Student Revolt
Once we separated from the white van, we combed through the numerous oil-well-occupied peninsulas in search of Green-winged Teal and other residents. We startled a beautifully marked Red-shouldered Hawk and watched it fly away. On the left, David spotted three geese. We stopped to get a better look. "They aren't that shy," I spoke from my vast experience with wild geese. The guru didn't let this pass unnoted.
And that was only the beginning. They didn't flee us, but these Greater White-fronted Geese didn't do much of anything else either. They walked around in the same 10-foot diameter circle the whole time we stayed. Sometimes, as positive-minded David pointed out, they sat down.
It is the first time a bird has bored me, and I still don't know why. I just wanted them to do something. I never make those demands on other species; most other species don't need it.
Soon enough, things started to happen. Several swallows flew over, and though we could never look closely enough at their hurtling bodies, we were fairly sure they were Barn Swallows. A kingfisher flew over and hovered over the water, making its special rat-a-tat sound. I was amazed at how it hovered; it appears hummingbirds aren't the only ones.
We saw a Red-shouldered Hawk in a tree across the inlet; a shrike perched much nearer in a tree scarcely 20 feet away. Two harriers coasted low over the marsh and only allowed brief glimpses. I was alerted to the approach and attack of a large spider at my feet and did a short but (I'm sure) entertaining little dance to warn him off.
David set up the scope to look at the boring geese, but soon enough conflict brought excitement. Several shorebirds swooped back and forth and landed behind a large stand of trees around which we couldn't see. Two, however, finally landed and remained motionless in clear view. David trained the scope on one and looked for several moments, then passed it off to me. "What is it?" I queried, as I have done hundreds of times before.
"I think I'm going to start asking you that."
Shoot. He's right. I should be able to do this.
He retrieved the Sibley while I spouted off my first thought: it's always a Sanderling, no matter what it looks like. "There's a simple reason that is not true," he calmly replied. I got the simple reason at my second guess; the specimen we were looking at had yellow legs.
Okay, then. I scanned and hemmed and hawed and didn't commit to anything until I had looked over several species. Finally, I had to take the step. "It's a Least Sandpiper."
"No."
I was ready enough to hear the reasons it was not. I'd had enough potential humiliation. He didn't seem to want to help yet, so Courtney and I scanned together, unable to come up with a better identification. The Pectoral Sandpiper obviously looked similar, but it was bigger and had more streaking on its front. I voiced my concern that it was the only other possibility, because what I saw in the scope didn't look right when I looked at Sibley.
A dispute ensued. "If it were a Least, it would be tiny." "It is tiny!" "Not that tiny!" And on and on.
Finally, I won. He slowly conceded that in all likelihood it was a Least Sandpiper. I had lost many times that day, though losing at least indicated I was playing. Winning, however, was sweet to an emaciated palette; losing, obviously, was bitter to the sated one.
But I am certain he rejoiced with me as I rejoiced. It was a successful flight by one of his fledglings.
Stay tuned for the next episode in the October 22 saga: Sparrow Road
And that was only the beginning. They didn't flee us, but these Greater White-fronted Geese didn't do much of anything else either. They walked around in the same 10-foot diameter circle the whole time we stayed. Sometimes, as positive-minded David pointed out, they sat down.
It is the first time a bird has bored me, and I still don't know why. I just wanted them to do something. I never make those demands on other species; most other species don't need it.
Soon enough, things started to happen. Several swallows flew over, and though we could never look closely enough at their hurtling bodies, we were fairly sure they were Barn Swallows. A kingfisher flew over and hovered over the water, making its special rat-a-tat sound. I was amazed at how it hovered; it appears hummingbirds aren't the only ones.
We saw a Red-shouldered Hawk in a tree across the inlet; a shrike perched much nearer in a tree scarcely 20 feet away. Two harriers coasted low over the marsh and only allowed brief glimpses. I was alerted to the approach and attack of a large spider at my feet and did a short but (I'm sure) entertaining little dance to warn him off.
David set up the scope to look at the boring geese, but soon enough conflict brought excitement. Several shorebirds swooped back and forth and landed behind a large stand of trees around which we couldn't see. Two, however, finally landed and remained motionless in clear view. David trained the scope on one and looked for several moments, then passed it off to me. "What is it?" I queried, as I have done hundreds of times before.
"I think I'm going to start asking you that."
Shoot. He's right. I should be able to do this.
He retrieved the Sibley while I spouted off my first thought: it's always a Sanderling, no matter what it looks like. "There's a simple reason that is not true," he calmly replied. I got the simple reason at my second guess; the specimen we were looking at had yellow legs.
Okay, then. I scanned and hemmed and hawed and didn't commit to anything until I had looked over several species. Finally, I had to take the step. "It's a Least Sandpiper."
"No."
I was ready enough to hear the reasons it was not. I'd had enough potential humiliation. He didn't seem to want to help yet, so Courtney and I scanned together, unable to come up with a better identification. The Pectoral Sandpiper obviously looked similar, but it was bigger and had more streaking on its front. I voiced my concern that it was the only other possibility, because what I saw in the scope didn't look right when I looked at Sibley.
A dispute ensued. "If it were a Least, it would be tiny." "It is tiny!" "Not that tiny!" And on and on.
Finally, I won. He slowly conceded that in all likelihood it was a Least Sandpiper. I had lost many times that day, though losing at least indicated I was playing. Winning, however, was sweet to an emaciated palette; losing, obviously, was bitter to the sated one.
But I am certain he rejoiced with me as I rejoiced. It was a successful flight by one of his fledglings.
Stay tuned for the next episode in the October 22 saga: Sparrow Road
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