Author: Budd Titlow

BIRD BRAINS: Inside the Strange Minds of Our Fine Feathered Friends (ISBN: 978-0-7267-8755-5)

by

Budd Titlow

http://www.buddtitlow.com

Roseate spoonbills forced me to make a choice—do I risk being eaten by a giant crocodile or do I pass up a once-in-a-lifetime photo opportunity?

From a distance—with their brilliant pink and red feathers and graceful, gliding flight—roseate spoonbills immediately attract your eye. Framed by the bold greens of a mangrove swamp and backed by the azure blue of a Florida winter sky, these luminous birds provide an unparalleled scene of natural beauty.

For years, I longed to get good photos of these mesmerizing birds but I could never manage to get close enough for even a single picture. Then during a winter trip to Florida’s Ding Darling National Wildlife Refuge, my luck finally changed. Around midday, I ran into another group of photographers who told me about a pond full of spoonbills they had just seen. I could barely contain my glee—spoonbills, at last!

Large wading birds of the southeastern US coastlines, roseate spoonbills fool many Florida visitors into thinking they have seen a flock of flamingos. But closer examination always reveals the truth. While spoonbills may be the same color, their bodies and heads aren’t even close to those of the famously iconic but nonnative flamingos. The most obvious difference is the bizarre broad, flat bills for which the spoonbills are named.

About halfway to the recommended pond, a strip of yellow flagging was tied across the trail with a sign that read, Caution: Giant Female Crocodile Laying Eggs on Trail Ahead. Now I had a real dilemma. Should I give up the one chance I may ever have to photograph roseate spoonbills close-up or should I take my chances on being eaten by a crocodile. It took me less than five seconds to decide. I proceeded down the trail, rationalizing as I walked: There aren’t any crocodiles in South Florida anyway, right? It’s probably just an alligator and they’re all over the place. Even, if it is a crocodile, she’ll be busy laying eggs and won’t even notice me, I can run.

So I walked on and soon came to a tiny, jewel-like pond nestled into a clearing in the mangrove-choked swamp. Right in the middle of this idyllic setting about thirty visions of rosy pink swirled in tight circles, creating mini-whirlpools to scare shrimp and small fish up to the surface where they could be captured with lightning-quick snaps of uniquely shaped bills.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was staring at a scene I had dreamed about ever since I started seriously taking bird photos. The spoonbills acted as if I wasn’t even there and went right on feeding. And there wasn’t a crocodile to be seen anywhere around! I went to work with my camera, and quickly got out of there—still intact!

I’ve since had the pleasure of photographing nesting spoonbills up close in a natural rookery located in St. Augustine Florida’s Alligator Farm. Spoonbills have an elaborate courtship ritual that begins when the male presents sticks to the female. If she accepts the male’s offer, the female then begins using the sticks to build their nest—typically in a cluster of mangroves. Nest building is accompanied by much celebratory bill-clapping and branch-rattling by both the male and female birds.

BIRD BRAINS: Inside the Strange Minds of Our Fine Feathered Friends (ISBN: 978-0-7627-8755-5)

by

Budd Titlow

http://www.buddtitlow.com

I’ll never forget the day the snow came alive beneath my feet.

It was a Sunday morning in February just after sunrise and I was heading up into the mountains for a day of cross-country skiing. The previous day’s blizzard had dumped more than a foot of snow on Colorado’s high country. But the morning air was surprisingly pleasant—almost balmy—considering it was midwinter and the nearby sign read: Guanella Pass Summit—Elevation 11,699 Feet.

I left the parking lot and started schussing toward a rock-lined ridge about a mile away. The blinding white glare made it difficult to look anywhere but straight down. The wind-whipped ripples of fresh snow squeaked cleanly as I poled along. A few hundred yards in, I paused to check my compass heading.

Suddenly there was a dance of movement all around my skis. Clumps of snow darted away from me in every direction. I knew it wasn’t an avalanche—the ground was barely sloping and, besides, these snow clumps all had orange eyelids, black beaks, and feathered feet.

Even in the harsh glare of the brilliant sun, the frenzy of white was no illusion. Within seconds, bright white, chicken-like birds were skittering everywhere across the snowfield in front of me. After I gathered my wits and realized that I was not about to fall into some deep crevasse or be eaten alive by prehistoric snow monsters, I understood that I had just invaded the snow-laden world of the white-tailed ptarmigan. It was difficult to say who was the more surprised, the birds or me.

Wild animals in Colorado have developed a variety of methods for coping with the rigors of a high-country winter. Many birds just avoid the cold altogether by migrating southward. But the white-tailed ptarmigan sticks around, surviving through some amazing adaptations. By the time the snow starts to pile up above timberline, the ptarmigan’s feathers have morphed from mottled brown to pure white, making these football-sized birds practically invisible to predators during the long Colorado winters. Feeding on twigs and buds of dwarf willows that poke above the wind-blown snowline, ptarmigan have fully feathered feet that keep them warm and allow them to walk on top of snowdrifts.

Ptarmigan also keep warm by digging deep into fresh snowdrifts until they are totally covered by the white powder. Which—as I experienced—makes it possible to be standing smack in the middle of a large flock without even knowing the birds are there. Strangely, these birds have a curious habit of belying their excellent natural camouflage when something stops moving. It’s as if they don’t believe their cryptic coloration actually works. So my compass-check was a lucky one, yielding the unforgettable experience of seeing the snow burst into life right before my eyes.

Parents know that adolescents can sometimes be difficult to manage. But this might be some consolation: When it comes to problem children, human teenagers can’t hold a candle to fledgling tri-colored herons.

During the height of the nesting season, the natural wading-bird rookery in St. Augustine, Florida’s Alligator Farm supports close to one thousand nesting birds. It’s all quite counterintuitive, really. Directly underneath the pretzel-twisted branches of mangrove clusters festooned with hundreds of overcrowded bird nests are hundreds of ravenous American alligators, sitting with their jaws agape ready to eat any misfortunate chick that happens to topple off and slip into the water.

Why do these birds choose to nest directly above hordes of hungry alligators? Surely they could find suitable nesting trees elsewhere that don’t pose this sort of extreme jeopardy. Truth is, the alligators actually benefit the nesting birds by keeping tree-climbing, chick-chomping villains like black rat snakes and raccoons away from their precious offspring. So, multiple generations of the same birds return year after year to these gnarled nest trees where they were hatched and fledged.

It’s amazing how life in the wading-bird nest parallels life in the human home. When the chicks first hatch, everything is fairly routine and comfortable. The tiny, helpless baby birds are just cute little balls of fluff, albeit with feathers askew and skin bumpy. Then the mother bird starts feeding them by regurgitating chunks of half-digested fish and watches with avian satisfaction while her little charges fight and claw to get their beaks around the stinky mess she has just deposited.

In the tri-colored heron world, things change really fast. Within a couple of weeks, the once frail and tender chicks are sporting hefty topknots like so many punk rockers. Their piercing yellow eyes scream, “Don’t you dare even think about messing with me!” as they spend their day standing on the edge of their nest and flapping their wings while squawking and lashing out with their sharp beaks at any other bird that comes near—including their own siblings.

Then when one of the adults arrives with food, all the siblings immediately mob the parent. The nearly full-grown chicks grab him with their beaks anywhere they can—foot, wings, neck. But the most sensational action occurs when one of the chicks grabs the parent’s beak and starts twisting with all its might trying to squeeze the food out of his throat. It seems clear that the chick would gladly twist the adult’s head off if it meant that more food would be available.

In comparison, human teenagers are a breeze.

A trio of juvenile tricolored herons ravenously awaits the return of their parents and some healthy meals of regurgitated fish. (Photo credit: Copyright Budd Titlow/NATUREGRAPHS)

Text excerpted from book:  BIRD BRAINS: Inside the Strange Minds of Our Fine Feathered Friends, written by Budd Titlow and published by Lyons Press (an imprint of Globe Pequot Press). 

Author’s bio:     For the past 50 years, professional ecologist and conservationist Budd Titlow has used his pen and camera to capture the awe and wonders of our natural world. His goal has always been to inspire others to both appreciate and enjoy what he sees. Now he has one main question: Can we save humankind’s place — within nature’s beauty — before it’s too late? Budd’s two latest books are dedicated to answering this perplexing dilemma. PROTECTING THE PLANET: Environmental Champions from Conservation to Climate Change, a non-fiction book, examines whether we still have the environmental heroes among us — harking back to such past heroes as Audubon, Hemenway, Muir, Douglas, Leopold, Brower, Carson, and Meadows — needed to accomplish this goal. Next, using fact-filled and entertaining story-telling, his latest book — COMING FULL CIRCLE: A Sweeping Saga of Conservation Stewardship Across America — provides the answers we all seek and need. Having published five books, more than 500 photo-essays, and 5,000 photographs, Budd Titlow lives with his music educator wife, Debby, in San Diego, California.

BIRD BRAINS: Inside the Strange Minds of Our Fine Feathered Friends (ISBN: 978-0-7267-8755-5)

by

Budd Titlow

http://www.buddtitlow.com

Black skimmers are my enigma bird. Just when I think they couldn’t possibly be around, they show up in droves. Then when I think it’s a perfect day to see some, they’re nowhere to be found.

Here’s what I mean. The first time I ever saw these squat-legged, beach-loving birds with the distinctively-protruding lower mandibles (bills) was a few years ago on a blistering hot day in the middle of August. My wife, Debby, and I traveled from our Tallahassee home to St. George Island State Park—near Apalachicola, Florida—just to escape the oppressive heat and humidity. The last thing I expected on such a sweltering day was finding any birds at all, much less one that I had never seen before.

But there they were—nestled down into the hot sand just above the surf line—at least 50 skimmers in one dense flock. I spent several joyful hours watching and photographing the skimmers—along with several colonies of terns—as they busily caught small fish and fed their young.

So last summer and fall I again traveled to St. George Island State Park—not just once, but three times—in hopes of repeating my glorious day of skimmer photography. On each trip, the weather was perfect—temperatures in the low eighties accompanied by bright sunshine and a gentle sea breeze.   And—you guessed it—not a skimmer, or even a tern—in sight. In fact, the only birds I saw were a few scattered gulls and a solitary willet or two—in total—during my three trips.

Now fast forward to this past January and a beach day in southwest Florida’s Fort De Soto Municipal Park that was—as they say—fit for neither man nor beast. The wind was blowing a gale—at least 40 mph gusts—and, in fact, there were several tornadoes in the area during the previous night. So imagine my surprise when I dutifully plodded past the restrooms and picnic areas and looked out at the crashing surf to see several hundred skimmers and gulls all hunkered down and facing into the teeth of the bracing wind. Despite the unruly weather, I was able to enjoy another morning of skimmer photography.

Black skimmers are one of only three species of skimmers found worldwide. They are resident along our southern Atlantic, southern Pacific, and Gulf coasts. While not listed federally, they are considered a “Species of Special Concern” in several states, including Florida. The main threats to skimmers are development and other disturbances of their preferred sandy beach habitats. Since they nest in shallow scrapes typically located close to the water’s edge, they are also highly susceptible to oil spills and other oceanic contamination. According to the North American Water Bird Conservation Plan, there are 65,000 – 70,000 breeding black skimmers in North America.

If you are fortunate enough to see a group of skimmers feeding, you’re really in for a treat. As their name indicates, they soar gracefully along with their longer mandible gliding through the water. Since they are tactile feeders, when the mandible touches a prey—a small fish or crustacean—the upper maxilla immediately snaps down to snag it.

Finally, there’s this: One of the collective names for these birds is an “embezzlement of skimmers”. No one seems to know the origin of this term, but I have my own idea. I would like to press charges against them for stealing my time when I go out and can’t find them anywhere.

BIRD BRAINS: Inside the Strange Minds of Our Fine Feathered Friends (ISBN: 978-0-7267-8755-5)

by

Budd Titlow

http://www.buddtitlow.com

Depending on where you live in the world, the ruddy duck is either a cute bundle of fun or a despised nuisance.

In the United States, this perky duck is beloved for both its peculiar name and its unique appearance. Arthur Cleveland Bent provides this perfect description of the ruddy’s personality: “. . . the little gem of bird life that floats gently on its surface, his back glowing with the rich, red brown of his nuptial attire, offset by the pure white of his cheeks, his black crown, and above all his wonderful bill of the brightest, living, glowing sky blue. He knows he is handsome as he glides smoothly along, without a ripple, his saucy sprigtail held erect or even pointed forward till it nearly meets his upturned head.”

Ruddy ducks are a common migratory species throughout the United States and Canada and can be found in marshy ponds, lakes and bays. Even though ruddies are one of our smallest ducks, they lay eggs that are the size of those of the great blue heron and wild turkey.

Wonderful divers and swimmers, ruddies often submerge to considerable depths to capture shellfish, crustaceans, aquatic plant roots, and aquatic insect larvae. With their chunky bodies and short wings, they must patter for some distance across the surface of the water before finally becoming airborne. Their small wings stroke so fast that these birds resemble bumblebees in flight. During courtship, male ruddies engage in a highly entertaining “water bubbling display” while delivering a funny sound reminiscent of a lawn mower starting up.

Now—for those folks living in Europe—here’s the dark side of the ruddy duck’s story. Due to escapes from wildfowl collections imported from North America starting in the 1950s, the ruddy duck became widely established as an invasive species in Great Britain. Since that time ruddies have spread throughout southern Europe, where problems first arose in 1999. Spanish biologists began complaining that ruddy ducks migrating down from Great Britain were threatening the survival of their globally endangered white-headed ducks. In response, British biologists concocted a controversial plan to extirpate the ruddy duck as a breeding waterfowl species throughout Great Britain.

In the March 8, 2012 online edition of the Guardian, environmental editor John Vidal wrote that the British government has killed more than 6,500 ruddies at a cost of more than £900 (approximately $1,500) each, making the ruddy duck some of the most expensive ducks in the world. Although the ruddy duck has bred happily in British ponds for more than sixty years, Vidal notes that bird lovers hoping to see this species should “hurry because the government is about to spend £200,000 (approximately $320,000) trying to shoot the last hundred to finally exterminate this invasive species.” Their only crime: being “American, oversexed, and over here.” Other European countries with ruddy duck populations have abandoned their eradication efforts, believing that a complete culling of the ruddies is both impractical and impossible.

For now, the ruddy duck will continue to live its double life—loved on one side of the Atlantic and hated on the other.

BIRD BRAINS: Inside the Strange Minds of Our Fine Feathered Friends (ISBN: 978-0-7267-8755-5)

by

Budd Titlow

http://www.buddtitlow.com

If the bird world scheduled a royal ballet, black-necked stilts and American avocets would be the principal dancers.

With their absurdly long legs, gracefully extended bills, and boldly patterned and colored plumage, these closely related birds are—without a doubt—North America’s most beautiful shorebirds and among the most striking birds on the planet. Plus their every movement as they glide through shallow wetlands seems choreographed by either George Balanchine or Jerome Robbins. Watching these birds feeding together in a coastal marsh makes you feel guilty that you’re not paying admission to support the artistry of their dancing.

Avian paleontologist Alexander Wetmore writes “. . . one can not help admiring the skillful and graceful way in which [stilts] wade about in water breast deep in search of their insect prey. The legs are much bent at each step, the foot is carefully raised and gently but firmly planted again at each long stride.”

In the United States, black-necked stilts are locally abundant along coastal areas of California through much of the interior of the western United States and along the Gulf of Mexico as far east as Florida. They are found primarily in estuarine, lacustrine, salt pond, and emergent wetland habitats. American avocets nest in marshes, prairie ponds, and shallow lakes in the Midwest and along the Pacific coast of North America while they spend the winter along both Atlantic and Pacific coasts of the United States.

Potential predators that assume these long-legged beauties can’t effectively defend themselves are always in for a big surprise. Both the stilt and the avocet have some amazing behaviors designed to ward off threats to their safety. The most impressive of these is the black-necked stilt’s “popcorn display” during which all the adult birds in a colony alternately hop up and down—like popping corn—while wildly flapping their wings and calling out loudly and incessantly at the offending intruders.

Avocets use a variety of defensive tactics such as loud screeching and “crippled bird” acts. When a nesting colony of avocets is threatened, non-nesting adults will rise in unison and begin a dive- bombing display, repeatedly swooping down on the predator until the intruder turns away. The attacking avocets also issue a series of call notes that gradually change pitch, simulating the Doppler effect and making the predator think they are approaching faster than they actually are.

Another clever distracting display used by both stilts and avocets is “false incubation,” during which an adult bird crouches on the ground—as if incubating eggs—then gets up, moves to another spot, and crouches again. In the process, potential predators are lured away from the real nests and eggs.

Because stilts and avocets are both wetland birds, they are vulnerable to runoff pollution, including pesticides and especially selenium. However in the continental US, populations of both of these birds appear to be stable or slightly increasing. This is very good news because it ensures that we may be treated to a command performance of the royal bird ballet anytime we approach a US coastal wetland.

BIRD BRAINS: Inside the Strange Minds of Our Fine Feathered Friends (ISBN: 978-0-7267-8755-5)

by

Budd Titlow

http://www.buddtitlow.com

Wild birds are my friends. I like talking to them. Nothing too deep, mind you. Just stuff like, “Well hello there guys. How are you doing today. Beautiful weather we’re having, isn’t it? Your feathers are sure looking nice and fluffy this fine morning.”

And here’s the best part. I think the birds actually listen to me. They often talk—or more correctly, call or sing—back at me while I’m standing there watching them.

In my 45 years as a professional wildlife biologist, I’ve watched wild birds do some pretty extraordinary  and—in some cases—just outright wacky things. I’ve seen sage grouse strutting like pimps in a clearing—called a lek—on a high plateau in the Colorado Rockies, marsh wrens bouncing merrily along the tops of cattails to celebrate the arrival of spring, blue-footed boobies diving like blazing skyrockets in Ecuador’s Galapagos Islands, and a great blue heron subduing and then swallowing a monstrous water snake in Florida’s Ding Darling National Wildlife Refuge.

It’s my profound hope that some of my favorite stories about wild birds—posted here—will inspire you to take your family out and explore the natural world. Just for a while, leave your cell phones, computers, and other assorted electronic gear behind and join our great and revered naturalists of yesteryear—John James Audubon, John Muir, Aldo Leopold, Marjory Stoneman Douglas, Rachel Carson, and all the rest—in networking with nature. Watch, observe, introduce yourself, and even get to personally know the wild birds and other marvelous creatures with which we share this planet.