Backyard Bird Count #2: Baby Goldfinches and Broken Hearts

Just a week after my first backyard birdcount in Denver City Park, I head back over – again on Sunday morning – to do a second count.  We’re required to do two of these a month, and I’m ready to complete my August requirements.

Because I was just here a week ago, I don’t have high expectations, so I’m particularly buoyed when I hear birdsong as soon as I walk into the park from the south side.  Definitely birds singing in volumes that I didn’t hear at all last week.  And even better, as I look up, there are birds flitting through the leaves of these trees.

Sweet!

Female American Goldfinch

I follow one bird with my binocs, and finally get a good enough look to see that it’s a……..what the heck is it?  Oh crap, I thought I was making progress, but I’m clueless.

So I do what I do whenever I’m clueless and I have a semi-cooperative bird:  I pull up my camera and snap off a few photos.  It doesn’t always tell me what I’m seeing, but it gives me hope that I might figure it out later.  Or, if I can’t figure it out on my own, I can beg my birding community to help with the ID.

Male American Goldfinch

Before I have time to worry too much about figuring out this bird, I hear another bird in the same tree, and look up to see a male American Goldfinch.  Bingo!  The not-all-that-distinct bird is a female!  I’m patting myself on the back for my extraordinary powers of identification, when I hear yet another bird.

But this one is down low.  I check the trunk of the tree, and find a tiny bird, mostly covered in feathers, trying to make its way up the tree trunk.  The little guy can’t fly yet – although you can see that he gives it his all – so he’s attempting a fly-walk up the side of the tree.

Baby, trying to make its way up the tree trunk

It doesn’t take long to figure out that this is why the mom and dad Goldfinches are hanging around so closely.  (And I thought I was just becoming a masterfully stealthy bird photographer.  Oh shucks.)  Mom and dad are watching out – and making some noise – to keep Junior safe.

Mom Goldfinch, keeping watch

This is new for me;  I’ve never found a baby bird out of the nest.  What do I do?  I’m – truly now – clueless.  I’m assuming this guy has fallen from a nest, but try as I might, I can’t see one in any of these trees.  And if I did find the nest, what would I do?

Baby, taking a rest

This guy seems so small, and so helpless, and I feel so powerless.  My heart breaks.  I came to count some birds and perhaps take a few photos.  Instead, I’m devastated.

I think I’m just stressing all of these birds more than I’m helping, so reluctantly I leave to make my rounds in the park.  I count the same Canada Geese and Double-crested Cormorants and other odds and sods of birds in the park this week.  No big changes.

  

Nothing other than the fact I can’t get my mind off that little baby finch.

So when I get back to my starting point, I go in search of little baby American Goldfinch.  He’s not there, at least not that I can find in the little grove where I saw him earlier.  I’m not sure whether to be relieved or more worried.  Maybe the parents got the baby back to the nest?  Maybe they all flew away and lived happily ever after?

My car isn’t far away, and I start the walk back there.  But then I see a bird:  a male American Goldfinch, perched on the top of a soccer goal thingy.  By instinct, I take a few steps towards the bird.  He sees me, and flies down to the ground, pauses a moment, then flies away.  My eyes go to the spot where he was on the ground, and there’s our baby bird.  Or at least, there’s a baby bird.  I can’t help walking up to it, again not knowing what to do.  There it is, huddled down in the grass, looking so frail and so helpless and so vulnerable.  I take a couple of photos, wondering what to do, but thinking that if mom and dad are there, there is hope.  And I get in my car to drive home and cry my eyes out over my own complete powerlessness and the vulnerability of this tiny helpless being.

When I get home, I’ll pull out all of my resources to try to figure out what to do.  Or if I should even do anything at all (which is often the hardest thing to do).  I email my AMB class, and while I’m reading about American Goldfinches and nestlings and fledglings, advice starts to arrive.  

I’m blown away by what I read.  American Goldfinches are born altricial.  This is a new bird word for me, meaning they are completely helpless at birth: eyes closed, no feathers, completely dependent on their parents to be fed.  And yet, these little guys leave the nest in – on average – 11-15 days.

That. Blows. Me. Away.

Heck, I’m, um, a few more than 15 days old, and there are still days when I’m not sure I’m ready to venture out into the world on my own.  The birds are dependent on their parents for only about 3 weeks for food, then they are able to fend for themselves.  These birds – American Goldfinches – are late nesters, so it’s not a surprise to find such a young bird so late in the nesting season.

I will learn, between the reading that I do and the advice the community sends my way, that the best thing to do is to let the bird parents parent the baby bird.  I read that even if I can find the nest and put the baby back into it, it’s a game of diminishing returns, since the little guy most likely hurled himself out, and would likely do so again.  That doesn’t make it a whit easier, though, as I worry about people and dogs and cats and squirrels and all manner and type of hazards and threats to this precious little ball of fluff;  it makes for a long night.  

When I go back the next day to check to see if the baby is okay (and of course I must go back), I can’t find a single singing bird in the park.

Field Trip #3: Habitat and Scones Redux

When we arranged our carpool group for our second “real” field trip, George and I asked Martha if she was bringing the scones again.  We thought this was a grand idea:  a carpool buddy who not only drives in her comfy, fully-decked out Rav4, but also makes scones and coffee for the group.  It seemed like a good thing to keep going.

Sadly, Martha was not buying into it.

So on this Saturday in mid-August, we meet up, and not at Martha’s house this time, but at a park n ride on the west side of Denver.  I’ve brought along my boring dry bagel and some coffee, along with whatever I could scrounge up out of my fridge to qualify as lunch.  It’s tough these days – birding, reading, work, homework, birding, work, homework, reading, running a little, etc. – and for me the thing that gives is the grocery shopping.  And food preparation. 

Well, maybe the food preparation is always an issue, so let’s just not go there right now.

George and Martha and I have just determined that I’ll do the driving today when the latest addition to our carpool, Amy, pulls up.  She’s young and bright-eyed and has a longer commute than the rest of us, and still looks fresher than she has any right to do.  I kind of hate her.

Until she says, “I made scones!  Does anyone want one?”

Amy is my new best friend.

The scone (apples and cheddar cheese;  who knew what a grand combination that would be) fuels me as we start our field trip at Lair o’ the Bear Park in Jefferson County. Lair o’ the Bear is another Open Space park, something Jefferson County is known for;  the park is situated about four miles up the Bear Creek Canyon from Morrison. 

Alder, one of the trees we need to be able to identify

We’re barely out of the cars when, again, birds distract us.  How’s a person to concentrate on habitat (oh so many:  Montane Shrubland, Douglas-Fir Forest, Pondersa Pine Forest/Woodland, Riparian Deciduous Forest, and my old favorite FUCM) when the birds are buzzing all around?

Chokecherry, one of our required shrubs

There are Broad-tailed Hummingbirds and American Crows.  People are seeing Lesser Goldfinches, and I want a look, badly.  While not technically a “nemesis bird” for me, this is darn close.  In birding circles, a nemesis bird is one that you want to see but keep missing.  It’s always the bird-that-got-away.  Once, more than a year ago, I accidentally took a photo of a Lesser Goldfinch up in Boulder.  Ever since then, I’ve wanted to see one again, and they just elude me.  If you’ve been following along, you’ll remember that this was the Four Percent Bird – the one bird I missed on my AMB entrance exam.

So, you might say I’m motivated.  You might say that seeing this bird is becoming my mission.  You might say I’m getting a little obsessed.

When Cynthia – one of the mentors – hears me say that this bird is my nemesis bird, she makes it her mission, too, to get me a view.

She gets one in her scope and beckons me over.  Just as I get there, the bird flies. 

We walk on.  There’s another Lesser Goldfinch.  And it flies before I get a look in the scope.  And another.  And another.

Then George says, I think I see a MacGillivray’s Warbler!  I look in the direction he’s pointing, and I see a flash of a bird flying into the willows.  But that’s it.  It’s gone, not to be seen again, and I didn’t really get any kind of a look at it.

Oh for two.

Despite that great scone, I’m thinking this may not be such a great day.

Peach-leaved Willow

We’re being urged to concentrate on the habitat, so that’s where I turn my attention.  Even if I don’t recognize these trees and shrubs, at least they don’t fly away when I look at them.  Here’s a great example of a Plains Cottonwood next to a Narrow-leaved Cottonwood.  And lots of Willows.  And Alder.  And River Birch.  And Chokecherry and Snowberry and Wax Currant and Mountain Mahogany and many, many more species of plants than birds.

Mountain Mahogany

River Birch trunk

To be sure, there are birds;  they just aren’t as cooperative as the plants.

Let’s pause to talk about the challenges of photographing plants versus birds some.  When I tell my friend Benji that I think plants are more difficult, he says, “but the plants don’t move!”  I beg to differ. The plants move ever so slightly in the breeze.  Or they move a huge amount in only slightly more breeze.  And there are so many different aspects:  what do you focus on?  The leaves?  The pine needles?  The whole branch?  The trunk?  The fruit?  Ay-yi-yi-yi-yi.  Give me a bird any day.  At least even the most  flitty ones stop at some point, and you have just one thing to worry about.

But even then, the birds aren’t so cooperative today, so I stick mostly to the plants. 

River Birch catkins

Until……….towards the end of our hike here, Chuck says to me, “did you see the Lesser Goldfinch down by the water?  It might make a good picture.”  And so, I finally get my good look at my not-quite-nemesis.  The angle and the distance don’t make for great photos, but today, apparently, nothing makes for great photos.

Lesser Goldfinch, female

Lesser Goldfinch, male

Once we’ve made our lap around Lair o’ the Bear, we head to Red Rocks Park, but it’s mobbed.  We make a stop and catch a few more birds and a few more shrubs, but we’re soon on our way to our next destination, Genesee Mountain Park.

We get to Genesee just in the heat of the day.  Bright sun overhead, and it’s hot.  And the birds are – for the most part – very, very quiet.

Still, we make our rounds here.  Chuck assures us that we’ll see at least forty bluebirds before the day is out, but we’re off to a slow start.   We go off-trail, and walk and walk and walk, and the birds are just not cooperating.  We see just a few Western Bluebirds and some Pine Siskins and Western Wood-Pewees, and three Olive-sided Flycatchers.  A Few other standards for this park make appearances:  Dark-eyed Juncos and House Wrens and Mountain Chickadees and a few others.   The day isn’t a bust, but it’s definitely not a 5-star day, either.

Finally, we’re back in the parking lot where we started.  Amy and George and I end up watching birds – lots of them – in an open meadow, across the road from the rest of the group.  Bluebirds, and lots of them, moving on through.  I see a flash of red, and get Amy and George to focus on it too;  a House Finch – not an unusual bird here at all, but definitely a nice splash of color today.  Then suddenly it seems like birds are moving everywhere.  We report back to Chuck that his forty bluebirds are finally showing up, and then he has everyone focused on a couple of Cassin’s Finches, a nice addition to the day’s count.

Then Amy brings my attention back to a small bird in a tree behind us.

Amy asks “was that a Pygmy Nuthatch?”

It’s definitely a Pygmy Nuthatch, a bird I’ve seen frequently up in this park over the last year.  A cool bird, to be sure, but nothing new, or particularly special.  So I’m a little confused as to why Amy’s smile just got huge.  Then I remember that this is her first year of birding up in this country.  “That’s a new bird for me!” she says.

I couldn’t be happier.  Have I mentioned, Amy is my new best friend?  And this day has turned out just perfectly.

AMB Class #3: Larkwire; Fingers on Fire

Just a couple of days after our first field trip, we’re all back at the Audubon Nature Center, ready for the second “real” class of the program.  I’m starting to feel a rhythm here (it helps that I’m early again, and settling in), and starting to feel at home.  Tonight, I’ve brought my laptop, since last week I could barely keep up with the information coming at us, and then later – for the stuff I was able to capture – could barely read my notes.  That Palmer method thing I learned way back in 1^st grade?  Well, let’s just say that I might not make it to 2nd grade these days.

But Typing 101, part of a B-school education?  I’d ace it all over again.  Nevermind that my teenage nieces can text far faster than I can type.

Which leads us right into the first topic of the evening:  a review of a few of the digital applications for birding.  We start with a look at BirdsEye BirdLog, an app that connects with ebird, and allows you to record the birds you’re seeing in the field in real time;  George, one of my classmates, actually works for this organization, so we have an in-house expert.  And a deal on the software. Sweet.

There’s also Bird Brain – another app that dumps your list directly into ebird – but it’s a Mac-only app.  Rule that out for me, even though I love that it has every bird species in the world.  There’s the Sibley eGuide, and iBird Pro, and – the one that intrigues me the most – Larkwire.  Larkwire turns out to be a game to help you learn bird ID – specifically songs – while at your computer.  This sounds a little dangerous to me.  Okay, it sounds a lot dangerous to me.  Not that I have an addictive personality or anything.  My friend Melissa can vouch for me on that.

Horned Lark
Rocky Mountain Arsenal, CO
7/7/12

After this quick survey of the electronic apps, we get right back into Habitat.  Chuck leads the class again tonight, and once again I’m blown away by the quality of the presentations, and by the coordination and care that has gone into making the class top notch.  Again, we get descriptions and photos of various habitats and the species that make up the habitat – both species of plant life and of bird life.

We talk about Shortgrass Prairie and get a species profile of the Horned Lark;  a bird I keep hearing is abundant in this state, but one that I've rarely had the opportunity to photograph.

Mountain Bluebird
Highlands Ranch, CO
5/18/13

We talk about Western Intermountain Grassland – the mountain parks of Colorado (like South Park – just not the Who-killed-Kenny South Park) (well, not exactly), where we find Vesper Sparrows and Mountain Bluebirds.

We talk about Lowland Riparian habitat, a most abundant habitat here in the lower elevations along the Colorado Front Range.  This is the lowland plant life I see every day, but am just now putting labels on.  Plains Cottonwoods.  Peachleaf Willows.  Russian Olive Trees.  Chokecherry, American Plum, Golden Current.  The indicator species is the Yellow Warbler, and we get a species report on this bird that seem ubiquitous from spring through fall.

Yellow Warbler
Barr Lake State Park, CO
5/26/13

We talk about Sagebrush and Sandsage and Saltbush and Tell Desert Shrubland and I am really, really happy I’m typing, not writing.  My fingers thank me.  My brain?  Not so much.  It’s full.  Again.

Western Scrub-Jay, in Oak Scrub
Roxborough State Park, CO
7/14/12

For Oak Scrub, we get a report on the Western Scrub-Jay.  For Montane Shrubland (the primary shrubland we will see), we get a report on the Green-tailed Towhee.  For Ponderosa Pine Woodland and Forest, we get a detailed description of the Stellar’s Jay, another of my favorite birds.

Green-tailed Towhee
Barr Lake State Park, CO
9/22/12

The habitats keep coming, and the bird descriptions keep coming, and it’s almost mind-boggling that all of this exists in just this one state of the union.  I think of Loudon Wainwright III and his line in “Cardboard Boxes”:  if we had a piano I think I’d drop dead.

Stellar's Jay
Deer Creek Canyon, CO
7/8/12

Well, if we had all of North America to deal with (or – unimaginable! – the world!), I know I’d drop dead.

The thing about having class on Monday night, and having it be this riveting is that by the time I complete the long drive home, I’m still buzzing with all the new stuff bumping around in my brain.  Tonight, I get home, and pour a glass of wine, and look over my notes a bit.  What was it I wanted to do?  Oh yeah, that Larkwire thing.  Well, it’s getting late, but maybe I’ll just check it out a little.  Oh, what, there’s another level?  How many birds do you have to recognize for that?  Oh good, I did well on that test.  Just one more, and then maybe another, and then……………

Backyard Bird Count #1 - Baby Barn Swallows

One of the multitude of requirements for certification in the AMB program is this one:  Keep a backyard bird list at least twice a month for a year.

For me, this requirement might be either really easy, or more of a stretch.

The really easy option:  my backyard is roughly the size of a patio, say about 20’ by 8’.  Wait!  My backyard *is* a patio!  Well, I can pretty much give you the list for the coming year:  House Sparrows, with the possibility of a Rock Pigeon or two.  Downtown condo dwelling at its best or worst, depending on your perspective.  There’s one requirement that’s finished the moment it’s started!

The “more of a stretch” option:  choose another area to monitor.

Oh boy.  This is one of those things where perhaps too much choice is not such a good thing.

Black-crowned Night-Heron
Two Ponds NWR, CO
6/19/13

My instinct is to bird where I run:  along the Cherry Creek Bike Path.  After all, over the course of the 13+ years that I’ve lived here, running that same route many times each week, I’ve seen a pretty cool variety of birds.  There are, of course, the ubiquitous birds of urban front-range Colorado:  in addition to the House Sparrows and Rock Pigeons, there are American Robins and Mallards and European Starlings and House Finches and – only occasionally – Canada Geese.  But there are also lots of other interesting birds.  My favorites are the Black-crowned Night-Herons who fish these waters all summer long;  this was one of those birds that caught my attention before I knew what it was.  I had to go home and pull out a book or two to figure it out.  These days, I think of this bird as my totem:  I watch for it, and if I see one, I feel somehow buoyed.

Snowy Egret
Denver City Park
4/14/13

But I also see birds you might not expect.  From time to time, a Snowy Egret.  Frequently, Black-capped Chickadees (mostly heard, not seen).  Just once or twice, including on my birthday nearly two years ago, a flock of Cedar Waxwings.  In winter:  an assortment of different ducks.  In summer:  an assortment of swallows who nest in the overpasses.

So my instinct is to use the bike path as my “backyard”, but when I run this by my mentor, Tina, she has a different idea.

What about Denver City Park, she asks.  There’s more habitat there.  Is that close to you?

Before even thinking much, I jump on it.  Of course!  I go birding in City Park all the time!  There are tons of birds there!

And so it is decided, and on Sunday morning in early August, I make my first backyard bird foray into City Park.

And wow, is it dead.  If it weren’t for the Canada Geese, I might fall asleep as I walk through this area where I’m so used to seeing so many birds.  Apparently, the vast majority of summer residents have already taken off for warmer climes.  And the ones who summer up north?  They haven’t arrived on their southerly migration trip yet.

But today there are Canada Geese.  And a few Mallards, and around 50 or so Double-crested Cormorants who haven’t yet left their nesting grounds on Duck Pond.  There are – by my count – 7 Snowy Egrets, and a bunch of Black-billed Magpies and a smattering of other birds.  Still, my species list totals just 11.  And that’s for nearly two hours of walking.

Canada Goose
Denver City Park
11/5/12

Oh, and yes, those Canada Geese:  they keep me counting.  And counting.  And counting.  Before the AMB program, I would just enter an “X” in ebird (we’ll get to ebird one of these days, if you don’t already know about it;  for now suffice to say it’s an electronic tracking system where you can record the species you see while out birding), and not bother with actually counting the birds.  But for AMB, the requirement is to enter actual numbers.  So I count geese, and I count some more, and then yet more.

Holy crap.  Or, really, Holy Goose Poop.

There are no birds here, and still I count 408 Canada Geese.  How the heck am I going to be able to keep track of the geese when there a LOT of them here in the winter?

That bike path with a handful of birds is looking pretty good as I complete my huge circumnavigation of the park, ready to drop my camera and its big heavy lens in my car.  I’ve barely taken a photo:  there’s just not been much to catch my attention, or to require further study to figure out what the bird is.   In fact, the only thing I’ve seen that I can’t ID?  That would be all those swallows circling overhead.  Swallows are my work in progress (well, ONE of my works in progress) and I really don’t have a clue what has been circling around today.

So I’m thrilled when a group of these small birds come to light on a fence near where I’m parked.  I walk over to get a better look, snapping photo after photo, trying to figure it out.  There are 7 (remember, I’m counting) sitting in a row, just sitting there.  I still can’t tell what kind of swallow.  These birds don’t have the coloring or the forked tail of a Barn Swallow, which would – otherwise – be my first guess.  So what the heck are they?

Then all of a sudden, they all start fluttering and calling, but not flying off.  Other swallows dive down, are there for a split second, and then are off again.

  Oh.  Wow.  I’m watching mom and dad Barn Swallows feed their fledglings.  Oh.  Wow.

My mentor Tina will later give me this tip:
that extended gape (more birdspeak:  formally "gape flange", that fleshy-looking area where the two parts of the bill come together, in this bird it's very yellow and extends pretty much all the way to the bird's eye) is an indication that the bird is a juvenile.  Who knew? 

I watch the process over and over again.  It’s just about too cool for words.  I have places to be, so I can’t stay all day, even though I’d sure like to.  I watch one more feeding pass, and then I head home.

And I think that Denver City Park is just about the best backyard anyone could hope for.

Field Trip #2 - Habitat and Scones

It’s oh-dark-thirty when I pull up to Martha’s house to meet my carpool group for our first “real” field trip, and it’s easy pick out the right house:  it’s the only one with lights blazing at this crazy hour on a Saturday morning in early August.  But Martha has coffee and freshly baked scones, and already I know this field trip is going to rock that first small disaster all to pieces.

Today is all about working on learning habitat, habitat, habitat.  Well, and as John Prine might say, and to perhaps catch a few birds.

Our first stop is Meyer Ranch Open Space, part of the Jefferson County Open Space program, in the mountains just southwest of Denver off Highway 285.  We meet in the parking lot there, sixteen of us in all (9 students and 7 mentors, a pretty sweet ratio), and before everyone is out of cars, we’re hearing birds.  There’s a male Broad-tailed Hummingbird buzzing around us, and I’m pretty excited that I actually recognize a bird – and I’ve heard it before most of the others.  Never mind that they were all still in cars and all.  And not that there’s any competition here.  Me competitive?  Nah.

Chuck is leading this trip, and he tries to corral us to talk about habitat.  Oops, there’s another hummingbird, and listen! There’s something chipping in that shrub over there!  Oh yeah, back to habitat.  Where we’re standing is on the edge of what is – to someone not trying to classify the place – a large mountain meadow.  But it turns out that this stretch of open land is actually Emergent Wetland and Montane Grassland.  Over on the north side of 285, the habitat is completely different:  it’s south facing, and made up of Cliffs and Ponderosa Woodland (we’ll talk about the differences between woodlands and forests, I think I may get the gist, but it’s still likely that I’d miss this on a test today) and Douglas-Fir Forest.

We start walking down the trail, and pretty soon we’re scattered like seeds in the wind.  This group of folks is looking at the Mullein – a non-native plant that I have always thought is butt-ugly, but it turns out that birds do like to perch on the stalks and to eat the seeds, especially at this time of year, so I’m becoming perhaps a little more accepting of the Mullein.  This other group is checking out the tree:  is it a Douglas-Fir or a Blue Spruce?  We’re cautioned over and over again that just because a conifer is blue, that doesn’t make it a blue spruce.  (Damn!)  This bush – er, uh, make that shrub, the proper botanical term – is a Shrubby Cinquefoil.  Cool.  I’ve always liked these yellow flowers, and now I can put a name to them.

Assuming I can remember any of this.

It’s a mountain of information coming at us, in dribs and drabs, and faster than those swallows circling overhead.  By the way, Chuck asks, does everyone know what swallows they are?  Everyone says “yes”;  well, everyone, that is, except me.  I’m the lone voice saying, plaintively, NO!  So I get an explanation of the difference between the birds we’re seeing:  Barn Swallows and Cliff Swallows.  The Cliff Swallows (I am told, but just can’t see very well) have buffy rumps.  Or is it white rumps?

Oh my.  My brain is full and completely confused, and we’re no more than 20 yards from the parking lot, and it’s not even 7 a.m.

Savannah Sparrow
Meyer Ranch Open Space

There’s buzzing of an insect near our feet;  I wonder what bug makes that noise.  Then we see a Savannah Sparrow perched on a fence out in the meadow.  Er, make that in the Montane Grassland.  It’s a Savannah Sparrow because………well, I’m learning, we can expect the Savannah Sparrow to be here – in this habitat at this time of year-  and the field marks are right - including the yellow of the lores (in case you don’t speak bird, that’s the area between a bird’s bill and its eyes).  I get a really nice look at this bird through someone’s scope, and realize that the insect I’m hearing is actually this little bird.

Now.  That.  Is.  Cool.  Worth the price of admission.

Silene Vulgaris (Bladder Campion)
Meyer Ranch Open Space

And that’s how our day goes.  We spend 2 hours at this location and cover about a quarter of a mile.  We’re stopping to look at trees and shrubs and a few herbs and forbs (I’m still not exactly sure what those dang forbs are, but apparently I’m looking at them).  We’re easily distracted by birds (the hummers, the swallows, Red-winged Blackbirds, a few Song Sparrows and some Yellow-rumped Warblers, some buzzy Pine Siskins, and a bunch of Mountain Chickadees).

Wild Blue Flax
Meyer Ranch Open Space

We head further up into the mountains, making similar stops along the way.  At one impromptu stop along Geneva Creek, we get great samples of multiple plants right along the side of this dirt road:  a Bristlecone Pine (needles in groups of 5!  Resin on the needles!  Cones with little – can you guess it – bristles on them!), a Limber Pine (again, needles of 5,  what up with that?  It’s so unfair!;  but great big cones with thick scales.  And- you guessed it – NO bristles!)

Up and up we go, reaching Geneva Creek Campground, where the habitat is High Elevation Willow Carr and FUCM.  Let’s talk for a minute about habitat, shall we?  I need to “get” this stuff, so if you’re following along for the pretty pictures, you’re going to have to suffer a little, too.

That “Carr” thing?  Well, if you look it up in the dictionary (online, of course, since my old paper dictionaries don’t even have it as a word), it will refer you to “fen”.  And then if you look up “fen”, it just doesn’t seem quite right.  The best reference I’ve found essentially calls “willow carr” equivalent to a willow thicket.  Now, I’m guessing that isn’t exac-a-tackly accurate, but it’s what I’m going with for now.  It kind of makes sense to me.

And the FUCM?  Yeah, sound it out as you read it;  I feel better every time I do that.  It stands for something like Forest Upper Coniferous Mixed.  In other words, it’s a mixed forest with less than 50 percent aspen trees.  Pretty simple.  And this one?  I love the code.  Makes me smile every time I fill out a Trip Report.  (Oh yeah, you’re going to hear about Trip Reports.  Don’t worry about that.)

Golden Banner
Guanella Pass

So, back to our field trip.  At Geneva Creek – once we’ve sorted out what habitat we’re in – we start to see birds.  Okay, I lie.  We’re actually seeing birds the moment we get out of the car (not “carr”, mind you), and it takes a masterful leader (or masterful birder leader?, sorry, channeling my friend David Kleeman) to keep us somewhat organized.  There are a bunch of Common Ravens (as opposed to a murder of them – that would be crows - but that begs the question, is murder reserved for Crows, or does it apply to all Corvids?  More birdspeak, to be explained - I hope - sometime soon), one seemingly out-of-place American Robin (seemingly because we’re taught that AMROs – that would be the four-letter ornithologist abbreviation for this bird – were originally higher elevation birds, but they were beckoned down to lower elevation by all the food available when we – homo sapiens – changed stuff up), a few hummers, and a few other species.  Everyone gets their knickers twisted over a Fox Sparrow:  not a common sight here, but we definitely have one, if only briefly, and bully for us.  Sadly, no photo.

Up and up we go.  We’re in Colorado:  easy to do.  We hit the top of Guanella Pass.  The habitat here is Krummholz.  Now, who can’t get excited about a habitat name like Krummholz?  

The word is actually from the German, meaning “twisted tree” or something like that.  In the birding habitat world, it means the area between timberline and Alpine Tundra.  This is the area where we would expect to see some really cool birds.  Birds like White-tailed Ptarmigan and Clark’s Nutcracker and Brown-capped Rosy-Finches.  As we pass upwards (and we do, on the trail leading up to Mount Bierstadt, one of Colorado’s 14ers), we pass into Alpine Tundra.  Here, we can expect many of the same Krummholz birds, but also a few more, including Northern Goshawks.

Indian Paintbrush
Guanella Pass

Sadly, today we only see – and briefly, at that – a few Clark’s Nutcrackers and a single White-crowned Sparrow.

Indian Paintbrush
Guanella Pass

But we do have a lovely hike, and a lovely look at the habitat up here, including the Subalpine Fir (the cones on these guys grow UP, like candles!) and some different colored Indian Paintbrush – both red and yellow.

AMB Class and Mentors, heading down the hike on Guanella Pass
The birds?  Not so many
The views?  Made up for the lack of birds

We head back down from the high elevation, making a final stop at a place called Bruno Gulch.  We have more FUCM (isn’t that right!) and some Lodgepole pine and aspen forests.  It’s actually quite hot, and the sun is brutal, and we’re all a little tired and slightly frustrated from the lack of birds on that lovely hike up at the top of Guanella Pass.  But then we happen upon some Dark-eyed Juncos.  We apparently get too close to a nest, since at one moment we’re all looking at these birds through binoculars, and the next moment, they are scolding and threatening and dive-bombing;  amazing to see 15 full-bodied adult humans retreat from an attack of “The Birds” so quickly.  Now, if you’re paying attention, you’ll remember that we had 16 people at the beginning of the day, so why 15 people on retreat?  Well, that might (just might) be because yours truly was the only full sized adult human to stick around, and risk attack by these birds in hopes of seeing some youngsters.  Nope, I don’t actually get a look at the babies, but I do get a shot of one of the adults.

Dark-eyed Junco
Bruno Gulch

We march out a little further, and see a few Stellar’s Jays, and a smattering of Chipping Sparrows.  We’re just about done for the day, and heading back to the cars through a meadow (or is it a meadow?  It’s not a Carr, and not a FUCM, and not a …………but I’ll have to figure that out as we go), and somebody yells and I see people pointing to a life form in a tree, and we’re all looking at a bird, and then another, and then another…………….  It’s a flock of Mountain Bluebirds coming through this space.  We’re all enraptured.

It’s why we all came out today.

Mountain Bluebird, in Shrubby Cinquefoil
Bruno Gulch

AMB Class #2: Playing with Fir

Class #2 comes just two days after the first field trip.  Yeah, that one:  the one that left me feeling so rotten.  Those two days have been full of lots of soul-searching (is this really the thing for me at this point in my life) as well as Galapagos photo processing (when you take 6000+ photos in the space of ten days, you may never get done with the photo processing).

Oddly enough, these two thing dovetail nicely.  For every doubt I have about the AMB program, there’s a photo of a cool bird.  For every concern I have about whether I’m suited for this, there’s another memory of a cool bird experience (like, say, watching a Waved Albatross courting ritual) and being completely awed by it (credit to Melissa for a fabulous capture and memory, one that makes me smile and laugh every single time):

http://www.flickr.com/photos/melissa_vet/9452753909

So on this Monday evening – my first official AMB class – I leave home a good 90 minutes before class starts.  There is no way that I’ll be late tonight.

This puts me at the Audubon Nature Center plenty early for class, and that allows me to pull out my binoculars and stand outside and listen and watch.  The Nature Center is a great birding spot:  the habitat, I am learning, is a mix of Emergent Wetlands and Lowland Riparian and Open Water Streams.  Combined, these habitats provide large numbers of birds and much diversity of species year round.  

Tonight, I stand outside, listening.  I am learning, as a birder, that my ears are far more useful than my eyes, especially when I first enter a new area.  Tonight there is a bird singing, with a whiny, plaintive voice.  I don’t recognize it.  Chuck, the mentor who will be teaching tonight’s class, is standing near me, listening, too.

Lesser Goldfinch (female), Genesee Mountain Park
7/13/13
Habitat:  Douglas-fir Forest

“Who is that singing?” I ask.  It seems like I’m forever asking versions of this question these days (the most common being “who is that?!”), and Chuck answers quickly and helpfully:  it’s a Lesser Goldfinch.  I’m grateful for the answer, and I’m thankful that I got a direct answer rather than the Socratic approach.  That Socratic approach?  Maybe a good learning method, but it can also be very annoying when you just really want an answer.

But I’m annoyed at the answer, too:  this is my four percent bird!  I need to learn this thing!  Dang.  I think I need this program, and I need it badly.

We go inside the Nature Center to find the mentors (I’ll tell you more about them later) setting out sprigs of greenery on the tables.  If it were a couple of months later, I’d think these were Christmas decorations.  But as I watch the various mentors carefully placing a cone here amongst the green needles, and another there with some different green needles, and then a piece of bark there, I understand that we’re doing hands-on learning.

I’m not sure what I expected, but from this moment on, I realize how extremely well organized this program is.  The folks doing the teaching are – to a person – knowledgeable, good presenters, engaging, interesting, and captivating.  Most importantly, all of the folks who present information tonight – including Chuck, who leads this class – clearly love this stuff.  And they are eager – so very eager – for those of us in the class to learn.

And I am blown away.  Completely.  And.  Totally.

Let’s get real:  these people are volunteers, and to put in the kind of time in preparation and participation:  well, the love comes shining through.  

Did I mention that I’m blown away?

Wilson's Warbler, Cherry Creek State Park, CO
9/8/12
Habitat:  Lowland Riparian, in migration
Narrow-leaved (Sandbar) Willow

Oh, and did I mention how much fun this is?  We get handouts that tell us how to differentiate between pines and firs and spruces and junipers.  Together, we pick up the greenery and compare.  Ah, I see this pine has needles in groups of twos and threes (so it’s either a Ponderosa or a Lodgepole), and the Douglas fir has single needles and this Bristlecone pine has needles in groups of five.  Who knew?  Amazing!  Wow, look at this cone:  it’s got little thingies (called variously snake’s tongues or mouse's tails;  I’ll stick with “thingies”) sticking out.  That makes it a Doug fir cone.  (Soon, we'll learn that these thingies are called "bracts", but no need to get ahead of ourselves just yet.)  And so on and so on.

Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Echo Lake, CO
6/23/13
Habitat:  Spruce-Fir Forest
Engelmann Spruce (see how the cones grow up?)

Hey, this is going to be fun!  The lecture that follows puts things in context.  Why do we care about this tree versus that?  Why study habitat;  for heaven’s sake, this is a course in birding!  Well, understanding habitat helps us to ID birds in the field, since different birds exist in different habitats.  It’s the first thing to look at even before you see a bird.  What would you expect to see here?  What birds nest here, stop over on migration, summer or winter here?  Studying habitat is also a springboard to understanding conservation issues.  You can’t be a birder and not become (if you weren’t already one) an ardent conservationist.  It just doesn’t work that way.

Wilson's Warbler, Echo Lake, CO
6/23/13
Habitat:  High Elevation Willow Carr - even though this guy is in a conifer
He was flitting and singing in the willows, where he nests.

Chuck leads us through a description of terms and concepts we’ll need to know, all related to habitat.  Abiotic qualities are the physical attributes:  elevation, north/south orientation, etc.  Biotic qualities are the botanic ones;  greater plant diversity impacts the numbers of birds and of species.  We’re introduced to the concept of biogeography:  why does a bird exist in one area and not in another?  Then we start talking about specific habitats in Colorado.  Colorado is home to a multitude of habitats, one of the most diverse states in the nation.  With the abundance of habitats, we’ll only be able to survey the full list, and then do a deeper dive into the ones we’ll see close to home.  That list is still incredibly impressive, as we range from the Shortgrass Prairie of much of eastern Colorado to the high elevation Alpine Tundra of the high mountains.  Tonight, we cover in detail habitats ranging from Lowland Riparian to Montane Riparian to Willow Carrs.  For each habitat, we’re presented a sampling of “indicator species”:  the birds that fairly well define the characteristics of the environment.

American Pipit, Mount Evans, CO
7/7/13
Habitat:  Alpine Tundra

As he hits on each different habitat, he points out an indicator species:  the bird you can count on seeing in this habitat.  That doesn't actually capture "indicator species" but it does the trick for me right now.  And for many of the indicator species, we get another mentor presenting a species profile of the bird.  We cover High Elevation Carr, and voila!  We get a detailed description of a Wilson's Warbler.    Alpine Tundra?  Here's a bunch of stuff you never knew about American Pipits.

I love this.  Utterly and completely.  What a cool program this is.  How do I sign up?  Oh, I’d forgotten:  this is my home for the next year.  Most excellent!

American Pipit, Mount Evans, CO
7/7/13
Habitat:  Alpine Tundra or possibly Krummholz

My head is buzzing with new concepts like Ecotones (“edge habitats” – places where two major habitats come together), and “Carr” (no, not the thing you drive), and  - my favorite – “Krummholz” (literally – from the German – “crooked tree” – indicating the transition zone from subalpine forest to Alpine Tundra, where the trees grow crooked and one-sided because of the effects of the winds).  I leave class still trying to figure out what the heck a “forb” is, but it feels like a good challenge, not one that will defeat me.

When we wrap up for the evening, my head is spinning, full of new concepts and terms and thoughts.  There is so very, very much to learn.  I feel like I’m back in fifth grade again, and I absolutely loved fifth grade.  How could I have ever thought that this wasn’t the best thing I’d ever done?