Winter Reaches the Gulf

The Arctic Blast that spread across the Great Plains and Midwest over the past few days pushed into the Deep South overnight.  This morning, temperatures hovered near 20 degrees F along the northern Gulf Coast and had dipped to 40 here on Longboat Key, off Sarasota; the afternoon high is forecast to reach 60 but a strong northeast wind will make it feel much cooler.

Bundled up for a walk on the beach this morning, we encountered only one other group of humans and found that the beach was devoid of birds.  The latter discovery was more a reflection of low tide on Sarasota Bay than it was a result of the cold weather; indeed, the expanding shallows and mudflats on the bay had attracted ospreys, gulls, terns, pelicans, cormorants, mergansers and a wide variety of wading birds, including the first roseate spoonbills and wood storks that we have observed on this visit to Longboat.

The unseasonably cold weather is expected to persist for a couple more days before winter retreats back to the north.  By then we will follow in its wake, returning to Missouri after the heart of the Arctic air mass has (hopefully) moved on to the north and east.

More Visitors on the Bay

Two more bird species turned up on Sarasota Bay this morning.  A common loon, down from the lakes of Alaska, Canada or the northernmost U.S., spent much of the day fishing near our sea wall.  Usually seen alone during the winter months, these northern visitors favor large inland reservoirs or relatively shallow bays and estuaries along the coast.  Their famous yodeling is rarely heard until their spring migration begins and they will remain on open water until nesting season is under way.

A pair of pied-billed grebes also graced the bay this morning.  Though permanent residents throughout most of the continental U.S., including Florida, these small, stocky grebes favor freshwater lakes and brackish inlets; in my experience, they are seldom observed on large, open coastal bays and today's visitors were certainly unexpected.  Quick to sink below the surface if disturbed, pied-billed grebes spend much of their time diving for small fish and aquatic invertebrates.

In addition to the bird sightings, large schools of mullet are currently moving through Sarasota Bay, attracting dolphins from the Gulf of Mexico.  A trio of those energetic mammals, always welcome and entertaining visitors, fed near our condo this morning.

The Java Sea

Recently in the news due to the crash of Air Asia Flight 8501, the Java Sea is the southern section of a vast shallow sea that extends southward from Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam to the southern islands of Indonesia.  Averaging just 150 feet in depth, the Java Sea was an inland plain during the Pleistocene Ice Age.

Indeed, the archipelagos of Malaysia, Indonesia and the Philippines occupy a broad peninsula of the Eurasian Plate, extending southward from what is now the Southeast Asia mainland.  Subduction volcanoes rim the peninsula, where the edges of the Australian, Pacific and Philippine Plates are being shoved beneath the Eurasian Plate.  As the climate began to warm near the end of the Pleistocene, some 15,000 years ago, continental and cordilleran glaciers began to melt and sea levels rose; of course, this process continues today, intensified by our use of fossil fuels.  Moving up coastal river valleys, the ocean waters spilled across lowlands of the Eurasian Peninsula, producing archipelagos of high ground.

Transient shallow seas, such as the Java Sea, have left sedimentary strata across the Continents; marine limestones, dolomites, shales and siltstones cover most of the ancient Precambrian basement rock, as do sandstones deposited as beaches along the shallow seas.  Seemingly a permanent feature of Earth's landscape from the perspective of our brief human life span, the Java Sea will expand and contract as sea levels rise and fall; its sediments, now scoured to retrieve aircraft debris and human remains, may, in the distant future, be uplifted and sculpted into mesas, plateaus or mountain ranges.

Winter Beach

The beach on Longboat Key, Florida, is not especially wide or scenic.  Nevertheless, it attracts an excellent variety of migrant and resident shorebirds, joined by a host of other avian residents.  On our two beach walks since arriving, I have encountered willets, ruddy turnstones, black-bellied plovers, red knots, short-billed dowitchers and, as usual, large skittish flocks of sanderlings.

Joining these beachcombers were ospreys, laughing gulls, royal, least and sandwich terns, brown pelicans, double-crested cormorants, black skimmers and a few great blue herons.  Snowy egrets, white ibis and yellow-crowned night herons generally visit the beach as well but did not make an appearance on our initial walks; neither did northern gannets or black scoters that often feed offshore during the winter months.  Magnificent frigatebirds, common on Longboat Key in summer, usually winter out to sea and are seldom observed during this season.

While I am not one to lounge on the beach with a book and headphones, I enjoy walks along the shore.  Keeping a look out for crabs, dolphins and rays as well, I relish the sound, smell and feel of the sea, the mother of life on Planet Earth.

Back on the Bay

Our Longboat Key condo sits on the west edge of Sarasota Bay, offering views of the open water as well as mangrove islands that rise offshore.  On this early January morning, with the temperature pushing 70 degrees F, the bay was alive with birdlife.

Small flocks of brown and American white pelicans cruised above the surface, perusing the waters for schools of fish.  Ospreys also circled above the bay, their high-pitched cries echoing back to shore.  An anhinga sunned himself on the sea wall while double crested cormorants occupied posts that mark the boat channel.  Other sightings included white ibis, green herons, great and snowy egrets, laughing gulls, royal terns, great and little blue herons, belted kingfishers and a massive flock of red-breasted mergansers.  Though absent this morning, bald eagles, wood storks, reddish egrets, tri-colored herons, least terns, wintering loons and roseate spoonbills are common avian residents of the Bay's spectacular ecosystem.

Mammalian visitors and residents include Atlantic bottle-nosed dolphins, manatees and those ubiquitous raccoons.  While the Gulf side of this barrier island attracts most of the human tourists, it is the Bay that appeals to most of the wildlife and thus, by extension, to naturalists such as myself.  More on the beaches tomorrow.

Farther South

We left Dalton this morning in rain and fog, conditions that persisted throughout much of Georgia.  Within that moist haze, bird sightings were limited to flocks of starlings, rock pigeons and a crowd of black vultures that huddled on a billboard, awaiting the sun.  The rain stopped by the time we reached Cordele and the fog lifted as we approached Tifton; there, turkey vultures soared about on the welcome thermals and great egrets and herons began to appear along many of the ponds and sloughs that line the Interstate; the afternoon temperature was 68 degrees F, almost thirty degrees warmer than the morning low in Dalton.

Just south of the Florida line, a flock of sandhill cranes circled above the highway; two more flocks would be seen over Paynes Prairie, south of Gainesville.  A few bald eagles were also observed in central Florida and, as we neared Tampa, cattle egrets and white ibis appeared along the Interstate and out in the pastures.  By the time we reached Tampa Bay, the sun had dropped below the Gulf of Mexico and lines of double-crested cormorants and brown pelicans, backed by the pink sunset, headed for their nighttime roosts.

Though none of today's sightings would qualify as unexpected observations, they were exceptionally welcome after more than fifteen hours of traveling through drizzle and fog; indeed, I cannot remember any past road trip that was characterized by such dreary conditions over such a long distance.  Unfortunately, the weather proved to be the unexpected feature of this journey, one that I would have gladly done without.

A Drab Beginning

On our journey to South Florida, we left Columbia this morning under a low, gray overcast; unfortunately, the weather conditions did not improve all the way to Dalton, Georgia, where we are spending the night.  Light rain was spaced along most of our route and dense fog shrouded higher elevations of the Cumberland Plateau.

Needless to say, birding from the Interstate was not terribly productive under such conditions.  Red-tailed hawks were reliably abundant along the highway, joined by a fair number of turkey vultures, red-shouldered hawks, American crows, Canada geese and, near bodies of water, ring-billed gulls.  A flock of wild turkeys fed in the corn stubble of a Missouri farm and bald eagles were observed in each State, from Missouri to Tennessee.

After a night in Dalton, we'll continue our trek to Southwest Florida and bird sightings should pick up in the warmer (and hopefully sunnier) latitudes of the Southeast.  I'm still hoping for one of those unexpected encounters but, after today's drab beginning, my chances seem less likely on this exodus from winter.  More to follow in the coming days.

Leaving Winter

Our first road trip of the new year will take us from the wintry landscape of central Missouri to the warm, marine environment of southwest Florida.  En route, we'll cross a series of geophysical provinces and some of North America's best known rivers.

After heading east across the Glaciated Plain, we'll cross the Missouri and Mississippi Valleys, the Shawnee Hills of southern Illinois, the Ohio, Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers and the karst plain of western Kentucky.  After fording the Cumberland a second time in Nashville, we'll climb onto the Cumberland Plateau of central Tennessee, undulate through the Ridge and Valley Province of south-central Tennessee and northwest Georgia (including the Tennessee River Valley) and then cross the Piedmont of central Georgia, the flat pinelands of southern Georgia, the Suwannee River, the limestone uplands of the Florida Platform and, finally, the watery landscape of Florida's southwest coast.

Of course, vegetation and wildlife will change with the provinces, providing welcome diversions on our two-day journey.  While anticipated sightings will surely materialize along the way, it is the prospect of unexpected encounters that fuels my enthusiasm, as it would for any naturalist.

Nature's Year

As we approach the end of another human calendar year, we realize that it has no direct relationship to the solar cycle, which defines nature's year.  Our modern calendar, the product of cultural and religious influence, is just another sign that we humans have split from the natural order of our home planet.  Indeed, early humans were more in touch with the seasons and, as a result, astronomical events such as the winter solstice played a significant role in their lives.

The astronomical year, defined by the time it takes Earth to complete one revolution around the sun, might, by human decree, begin on any calendar day.  Yet, if we divorce ourselves from cultural and religious traditions, we must acknowledge that the winter solstice (of either the Northern or Southern Hemisphere) should mark the beginning of our year.  After all, almost all life on our planet is dependent on solar radiation and nature's year is defined by the waxing and waning of that heat and light.

Weather cycles, vegetative patterns and animal behavior have evolved in response to the solar cycle.  While modern technology and global trade have left us relatively unaffected by the seasonal fluctuation of solar radiation, we cannot deny its vital role in the development and maintenance of natural ecosystems.  And, since our own welfare is tied to the health of those ecosystems, we must accept the fact that it is nature's year, not the human calendar, that truly governs our lives.

A Snowless Autumn

One of the joys of living in Missouri is its location within a major North American flyway.  Each spring and fall, large flocks of waterfowl pass through the State, on their way between northern breeding grounds and wintering sites within Missouri or to our south.  Among those travelers are snow geese, a species that never fails to stir my soul.

Moving south in autumn, snow geese congregate at staging areas across the Heartland and tend to travel in massive flocks; in spring, they return to their Arctic breeding range in smaller, more widely scattered groups.  As a result, these vocal migrants are more often encountered in spring (generally from late February through mid March) than they are during the fall (usually mid November through mid December).

As we approach the winter solstice, I have yet to enjoy the sight and sound of migrating snow geese this autumn.  Though I have looked for them on and above the farmlands of central Missouri, listened for them in the night and traveled to regional wildlife preserves in an effort to find them, this is the first autumn since we moved to Columbia (in 1997) that my vigil has failed.  The snows have likely traveled east and west of central Missouri this fall; perhaps some passed through during my time in Colorado.  Whatever the reason for my lack of success, a snowless autumn was certainly a disappointment; then again, late February is but two months away!

Spring in December

Partial sunshine and mild air pushed into central Missouri today.  Down at the Forum Nature Area, it looked like winter but felt more like spring and the avian residents seemed to enjoy the conditions as much as I did.

As I wandered through the preserve, a background chorus was provided by robins, chickadees and roaming flocks of cedar waxwings, broken now and then by the harsh calls of crows, blue jays and red-tailed hawks.  At songbird corner (my personal label), northern cardinals, dark-eyed juncos and white-throated sparrows twittered among the thickets; the latter species, perhaps sensing the approach of spring, were delivering their homesick tune.  Out on the seasonal lake, a pair of great blue herons waded through the calm shallows, stopping now and then to spear a fingerling.

Of course, the mild interlude also brought out joggers, headphone-walkers and trail bikers, all zooming past on their way to a pre-ordained finish line.  Our spring in December is courtesy of the potent storm system that is bringing high winds, heavy rains and mountain snows to California; as it pushes east and  drags in warm, humid air from the Gulf of Mexico, the storm will ignite thunderstorms across the Southern Plains and Mississippi Valley before moving on to the Eastern States.  In its wake, winter will drop back through the Heartland.

Humans & Vegetables

Childrens' distaste for vegetables is both well known and a common theme in advertising and entertainment.  Yet, we must acknowledge that children tend to speak the truth, unencumbered by social pressure and adult taboos.

As an adult who freely admits a limited attraction to vegetables (raw carrots, celery and fresh salads are favored) I am inclined to defend the youth of our species.  While I suspect that most humans like the natural taste of meats, fish, eggs, dairy products, nuts, fruits and grains, most of us must season our vegetables, fry them in butter, caramelize them with sugar or smother them with sauce before we enjoy their flavor; even salads are made palatable by topping them with dressing, cheese and croutons.  By contrast, most of us enjoy fruits and nuts right from the tree (or shrub) and require only a bit of cooking before we eagerly consume meat, fish and eggs.

While early human ancestors may have munched on leaves and other plants to supplement their diet, one suspects that vegetables, given their taste, may have eventually gained favor in areas where other nutritious foods were in short supply.  Perhaps this is all my self-serving imagination, an attempt to justify my child-like approach to vegetables.  Then again, when certain companies market veggie drinks to make their consumption more tolerable, there must be something to my theory.

Boreal Owls

Boreal owls are small raptors that inhabit mixed conifer-aspen forests across Alaska, Canada and northern Eurasia; their range also extends southward through northern Minnesota, the Cascades and the Rocky Mountains.  Though widespread and fairly common, boreal owls are rarely encountered, primarily due to their small size and strict nocturnal lifestyle.

When observed, they are generally perched in a conifer, where they spend the daylight hours; identification is made by their small size (females are larger than males), tuftless head, yellow eyes, speckled crown, white facial disc and brown and white plumage.  Feeding primarily on mice and songbirds, boreal owls may fall victim to larger owls, fishers or pine martens.  Tree cavities are used for nesting and the clutch size varies widely, averaging 5-6 young; the female incubates the eggs while the male guards the site and brings food.

Though widespread in the subalpine forests of Colorado, boreal owls are (in my experience) most commonly observed and reported near Cameron Pass, west of Fort Collins.  Of course, this may reflect the large population of birders along the Front Range urban corridor and the accessibility of that relatively low pass (10,300 feet).

December Gray

A milky-gray dome stretched above central Missouri today, diffusing the sunlight and dulling whatever color is left in the mid December landscape.  Sunrise and sunset were also devoid of color, merely announced by a gradual brightening and darkening of the frosted-glass dome.

With a cold front sagging to our south, a stationary front to our west and the nearest low on the Eastern Seaboard, there was no lift or surface wind to disturb the calm, winter air mass.  While one might say it was a cloudy day, individual clouds could not be identified and no layering of the overcast was evident; neither pockets of blue nor bright horizons held promise of a coming change.

It was, indeed, a classic winter sky in the American Midwest, too cold for rain and too dry for snow.  Beneath the opaque sky, our wild neighbors went about their business, oblivious of the filtered sunlight, and many humans, focused on their holiday shopping, were happy enough to have clear, dry roads.  Some of us would prefer a good winter snowstorm to ring in the season while others despise the December gray, counting the days until the first crocuses poke above the cold, wet soil.

Birding the Wastewater Wetlands

Columbia, Missouri, has a state-of-the-art, eco-friendly wastewater treatment facility, consisting of a chain of wetlands in the lower Perche Creek Valley, southwest of town.  Surrounded by a raised levee and graveled roadway, it is an excellent area for birding; since our local wildlife refuge has been closed for duck hunting, I opted for the wastewater area, where the value of other life forms is clearly acknowledged.

Yesterday afternoon, green-winged teal were abundant on the open pools, joined by smaller flocks of gadwall and mallards. An adult and two immature bald eagles soared above the valley and a pair of noisy red-tails called from the forested hills.  Riparian woodlands north of the facility were filled with thousands of American robins while sycamore groves to the south were alive with woodpeckers and a host of winter songbirds.  Eastern bluebirds and American goldfinches perched on the wire fencing, dark-eyed juncos foraged along the roadway and song sparrows flitted among the marsh reeds.

Of course, I was hoping that the high-pitched calls of snow geese might pierce the gray overcast but those vocal migrants remain elusive this season.  Nevertheless, I enjoyed my stroll around the wastewater marshes, where solitude is almost guaranteed and where silence is broken only by the calls of avian residents, the distant rumbling of freight trains and occasional chatty bikers on the Katy or MKT Trails.

America's Lucrative Pheasant

Native to Asia, ring-necked pheasants were introduced to North America in 1881; initially bred in captivity and released on private hunting reserves, this hardy game bird has become established in grassland habitats across the northern half of the U.S. and southern Canada.

Most abundant on the Great Plains and selected as the State Bird of South Dakota, ring-necked pheasants are polygamous and prolific.  Dominant males establish harems during the breeding season and females lay multiple clutches until chicks are successfully hatched.  Known to have a negative impact on greater prairie chicken populations (a native species), male pheasants chase male chickens from their territory and female pheasants may parasitize the nests.  Though hundreds of thousands of male ring-necked pheasants are harvested by hunters each year, such artificial population control is, to some degree, countered by the polygamous breeding habits of these popular game birds; of course, many others are killed by severe weather, vehicles or farm machinery.

More than a century after Americans introduced ringed-necks to our continent, we have, in effect, created a massive hunting preserve from the Pacific to the Atlantic.  In some Great Plains States, pheasant hunting is vital to the economy, bringing in funds from hunting licenses and the patronage of regional stores, hotels and restaurants.  While the pheasants have imbedded themselves in natural ecosystems across the country, providing sustenance for hawks, owls, coyotes, fox and a host of egg consumers, they are unwitting participants in man's manipulation of nature for his own benefit, a practice that has nothing to do with conservation.

The Suet Platoon

As the dark, cold days of December envelop Missouri, I add suet to our backyard handouts.  While the chunks of high calorie food do not increase the diversity of common winter residents and visitors, the extra activity does augment the chance of attracting rare or uncommon species that might be in the neighborhood.

As is usually the case with new feeders, chickadees are the first residents to inspect the suet, followed by white-breasted nuthatches, titmice, Carolina wrens and downy woodpeckers.  Eventually, hairy and red-bellied woodpeckers, northern flickers, red-breasted nuthatches and brown creepers join the suet platoon; indeed, any winter insectivore (including yellow-rumpled warblers) may partake at times.

Industrious (or frugal) birders often produce their own suet blocks, using a wide variety of ingredients.  Most of us, lacking such competence or enthusiasm, would rather shell out a couple bucks for the packaged suet sold at most markets and feed stores.  Fortunately, our Missouri squirrels (both gray and fox) do not have a taste for suet (unlike our Colorado fox squirrels) and keeping this winter treat available is a weekly chore at most.

Flooding in a Parched Landscape

Over the past week, an atmospheric trough developed off the California coast, sweeping Pacific moisture across that parched landscape.  Within a few days, many regions of the State received more precipitation than they had in all of 2013.

Falling on slopes ravaged by wildfires, the steady rains triggered floods and mudslides while, in some urban areas, storm drains could not handle the deluge, stranding motorists and producing sinkholes.  Welcome snows fell across the Sierra Nevada and Transverse Ranges but rapid runoff limited the storm system's benefit at lower elevations.

A significant dent in California's severe, multi-year drought will require recurrent Pacific storm fronts throughout the winter months.  The current atmospheric trough (produced by a dip in the jet stream) is already moving on and meteorologists remain uncertain whether an El Nino pattern will take hold; that oceanic and atmospheric phenomenon would favor the development of recurrent storms in the coming months as the waters of the eastern Pacific begin to warm.  By contrast, a La Nina pattern is characterized by high pressure off the California coast, driving warm surface water and moist air to the west and shunting storm systems northward into Canada and Alaska.  Californians are certainly hoping for a boy this winter!

White-Crowned Sparrows

Summer residents of Alaska, northern Canada and the alpine tundra of North America's western mountains, white-crowned sparrows winter across most of the Lower 48 (the Northern Plains, New England and South Florida excluded).  There they are usually found in sizable flocks, feasting on a variety of seeds in abandoned farm fields or in shrub lines along pastures; they might also visit feeders, especially in rural towns or semi-rural suburbs.

In Colorado, white-crowned sparrows are among the more common alpine summer residents and are best found near the stunted spruce and bristlecone pines at timberline.  While they migrate through the Front Range urban corridor in spring and fall, they are especially abundant in May as they return from the Southern Plains.  Here in central Missouri, white crowns are locally common winter residents on the farmlands that surround Columbia and, in my experience, are most often observed at suburban feeders in March or early April.

On their northern or alpine breeding grounds, these slender but hardy sparrows place their nest in low shrubs or directly on the ground; 3-5 young are raised and the family feasts on both insects and seeds throughout the summer months.  The male parent is highly territorial during this period and his distinctive song is delivered day and night.  By early autumn, the family members disperse; juvenile white-crowns retain their buff-colored head stripes until the following spring and are thus easily identified in winter flocks.

Cheap Oil & Climate Change

Now that oil prices have dropped to their lowest point in years, Conservative pundits are predicting the demise of clean, renewable sources of energy.  Investors have also punished the stocks of solar, wind and fuel cell companies, concluding that their glory days are over.  Neither group seems terribly concerned about the issues of pollution and climate change.

Of course, in this fickle world, where a terrorist attack or military conflict is just a news day away, the price of oil could rebound at any time, rescuing the profits of oil companies and the budget of several fragile oil-producing countries.  As we accept the gift of low gas and heating oil prices for the holidays, business panels debate whether Americans will return to gas-guzzling vehicles and lose interest in electric cars.

Once again, corporate policies focus on the short-term prospect for profits and the global factors that might impact that goal; the opportunity to address global warming has taken a back seat to dealing with a worldwide glut of oil.  In the end, of course, it doesn't matter if we destroy our planet by burning cheap or expensive fossil fuel.

Fishers of the Forest

Fishers are large members of the mustelid (weasel) family; second in size only to the river otter, male fishers may weight up to 13 pounds.  Solitary for most of the year, fishers prefer dense, old-growth forest where they hunt on the ground and in the trees; snowshoe hares and porcupines are their most common prey species but these omnivores also consume other small mammals, wild turkeys, grouse, fish (rarely, despite their name), fruit, nuts, mushrooms and carrion.  Though they seem to have few natural predators, records of attacks by lynx, coyotes, bobcats and mountain lions have been documented.

Fishers reach sexual maturity within one year and generally have a lifespan of 5 years or less in the wild; captive animals may live ten years or more.  Females give birth to an average of 3-4 kits in spring, most often using a tree cavity as a den; mating occurs soon thereafter but implantation of the fertilized eggs is delayed until the following spring.  Young fishers become independent by autumn and the litter mates disperse to establish their own territories; like their parents, they may be active day or night.

Native to North America, fishers inhabit the boreal forests of Canada and mature forests in New England, the Upper Great Lakes Region and the Northern Rockies (primarily in Canada, Idaho and Montana); isolated populations have also been found in the northern Sierra Nevada.  Over-trapping significantly reduced their population by the early 1900s but their numbers have since rebounded and stabilized.

Environmentalism & Religion

Several days ago, the PBS News Hour reported that the Communist Party of China is beginning to soften its stance on the expression of religion, apparently convinced that faith will boost support for environmentalism.  While their shift toward individual human rights is refreshing, I fail to see the connection between mysticism and a commitment to conservation.

Though Buddhism and other Eastern Religions are more in tune with a nature-based spirituality than the more human-based dogma of Western Religions, all forms of mysticism diminish the authority of science, which is vital to our understanding and effective protection of natural ecosystems.  This is especially true when religious faith depicts man as a chosen species, endowed with spiritual traits that are not shared by other forms of life.  Once we deny our interdependence with the plants and other animals that inhabit this planet, the less committed we are to their welfare and protection.

While there are certainly many ardent conservationists who are also religious, relying on mysticism to promote environmentalism is, in my opinion, misguided.  We debase intellectual honesty and a science based search for truth at our own peril.