I get attached to the ecosystem I study, and I love each little bird I devote hours each day to stalk. Although I risk not being taken as seriously (especially since I am a woman), I know that embracing my emotional side improves the quality of work I do. I just love those birds!
I have started a new job at Tall Timbers Research Station, north of Tallahassee and in the midst of beautiful pine forests. I am a part of the brown-headed nuthatch (Sitta Pusill) crew, which means I spend all day long chasing, stalking and finding the nests of nuthatches.
The land we search stretches far and we get around on ATVs, going to an old nest site, listening for a nuthatch tapping sound and finding prospective nest sites. I am an expert bird stalker…um bird watcher… and the nuthatches are truly a delight. They are feisty, have a great “squeaky toy” call (no truly, it is a squeaky toy sound, my mom’s dog went crazy when I played it) and most interesting of all–they live, breed and stay in the southeast year round.
They prefer old snags, and this year TTRS has put up nest boxes. More spying to come as they settle into nests!
Traveling offers a plethora of new experiences: emergence into a language unfamiliar, the taste of fresh caught octopus in coconut milk, the sounds of Common Mynas and Purple-Capped Fruit Doves. A travel journal absorbs a piece of the sights and emotions while allowing the traveler to keep home in his or her backpack. The journal is a beautiful piece of magic, although we often cannot see its power until we return to a safe, comfortable place. I recently re-opened my journal from American Samoa, and I realized I caught more than just summaries of the day.
The Common Myna woke me every morning (even when we woke up before dawn for banding) with nearly blood curdling calls. Sometimes I threw open the curtains and just stared at the creature perched on the railing, made eye contact and attempted to convey my plea: stop making that noise. They paused, looked back unbothered, did a little feather shake and then continued the piercing call. The one in my journal is a Jungle Myna, drawn after we banded our only capture on Tutuila (the main island of American Samoa).
The Cardinal Honeyeater was so small in my hand he reminded me of a hummingbird. Indeed, they do occupy a similar niche. The CAHO also feeds on nectar, the honey of flowers, and accesses this sweet food by way of a long, curved bill. They share a brilliance of bright feathers and smallness.
The amazing quality about a Collared Kingfisher is at first the bright, blue flight feathers tucked against a white chest. The females were a little greener, a little buffy (that is bird world talk for the color brownish) but still absolutely stunning.
Male Collared Kingfisher Tail
The next thing to strike me about a kingfisher in American Samoa is the size. These birds are incredibly small and easy to handle. They have very small feet, just like the Belted Kingfisher we are used to in the States. The Belted Kingfisher (this one below banded in Connecticut) required two hands while handling, unlike the small body of a Collared Kingfisher.
Both the Belted Kingfisher and the Collared Kingfisher are young birds, which means the feathers they have are the first molt they ever went through (in the nest). They are fresh and evenly worn, and the Collared Kingfisher also has buffy tips on the coverts (smaller feathers covering the flight feathers). Neither of these birds (or any birds handled while banded) were in the hand very long, and they were held very gently but firmly enough to restrain.
When I see a Belted Kingfisher now, sometimes I think it looks small as it chatters and sits on a telephone wire. But then I recall the small body of the Collared Kingfisher and remember the importance of traveling, even if only to gain a sense of reference in our native environment.
Brown Pelican
Wood Stork
I am inspired by the expressive features of the avian face, from pelicans to painting buntings. Most of the birds are painted in oils and detailed further in pen and ink.
Painted Bunting
Yellow-crowned Night-heron
Belted Kingfisher
Binoculars are definitely the most important tool for a birder, and we wear them constantly. In the rain, at the beach, on a canoe or even just a casual walk my binoculars hang around my neck. I often forget they are there until I see a darting warbler flit across my view. The lens I look through are usually speckled with dirt, sand, crumbs or whatever else my day included. So at last, after months, I decided to make my own lens covers to replace the plastic covers that wandered off when I saw my first Common Redpoll in Denali National Park. In the midst of dashing to get a better look, my focus firmly held on the small feathered body, the plastic eye covering for my bins fell off. Of course, elated with excitement, I didn’t notice the missing piece until I returned from my bird outing. Simon saw my missing piece and said, just put leather over your binoculars! He owns Nikon Monarchs, notorious for ill-fitting eye covers in the first place, so he lost his a while ago.
I liked the idea but didn’t want the cover to be in my face while I birded. His leather flap also is threaded through his bins directly, so they are not easily removed. Still, I was inspired. Although I continued to go to the beach, canoe and bird in the rain in the meantime without covers, my binoculars held up well. The cheap(er) Ziess Terra ED model looked brand new after a good cleaning, but I still wanted better protection. Then! My favorite pair of boots literally fell apart, the heel went flying while I walked around downtown St. Petersburg. After closer inspection, I noticed a hole in the sole as well, and realized my boots had reached the end of their walking career. The leather, soft and broken in, made an excellent candidate for my new binocular covers. My feet are also huge, so the tongue of the boot fit perfectly over the looking glass. Alternatively, you could also find a nice piece of scrap leather at an art store, but I liked the idea of reusing my faithful foot companions.
I carefully cut the piece along the outside of the seam. Then I pierced a hole into the side of the leather. You can use a knife, or a needle. I already have rings on the sides of my binoculars to attach my straps, so I knew that I would be attaching the leather to those.
I also wanted something removable on one side, and I found an old keychain ring that totally fit the bill. On the other side, for a permanent attachment, I used the ring of the keychain. That way, I can easily unclip one side and look through the binoculars.
After I attached the leather cover to the small metal rings on the sides I realized the cover did not fit snug enough, so I pinched the leather and placed a stitch in one side to create a better shape for covering the binoculars. Since the thread is smaller than the metal rings, I used a small awl to create the holes.
The stitch created the perfect fit. If you need more depth, you can add another stitch on the other side as well. The clip on one side also allows for the leather cover to hang on the side and stay out of the way while I bird.
With a little bit of oiling, they also hold up nicely in the rain!
Bike and Bird 