Sparrow Road
Moving on from the scene of such drama, we drove further on the "Auto Tour" path. Something flew toward us; it looked like a heron; it was! Bittern! Bittern! It continued on and descended into the marsh, not to be seen again.
We ended up on a road with dried-up trees on either side, and sparrows flocked ahead of us, flushing just as we would get into view. We were forced to get out of the car and see if we could get any closer as our pink, soft, helpless human selves.
They still flushed ahead of us, but not before we got meaningful glimpses at the guests of this party. With the sparrows were bluebirds and Red-bellied Woodpeckers. Since I gave up on sparrows long ago, I tried to look at them closely but waited for the guru's pronouncement on what they were. "White-crowned Sparrows," came the conclusion before I had the chance to see one well.
As we struggled to get adequate looks at them, we tried to see if other types were mixing with the twenty-or-so White-crowneds, and David finally pointed out one that was (supposedly, though I certainly couldn't confirm it) larger than the others. "A Vesper Sparrow!"
I tried. I really did. I strained to tell what made the one I thought he was indicating different from the others. But they were not considerate birds; they refused to hold still. Savannah Sparrows also supposedly mixed in, and though I have more experience with those, I felt completely defeated by their whole family. It had been so nice and simple when the Lincoln's sat still, all alone, ten feet away.
After a briefly embarrassing but quickly corrected misidentification of immature White-crowneds by David, we moved on to the other side of the lake. More oil wells! No wonder gas is so cheap here!
Down one of these peninsulas, we scanned the water to see if there was more to see than coots. Lifting our binoculars, we saw in the distant sky a flock of hundreds--perhaps thousands--of whitish-looking birds flapping around in an amorphous group and wheeling around in no definite direction.
I didn't know enough about flight behavior to be able to make these things out unless they came a lot closer. They briefly came to where we could see the individual birds as more than specks, but sadly they turned and eventually passed from sight. David and I looked at each other. What was that? It seems he had never seen anything quite like it, and all I could confirm of his guess of "Franklin's Gulls" was that whatever I had seen did look somewhat like a gull.
At least the mystification was mutual. I was ready when we came to another place where grebes, cormorants and a couple of Mallards were easily seen and identified. David pointed out another pintail in the marsh, and through a few minutes of patient waiting I saw him (the pintail) relatively in the open. I wouldn't mind getting a better look in the future.
Returning from the last oil well, we discussed lunch and where we would go next, but our chatter was stilled by the appearance of a roadrunner only a few feet away. He went into the brush as we approached, but he was still close and the red and blue above his eye were visible. David reached for his camera, but our quarry slowly disappeared into the brush before the shot could be taken. It was the closest look we had all had in a while, though I somewhat nervously anticipated a TNT blast and the chuckle of a coyote in the distance.
Check in later for the next installment in our October 22 series: Globs in the Distance
We ended up on a road with dried-up trees on either side, and sparrows flocked ahead of us, flushing just as we would get into view. We were forced to get out of the car and see if we could get any closer as our pink, soft, helpless human selves.
They still flushed ahead of us, but not before we got meaningful glimpses at the guests of this party. With the sparrows were bluebirds and Red-bellied Woodpeckers. Since I gave up on sparrows long ago, I tried to look at them closely but waited for the guru's pronouncement on what they were. "White-crowned Sparrows," came the conclusion before I had the chance to see one well.
As we struggled to get adequate looks at them, we tried to see if other types were mixing with the twenty-or-so White-crowneds, and David finally pointed out one that was (supposedly, though I certainly couldn't confirm it) larger than the others. "A Vesper Sparrow!"
I tried. I really did. I strained to tell what made the one I thought he was indicating different from the others. But they were not considerate birds; they refused to hold still. Savannah Sparrows also supposedly mixed in, and though I have more experience with those, I felt completely defeated by their whole family. It had been so nice and simple when the Lincoln's sat still, all alone, ten feet away.
After a briefly embarrassing but quickly corrected misidentification of immature White-crowneds by David, we moved on to the other side of the lake. More oil wells! No wonder gas is so cheap here!
Down one of these peninsulas, we scanned the water to see if there was more to see than coots. Lifting our binoculars, we saw in the distant sky a flock of hundreds--perhaps thousands--of whitish-looking birds flapping around in an amorphous group and wheeling around in no definite direction.
I didn't know enough about flight behavior to be able to make these things out unless they came a lot closer. They briefly came to where we could see the individual birds as more than specks, but sadly they turned and eventually passed from sight. David and I looked at each other. What was that? It seems he had never seen anything quite like it, and all I could confirm of his guess of "Franklin's Gulls" was that whatever I had seen did look somewhat like a gull.
At least the mystification was mutual. I was ready when we came to another place where grebes, cormorants and a couple of Mallards were easily seen and identified. David pointed out another pintail in the marsh, and through a few minutes of patient waiting I saw him (the pintail) relatively in the open. I wouldn't mind getting a better look in the future.
Returning from the last oil well, we discussed lunch and where we would go next, but our chatter was stilled by the appearance of a roadrunner only a few feet away. He went into the brush as we approached, but he was still close and the red and blue above his eye were visible. David reached for his camera, but our quarry slowly disappeared into the brush before the shot could be taken. It was the closest look we had all had in a while, though I somewhat nervously anticipated a TNT blast and the chuckle of a coyote in the distance.
Check in later for the next installment in our October 22 series: Globs in the Distance
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